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Fear and Loathing in Riverside

"If ether is needed at some juncture, it will be obtained." he says, deadpan. He takes the backseat of the car, glancing around with a perspective, striking gaze.

And with that, she walks over to the car and hops into the front seat. "Alright, you beasts," she says, firing up the engine. "Second star to the right and straight on 'till morning."

"Alex and I will keep watch for obstacles and antagonists." Cazaril says. "We'll let you concentrate on driving and shadow-shifting." He looks to Alex, gives her a nod and then looks alertly from side to side as the drive begins.

And so the three of you are off, riding on Swan's abilities and methodology on heading toward Dara's daughter.

Swan pops the clutch and the convertible hurtles backwards at breakneck speed. It flies off the curb into traffic, causing fellow drivers to scatter like startled gazelles. The transmission howls like a wounded animal as she punches it into drive and races down the street in a cloud of burning rubber. "You might want to buckle your seatbelts," she chimes in a most helpful fashion. She reaches over to turn on the tape-player and 'Baby Please Don't Go' by Them fills the cabin.

Swan guides the supercharged boiler onto the highway and floors it. She grows uncharacteristically quiet, her brow knitting in concentration. Images of a young woman in masculine clothing play in her mind, but it is the medieval city Caz showed her that she focuses her true attentions upon. A city of swords.

The city is clear as is the world that would support such a thing. Its a strong image to drive toward.

The road traffic begins to thin out, as does the tree line. They begin a slow decent into what appears to be a river valley, bordered by rolling hills of golden grasses and vineyards. As they reach the bottom of the gentle slope, the grasslands transforms into a mixture of forests and agriculture. The road begins to run alongside a small, winding river and runs through an éparpillement of Parisian towns.

At one harrowing point, the car literally flies across a narrow bailey bridge never designed for a vehicle capable of these speeds. Villagers fishing on its wooden floor leap over the side in stark terror, shouting profanities and startled screams.

Swan ignores the sodden people she leaves in her wake. She yells over the wind and music, "Okay you two, I can keep us in Jasperville for awhile. And this river will keep us nobby for most of the way there. But our hog might kick off if things get too anachro on us before we reach this twist's apple. Not sure if we want to walk our dogs just yet. Any suggestions?"

Cazaril leans forward and gives a glance to Alex for her input first.

Alex leans back into her seat, fingers laced behind her head as she loses herself in thought. If she's completely honest with herself, she's got to admit that riding is much better than walking. I mean, sure, she's taken a hike or two in her time. Hell, she's even taken a run or two, when someone was chasing her. But getting a chance to kick back, wind in her hair, moving at incredible speeds... ah, that's the life.

Stealing a glance at Caz, she remembers his conversation about the girl they're to rescue. For all Alex knows, she could be in the same shape as Alex was when Caz came on her scene. Which means dallying may cause more harm than good. Coming down to that, it's no real decision.

"Whatever's going to get us to her fastest," she finally says, trying for the maturity that she's not certain she's feeling. "If it means we have to walk longer, then that's what we have to do." "If this car is tied to you." Cazaril adds, looking at Swan. "Our bargain did not include you sacrificing it in order to find the swordswoman." he points out. "Bear that in mind, and as Alex suggests, swiftness in travel is a priority."

"I glaumed this one, I can glaum another," Swan chuckles with a sly smile. "And the frail that owned it can just buy another."

Cazaril nods, once.

She scoots between two heavily laden lorries, leaving little more than a few inches on each side. She lets out a happy whoop and guns the engine. The car purrs like a well-fed tiger and comes roaring out the other end of the moving tunnel of steel and rubber. Somewhere behind them, tires squeal and horns blare, only to be followed by the scream of crunching metal and breaking glass.

"If this car is tied to you." Cazaril adds, looking at Swan. "Our bargain did not include you sacrificing it in order to find the swordswoman." he points out. "Bear that in mind, and as Alex suggests, swiftness in travel is a priority."

"I glaumed this one, I can glaum another," Swan chuckles with a sly smile. "And the frail that owned it can just buy another."

Cazaril nods, once.

Swan doesn't even check her rearview mirror to survey the wreckage. "We should be rate most of the way. The place feels like 18th century Shadow Earth to me. The engine should carry us into a city shadow at the very least. I'm thinking a reflection of Vienna or Prague. We can walk from there.

"We also need to pick up some pig-stickers along the way. I don't want to see a Harlem sunset because our roscoes don't work."

"I can find us weapons if its needful. Often a sword is just like any other sword." Cazaril says. He pauses and makes a thoughtful look. "The Blademaster of Sawall would not be pleased for me saying such."

Alex strokes the handle of her baseball bat, resting against the seat between herself and Swan. "I'd rather use Old Faithful here," she admits. "This and my other little friends should keep me safe."

"Whether the guns I have obtained will work will require an acid test." Cazaril says.

Swan falls quiet for a moment, a memory clouding her features. Her fingers flex on the wheel, hinting at a deep agitation. "@$$hole," she mutters.

With a sad smile, she turns to Alex, "Pass me some eel juice would you?"

Alex draws the bottle from its safe spot between the pair, twisting the top from it before handing it over to the driver. Probably not the safest thing in the world, but Alex finds that she trusts Swan more with a little drink in her than some of the jerks she knew back in her home town when they were sober. Swan takes the bottle and downs a quarter of the amber liquid. She wipes her lips with the back of her arm before angrily tossing the capped bottle beside her. With a shake of her head, she turns the car onto a country lane. In the distance, the spires of a large city come into view. The river also widens and splits around an manmade island of brick and mortar that springs up from its blue depths.

Even with the city now in sight, it remains elusive and always at a distance. Swan narrows her eyes, as she begins to refocus her Pattern Shift, focusing upon the girl instead of the city.

And it is at this point that Swan starts to have difficulty. Technology is really bending its laws at this point. The car is not likely to survive much longer if Swan wants to drive it much further into this region of Shadow. In addition, focusing on the girl seems difficult, since tentative changes to change the variables in that direction seem to be changing from this urban landscape to a more humid and sultry one.

"Difficulty?" Cazaril inquires.

"The boiler is about to pitch an ing-bing," Swan says, concentrating. "And our chippy may be sunning in the tropics. I may not be as swell a peeper as I thought. So, we got a bit of a Chinese angle here, Caz. We can keep heading toward her scatter. Or we can finger the skirt more direct like."

She swerves through traffic, nearly lifting the car onto two wheels. "But you'd better give me the nod either way soon." "Right. We choose quickly." Cazaril looks at Alex and then back at Swan. "I think we go straight for her, get as close as we can while your vehicle runs. This trip to the tropics is suspicious. Its a strange coincidence."

Cazaril looks at Alex. "What do you think?"

Alex nods in agreement, fingers gripping the dashboard until her nails make tiny crescents into it. "Sorry," she grins sheepishly at the driver, pulling her hands back to rest in her lap as well.

Swan nods and furrows her brow. A few moments later, a greenish-blue line cuts across the horizon. The city takes on a more modern appearance as they drive through its outskirts. Smoke stacks and soot-covered masonry are so replaced by glass towers, palm trees, and neon lights. Although the populous appear to be anthropomorphic crocodiles and snakes, the city soon resembles Shadow Earth's Miami.

Swan turns the car toward the beach, heading for a large bridge that stretches out into the ocean.

As the scenery changes around them, Alex drinks it all in, Changing scenery doesn't surprise her - it's getting to be old hat by now - but the shine of the world that she's finding herself in, the brightness, isn't something she gets to see often. And she revels in it as small changes occur to bring them to something new.

And onto the bridge they go.

Swan's instincts tell her to continue on the bridge, now of a causeway type that seems to stretch endlessly to the horizon. And yet there is shadowshifting even on this bridge, a chance to make up ground and get as close as possible to their quarry.

Still, for a long period, there is nothing but blue sky, blue water, and an endless road upon it. The air is salty and sultry, a breeze blowing from the east cooling the occupants of the car.

Slowly, though, the car loses its ability to function. Many of Swan's shifts are to just keep it moving in shadows ever more hostile to the idea of automobiles.

The bridge approaches a shore at last, and a stone city rising up from that coast as the car threatens to give up the ghost at last. Lush Mediterranean and subtropical flora receeds back from the coast to a drier, higher altitude on the land profile shown.

And Swan knows that while her quarry is not here yet...she is inexorably headed right for this very city. With a cough, the car shudders to a slow stall and stop as the bridge behind them fades and the car rolls onto the shore a few miles away from the burg.

"We're in the right veil now, aren't we?" Cazaril says.

Swan punches the steering wheel hard enough to bend it, "Lick my pouch, you damn Detroit-built piece of crap!" She sighs and lights up another gasper, puffing on it angrily. "We're rate as far as the muffin goes. She's on the slow train here. But we'd better dangle if we want to catch her."

She gets out of the car and begins collecting her things. "If she's with anyone. What do you want me to do, Caz? Make nice or help them into the Great Beyond."

Alex hops out of the car, swinging her bag over her shoulder in a smooth movement. Without a word, she begins helping her lover and her cousin remove their own gear from the now-dead transport.

Swan slips up behind Alex and lightly kisses her on the shoulder and neck. "Thanks," she whispers, before returning to the unpacking.

She suspects she knows Caz's answer to Swan's question - to see what's happening before doing anything they can't take back - but her cousin had surprised her before. Maybe he would want to go in with guns blazing after all. Idly, she wondered if she could make a smaller, more personal version of her little friend. Something that wouldn't take out the whole city block, but could take out one or two that were giving them problems. Or maybe... could she put a little extra kick in some bullets?

The possibilities fired her imagination, bits and pieces clicking together as she kept one ear tuned to Caz's response. It might be a little while before she could try things out, but that didn't mean she shouldn't have her plans ready for when the down time comes.

Cazaril starts taking the gear that Alex is passing out, looking over his firearms. "We should give these a test before we get into the city." he says, to the two ladies as well as himself. "Establishing what the constants in this shadow are would be wise. As well as the expected tech level."

He looks at Swan and Alex. "My counsel is this. If Dara's daughter is coming right here, then sound tactical doctrine is to learn the lay of the land in preparation for her arrival." he says. "We scout the city, we get ourselves kitted out and we keep our eyes open for trouble."

"First..." Cazaril smiles. "what is your preference in blades?"

Swan straps on her gun belt as Cazaril talks and the tests her draw. Her speed and fluidity is startling to behold, even without magical assistance. She gives a satisfied nod and slips the rune-pistols back into their holsters. "Shivs have never been my style. But my ex taught me how to use a claymore back in the day. Probably because I like to get gashouse on people. Finesse and I ain't on speaking terms."

Cazaril smiles slightly. "First to answer, first to receive. Claymore...Claymore..."

Both Swan and Alex feel the creepy feeling that comes with the manipulation of the Logrus as Cazaril unfocuses his eyes and reaches elsewhere. Out of that elsewhere, and smoothly sliding into Swan's hands is a sword. The blade is 140 centimeters long, a crossguard that consists of two downward-curving arms and two large, round, concave plates that protect the foregrip.

Swan tests the weight and balance of the impressive sword, first swinging it one-handed and then with the usual two hands. She nods in appreciation of the craftsmanship, before strapping the heavy blade to her back. "This pig-sticker will do just fine, Caz."

Cazaril nods "Good." A serious look is on Cazaril's face, however even as the blade is delivered.

"When the barriers between shadows have been weakened by overuse of major powers." Cazaril says solemnly. "That weakening can be noticed when manipulating the Logrus across those barriers."

"There's at least one other user of the Logrus in this shadow." he finishes.

That catches Swan's attention. "Is that our target? Or someone else we might have to contend with?"

"I do not know if it is different for users of the Pattern, Swan." Cazaril says seriously, looking at the two ladies. "The use of Logrus, however, requires initiation. One cannot manipulate the Logrus without it. These manipulations I feel must be from someone from the Courts."

"They are either from Huttner, my novitiate, or the manipulations are from the scions of House Jesby, our enemies." Cazaril finishes."

Swan covers her mouth with the back of her hand, yawning. "I sorta hope it's the latter. I haven't put the curse on someone in…" She checks her watch. "$#%^! In way too long."

"So either we've got smooth sailing, or we're in it deep," Alex sums up with a nod. With a glance at Swan's new toy, then to her own bag of goodies, her mouth thins to a line of determination. "Either way, we should be ready for them."

"Yes" Cazaril says with a nod, looking at Alex. "Which is why its time for you to have a blade as well. I'm not asking you to choose a name blade, although I suspect your father will, when we get to the Courts. Simply a blade to suit you. For, as you say, we should be ready for what happens."

"I could choose for you, if you are truly undecided for such a thing. I know I would not give you a claymore." He glances over at Swan and her sword. "even if it suits Swan well."

"Well, not all of us go gashouse with werewolves," Swan smirks. She lightly squeezes Alex's forearms, testing the muscles beneath. "But don't sweat it, my scrupulous dish. A few more nights with me and you'll be a strong as a bangtail in no time.

A faint tinge of color brightens the girl's cheeks in response before turning to her cousin. "You choose," she tells him without hesitation. "The sharp and pointy never did appeal to me, so I don't know a Claymore from a butter knife." The large grin shows the exaggeration in that statement, yet the fact of the matter is true. If it's alchemical, she could tell the slightest differences in a composition by the bang it makes. But anything more close and personal...

"And I'll do my best not to stick anyone I'm not supposed to," she promises.

"All right." Cazaril says. "Since you have insisted. I will retrieve the same sort of blade for both of us."

He looks thoughtful for a moment, and the creepy feeling returns.

What appears in each hand of his are a pair of matched swords. They are only about half the length of Swan's new Claymore. They appear to have two cutting edges and a triangular tip. The hilt has a knob and ridges, presumably for the fingers. Cazaril tests the blades in his hands and then presents them toward Alex to choose. The one in his left hand has a jet black hilt, the one in his right hand has a bone-white hilt.

"A stabbing sword." Cazaril says. "Many empires in shadow have been built on the blade of this simple, brutally effective weapon."

In her usual impulsive way, his young cousin doesn't think before she reaches out and takes the sword from his left hand. "Black as a soul," she whispers, curling her fingers experimentally around the hilt. For all that her hands were smaller than Caz's, the blade still seemed to fit as though made specifically for her.

Cazaril smiles and watches Alex.

Stepping away from her pistol-wielding lover and her cousin with the blade's twin, she swings the blade in a long arc around her body. A look of surprise fills her eyes as the blade moves more quickly than she would have expected. "I thought it would be heavier," she murmurs. With her second swing, she takes a bit more care, doing her best not to over-extend or over-balance herself. Next, comes thrusting, first carefully then, as the blade becomes more comfortable and her footing more certain, with a bit of a flourish. The girl's eyes shine brightly as she imagines herself in a battle to the death, an expert swords-woman who no one had yet defeated.

"I have made an excellent choice." Cazaril says with a clear tone of pride in his voice. "Your father will undoubtedly critique it of course and may choose a different weapon for your study."

(Swan) "Now, lets see if our heaters work here, shall we?"

She turns away and unslings her rifle. Casually, she aims it at the water below and pulls the trigger.

There is a slight smell of ozone, and the sound the gun makes is more the sound of buzzing bees than the roar of a gunpowder firearm. And there is not much recall.

Given all that, though, Swan cannot help but be satisfied as the cartridge strikes the water with a more than satisfactory velocity.

Swan positively purrs, "Joy-gasm!" She closes her eyes to have a happy-moment with her new toy. Her facial expressions run through a pleasurable procession until they culminate into a shuddering gasp and wistful bliss.

"Oh yeah. That's the stuff." Cazaril's pride and smug filled look, never entirely gone, returns in full force.

Swan hangs the rifle loosely over her shoulder, so as to not get in the way of her blade. "Gats – check. Pig-stickers – check." She winks at Alex. "Beautiful moll – check."

Kicking a stone off the bridge, she smiles brightly. "Looks like we're ready to save your chippy, Caz." "If she needs saving, of course." Cazaril replies with a tight smile. "Now its time for our reconnoiter of the city, I think." He looks at Swan and Alex for final confirmation.

And then without further adieu, Cazaril Sawall sets off in the direction of the nearby city, gesturing the two ladies to follow him.

Swan follows along the right-hand side of the bridge, keeping pace with her companions. She holds her own council as they walk, staring out at the water below. Occasionally, she smiles over at Alex, as if enjoying a memory. But then the cool dispassion in her predatory eyes returns and the tenderness is forgotten.

Alex remains quiet as well, one measured step following another. While she returned Swan's smile, her demeanor is far more serious than has been the case since the two have met. Mentally, she's pulling herself back to her days of fighting. Her ears strain for usual sounds - though it is far more difficult here, in an area she's unfamiliar with. Still, she tries to let her senses guide her, ready to call out warning if something seems amiss. Cazaril leads the ladies to the edges of the city, taking a easy gait and a wary eye for the locals, and for trouble.

The city of Akhiqar, as the trio learn not longer after entering it, is a cyclopean city of sandstone and date palms, a city that looks primitive to Swan and Alex equally. Cazaril leads the trio through a city entrance and onto the packed-earth streets. Those at least are wide and broad, giving some sense of space and air in what otherwise might be a very claustrophobic experience.

Primitive or not, any city feels like home to Swan. She's accustomed to the narrow streets and open markets, having grown up on the streets of Bête Noire. The smell of cooking meats and fresh herbs and spices, the raucous cries of vendors, the vibrant colors and different faces. This tapestry of humanity is woven into her very blood and she realizes just how deeply she's missed it.

Not that this puts her at ease. Indeed, it makes her more attentive and wary. After all, she knows what dangers lurk around each corner, because she typically seeks them out.

People are dressed in robes and caftans. Jewelry is common on men and women both, mostly brass and bronze. Everyone save the poorest seem to wear at least one piece.

"We might consider native dress if we have to wait here too long." Cazaril comments after they pass a trio of swordsmen in white and blue.

"On the other hand, my suggestion is that we take lodgings near the docks. If there are Jesbys here, they will likely do the same if they are trying an ambush."

Alex nods curtly, both to the suggestion of dress as well as the suggestion for lodging. As with most things in this new world she is living in, she follows Cazaril's lead. "And even if they don't, maybe she will herself."

"Possibly so." Cazaril agrees, nodding to Alex. "We know from Swan here that she is on the way to Akhiqar What her goals and purposes are, we don't know. But here she will come, and here we will meet her."

Swan idly listens to the conversation, pausing briefly to buy something hot and lumpy on a stick from a street vendor. She bites into the fatty, meat-like substance and nods in appreciation to the chubby chef. Even beneath the spicy burn, it tastes just like chicken. Then again, in Shadow most things taste like chicken. She walks behind the pair, munching happily.

As the trio reach a large market square, Cazaril turns left, heading toward an entrance to the market that seems to open onto a street or boulevard heading toward the docks and port area. The smell of roasted dates, the sounds of hawkers and buyers fill the air.

And both Swan and Alex realize that the trio is being watched.

Swan throws the half-eaten lump-on-a-stick away and scans the crowd. New-comers always get attention, but it's those dangerous prying eyes she looks for. "Problem, you think?" she says to Caz.

Alex's eyes scan the crowd, trying to appear as though she's idly crowd-watching. As her eyes pass over each person, she mentally catagorizes them into either a threat or innocent bystanders. Is someone looking a little too long - or not paying them enough attention? These are the questions she answers before quickly moving to the next person. A small portion of her mind is left aside to hear Caz's answer to Swan's question.

Most of the people that Swan and Alex see in the crowd are bystanders. Their innocence may be in question. One or two shady characters stand out, but their attention seem to be on the patrons of the market as a whole, rather than the trio in general. There are what must be the equivalent of the city's constabulary, hard faced men with hawkish noses.

And then there are the two men who are watching the trio very carefully. They are dressed in white, with accents of light blue and orange. Cazaril makes the slightest head motion to show to the ladies that he has seen them as well, and then speaks in a low voice.

"They could be local boys, or they could be tourists like we are. They're watching us, though." Cazaril furrows his eyebrows. "I think we need to get out of the market, first. I'd rather not have to take on the constabulary. We'd win, of course, but it would make staying in the city difficult."

"My suggestion is that we lay a trap for our tails." Cazaril says. "And find out who and what they are."

"Agreed," Swan says coldly. "You lead the way, Caz. I'll cheese it when I pipe an opportunity. Then I'll take these mugs from behind and play some chin music. These alleyways have enough scatters for me to work in. Plus we need some quiet while they sing. But I'll need you two to watch my back after I make my move. They're bound to have pals. No pumping metal though unless we have to. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Caz says. He regards Swan. "We might want to set you up an interview with a Linguomancer when we get to the Courts. We'll talk about it later."

Swan's eyes touch Alex's for a moment, a blush coloring her cheeks. It's as if she's afraid that her lover is about to learn something terrible. Her eyes ice over and she follows Caz out of the marketplace at a measured pace.

Alex reaches out to squeeze her lover's arm gently, a silent reassurance that whatever there is won't deter her in the least. "You've got whatever you need," she promises. Cazaril's eyes flicker over, and a slight head nod to Swan to break away from the pair of them. And from Swan's point of view, its the perfect time to start the plan.

Swan provides Alex with a faint smile and then slows her pace to gain some distance between herself and the others. As they pass beside a carpet shop, she pauses to examine the merchandise. The faint breeze moves the hanging tapestries in lazy motions like the waves of a colorful ocean. When the men turn their attention follows Alex and Caz, the ocean of shadow and color swallows the blonde woman up, leaving no trace behind.

Taking a step back, [Alex] falls in next to Caz. She glances at, then over, the pair, her eyes settling instead on a stall close to one of the allies. Her eyes light up and she grabs her cousin's arm. "Caz! That's the exact color of fabric I've been looking for!" She steers him toward the fabric seller and directly in front of the bolt of rich wine-colored silk that is billowing over the edge of the stall. "It would make a perfect jacket for my new dress. Can I Caz, please?" In truth, she could care less about the fabric. But an airheaded shopper seemed the perfect set-up in the girl's mind. Cazaril moves forward slowly, reluctantly, dragging his heels slightly, giving Swan more time to get away, and drawing more attention to himself and to Alex. After a few moments, his body acquiesces, and he propels himself along with her to the display of the fabric seller.

In the corner of a small mirror at the back of the stall, Alex can see what Swan can see much better. The two men in blue and white are making their way closer and closer toward the falsely oblivious Cazaril and Alex. Swan catches a glint of sunlight on steel in one of the men's right hands. With a panther's ease, Swan slides up behind the pair, taking note of the hidden weapon. She weighs the situation carefully and then strikes with brutal speed. Her first snap-kick strikes the man on her right just beneath his left knee, causing it to scissor and collapse under him. The man starts to turn, but he is slow enough that Swan's fingers snake into his hair, exposing his throat. She then pistons her fist into his larynx, stifling his scream.

The man crumples under this onslaught, just in time to see the second man, reacting. He too has produced a knife, and he is fast enough to get a slice of the knife in. Swan mostly dodges the blade, taking a shallow cut to the forearm before being able to get out of the way of the steel blade.

His back, for the moment, is to Alex and Cazaril as he faces off against Swan.

Actions?

Swan makes no sound as the blade passes through her flesh. Nor does she show a hint of respect, even though she's impressed with the man's speed. A sly smile parts her lips as she retreats, ignoring the wet trickle of blood coating her arm. She could just shoot the guy, but decides to savor the moment. It isn't often she gets to have some real fun.

Cazaril puts a hand on Alex's arm and watches.

Once she gains a better footing, Swan appears to loosen her defense. Having already given her assailant the psychological advantage by retreating, she hopes to coax him into an attack.

The man hesitates a moment, perhaps smelling a trap. He finally takes the initiative, with a sloping lunge of the knife. Swan's response is to sidestep it, and catch herself between his chest and the blade. Her left hand clamps around his wrist, with a nailed thumb on a pressure point. The other hand reaches for the man's throat. He manages to avoid the first grab at his throat, swinging his head to bat away Swan's hand. Swan's second attempt is far more successful, and she lifts him off of his feet. The man gives off a gurgled moan in response.

Face-to-face, Swan provides him a demure smile. "I only need one of you alive. Which one are you going to be?"

"A...A...live." he finally gasps. "P...pl...please."

Swan twists his wrist until the knife tumbles from his fingers. "That's a rate choice, Gee," she smiles. "But you try n' chisel me and I start cutting off pieces. Important pieces."

Swan lowers him to the ground, changing stances to lock him in an armbar. But at least he can breathe now. She casts a glance over at Caz and Alex, motioning with her head for them to skedaddle over. Cazaril whispers something in Alex's ear, and the two of them approach slowly and carefully.

When they get moving, she yanks the man's arm painfully. "Who sent you, Gee? And remember, this arm can come off."

The man curses in some foreign language as Swan yanks the arm. It takes him a moment or two more to begin speaking.

"I...I work...work for his high...highness, the Vizier of Akhiqar, may he have scorpions in his trousers for sending me to pursue the three of you." the man finally spits out.

Caz steeples his fingers together. "A local, or claims to be." he says to Swan.

Swan raises a brow. "So you're button men for this wrong number, the Vizier. Got it. But why did he send a pair of weak sisters after us? What the hell does he care about two birds and an Abercrombie?" "I...I...don't understand your words." he says in a complaining tone."

She yanks the man up, so that he's staring directly at Caz. "And make me believe. 'Cause if you think I'm bad. You don't even want to get my friend over there angry."

Caz just smiles slightly. "I might not be a trained Neuromancer, but I am sure I could, if I was angry, gain some information in a most unpleasant fashion." Swan can see his eye color change to dark, deep pits that look like two gates to an infinite black void into which her prey could be dropped into, forever.

Swan instinctively shivers, wondering—and not for the first time—just who, or better /what/, her patron actually was.

Alex looks curiously at her cousin and then smiles, regarding Swan and her prey.

"His...his highness." the man stammers, closing his eyes so that he can't stare into Caz's. "has,,,has,,,powers d.d...dark and arcane." He is sweating, pale as he continues in a stammering fashion. "He felt the presence of men and women who did not belong here. He sent me and Alkuhl here to follow the three of you and discover your business in the city. Bring you to the Palace if deemed needful."

Swan glances over at Caz, "This highbinder sounds like one of yours, Caz. No offense, but you do fit the dark and arcane bill. Should we fit these two with Chicago overcoats and pay this vizier a visit. Or just send this one back with a message? It's you're call boss."

Caz steeples his fingers together for a few moments. His eyes look hard at the man. Alex looks slightly nervous, more familiar with Caz's body language and train of thought.

The man in Swan's grasp struggles slightly as he opens his eyes briefly to see Caz's dark eyes.

Finally, Cazaril smiles and shakes his head.

"We'll do the best of both worlds, I think. Our friend has not yet arrived in the City, and it would not do to have her arrival be spoiled by misunderstandings such as this."

"Is the second one dead?" Caz asks Swan. "We only need one as an entreaty to take with us to see this Vizier."

Swan pushes her new play-mate into the wall, holding him by the scruff of the neck. As spectral glow burns around her free hand as she summons Munin into existence.

"No..no..." the man held in Swan's grasp pleads.

The rune pistol barks sharply and the prone man's head does a pretty convincing impression of a Jackson Pollock painting across the flagstones. She dispels the pistol back to the aether before turning her gaze on Caz.

Alex looks a little surprised and a little pale. Cazaril's expression is cool, collected and perhaps even a little proud of Swan's efficiency. He gives a nod and smile to her.

"Well if he wasn't, he's dead now," she says. "Shall we breeze and get a slant at this hinky vizier? Or can I pop this little gunsel in the melon right now and say screw it to the whole deal?"

She squeezes the man's neck, "I vote the latter."

The man gurgles, unable to articulate anything more than a babble of sounds. Cazaril seems to take his time considering this. He walks toward Swan and the man. Swan can feel the stirrings of power, that uncomfortable power as he takes measured steps in approach.

"Or *I* could kill him. Your way would end his suffering quickly." Cazaril says. "Mine would be slower, much slower. I bet I could reach Lord Mandor's special hells from here. I could drop this man into a realm of torment that would last a hundred years before the spells in the realm would let him die." The man in Swan's grasp is sweating profusely.

Cazaril now stands in front of Swan and the man. Alex has taken to being lookout in the meantime.

"Hmmm...what do you think, Swan?" Cazaril says. "I send him to the vale of the Poison Geysers, the Cavern of the Boreworms...or perhaps he will cooperate and bring us to the Vizier without complaint? Or you just be even kinder and just shoot him." Caz allows his hand to casually run through Swan's hair behind her ear. The man pleads, blubbering.

Swan closes her eyes as Caz touches her, causing an electric shiver to pass through her body. She leans into his hand, almost like a cat seeking attention. His soothing voice mixes with her prey's terror until they become a sensual music that sings in her ears and quickens her pulse. The sharpness of cordite and copper and bowel pricks her nostrils with that alluring perfume of death she craves. The Bloodlust soon has her in its teeth, biting deep, biting to the bone. Her grip instinctively tightens on the man's neck. Just a twist, just a little more pressure and she'll have that intimate release she so desperately needs.

And the man seems to know it, deep within him, that this moment could be his last. There is the scent of fear, and piss and death about him.

But Reason—wretched Reason—breaks through the burning need and stays her hand before anything vital breaks.

She lets the would-be assassin go and turns her wild gaze on Caz. For an instant, it is impossible to tell if she wants to kill him or screw him. Finally, she brushes past him, "I ain't ever been kind, Caz. If he tries to grift us. He's yours. Until then, he's our meat." "All right." Caz says with a nod. "Agreed." The predatory, deadliness around him seems to diminish and recede.

Swan takes out a cigarette and lights it up with a shaking hand. She takes a heady drag of cloves, letting the bitter smoke burn her lungs and throat until the other Fire within is but an ember.

Alex gives Swan about half of the cigarette, or about most of the Fire gone within her, before she moves to stand beside Swan. With infinite slowness, her hand reaches for Swan's free one, to gently but firmly clasp in her own.

Swan gazes into Alex's eyes, a sadness lurking there. She takes the offered hand, lacing their fingers together. "I'm sorry you had to see that part of me, doll." She leans in close to her companion, lightly kissing Alex's cheek and neck. The scent of freshly washed skin steadies her, calms her, and reins in the beast screaming within her heart. She touches her forehead to Alex's and chuckles mirthlessly.

"But I'm glad you're here."

"So am I" Alex says, in a whisper, the hand firmly in Swan's as she breathes softly in and out. "So am I."

In the meantime, in the foreground, Caz speaks in a low voice to the man. Finally, the Sawall looks up and at Swan and Alex. "Are we ready?"

Swan glances up and nods. She takes another hit from her gasper and steps away from Alex. "Right as rain, Caz. Let's beat feet."

"Good." Swan feels the alien power of the Logrus rise again in Cazaril, and the man begins moving forward. Its clear the first few steps are not of his own entire volition. However,after a half dozen, he begins moving with less of the motion of a marionette and with a more natural movement.

"Logrus tendril." Alex whispers to Swan.

Swan narrows her eyes at this curious display of power. "You Chaosians sure are a hinky lot. But you're good in a jam, I'll give you that." She pats Alex on the backside and then follows Caz 'Henson' and his new Muppet down the street."You have to be able to change your shape to learn to do that." Alex says quietly to Swan.

"Chickie, if I learn how to shift, I won't be growin' no tendril," Swan smirks. "That's what a kisser and flicker is for." She rolls her tongue provocatively and then nips Alex's neck playfully.

Alex relaxes her tension at Swan's playful touch.

The man, and Cazaril lead Alex and Swan through the city. With the man leading the way, and the determined, hard look on Caz's face, people get out of the way, and go out of their way to not be in the path of the progress. Tight, narrow streets give way to a grand boulevard of two roads with a line of palms down the center, casting shadows across both causeways. This boulevard heads toward a large complex. Behind a cyclopean wall rises a large building that towers over the wall, and the immediate city, an edifice of squared off sandstone.

Its clearly looks like a palace or some seat of government, given its pride of position in the center of this city.

The man seems to be heading toward not the main entrance, but a side gate in the selfsame wall.

Swan gazes up at the imposing building, puffing out blue smoke. "Huh. I think our host is trying to make up for something, 'cause he's got one serious edifice complex." She gives Alex a wry smile. "I'll bet it makes pretty fragments if you did a soup job on it. So keep your toys ready, sweetheart."

Alex grins widely.

Swan moves in closer to Caz, "Is this going to be a straight meet and greet or is going to be a palace-sneak?" "If this is really just a local problem, then I am confident that even if we are swarmed, we can extricate ourselves." Caz replies. With an invisible jerk of the unseen tendril, the man picks up his pace slightly.

"So, my thought is that we play this straight, and if we mislike the situation, then we can lay waste to our black hearts content."

Swan pouts, "But can't we just skip the formalities and get down to the ultraviolence?" She takes another puff on her gasper, her lips curled in a feline grin. After a second, she jerks a nod for them to keep on the beaten path.

Cazaril replies with a brief smile.

At this point, the man has reached the side entrance and is talking with the guards. He points back at Cazaril, Swan and Alex. With scowls, the guards motion for the trio to follow the man inside the narrow entrance to the gardens that lay beyond.

"Keep watch" Cazaril says lowly. "Just in case our friend here decides to be suicidal."

"You're the egg and butter man, Caz," Swan says. "Whether you want to Broderick or bunco it, don't pull my knickers either way. I'm up for a grift or a gashouse. But until further notice, you're our mouthpiece, jakeloo? This high pillow probably doesn't look kindly on skirts with attitudes."

"Or gentlemen for that matter." Caz replies. "If things go wrong, you and Alex will be the first to know." Swan moves closer to Caz, strutting across the flagstones with unapologetic menace. She winks at one of the guards as she passes by. "I got no kick with the staff though. Grand Poobah keeps them fed well."

The nameless minion of the Vizier continues to move forward, past guards, and across a lush garden, dotted with date palms and other subtropical trees that provide a dappled chessboard of shadow across the greensward. A couple of fountains also stand out as landmarks.

In a manner analogous to going to the side entrance of the compound itself, the man does not seem to be leading the group to the main entrance to the palace building, but rather veers toward the side of the edifice, to a smaller entrance.

These guards allow the man, and Swan's group, to enter without molestation, and now within the narrow passages, the steps of the man are slower and slower, as if they are carrying him, Swan, Caz and Alex toward a doom.

Swan glances around as Meat Puppet—soon to be Meat Shield—leads them through the extensive building. She studies the architecture and lay-out with a predator's eye, scanning for ambush points and escape routes. As tempting as putting a hole in the world with one of Alex's toy may have been, she's aware of the potential complications it might bring down on them. Better to have Plans C, D, and E ready just, in case the meeting turns gashouse.

The Palace is not designed as a fortress. Swan's tactical eye sees that immediately, and surely Cazaril and Alex see it too. Aside from the limited entry points, the place is a mess of cover, places to hide and so forth. Guards are common, but Swan can see several ways that if she were in the business, she could improve their distribution.

Just before they reached their final destination, Swan undoes her top buttons to provide better view of her other Twins. Hopefully, they'd be a good distraction for Lord Edifice. A harlot appeared far less threatening than a heavy.

The man leads the group through the corridors, and up a small, narrow, spiral staircase. He seems to hesitate a moment halfway up the stairs, as if reconsidering or regretting the chain of decisions that led to this point. A gesture of Caz's right hand, though, sets him in motion again to the top of the stair, and its one egress point, a heavy door bound with iron and bronze.

The man knocks on it, three times, in a leaden motion. "Come in, Azakel" comes the voice of a voice laden with sibilants. "And bring your friends too. Especially the pretty one."

Alex looks quizzically at Swan. "You or me?"

Swan smirks at Alex, "I think he means Caz."

Alex barely suppresses a giggle. Caz doesn't respond to the bait.

Cazaril cages his fingers together and has a hard look on his face as the door opens. The chamber beyond is dimly lit by a single high window in the back of the room. The shaft of light from the window falls onto the floor. Into this spot, theatrically, a robed figure with pale skin and red eyes strides into view, walking with a staff crowned with a serpent on its head.

"Come in, all of you." he repeats.

Swan smiles around her gasper, trailing a cloud of smoke as she enters the room. She glances around and quirks a discerning brow. "Cobra Commander has a touch of the dramatics," she says offhandedly to her companion. Despite her jovial nature, however, she remains alert and attentive to the shadows; of which there are far too many for her liking.

She strides across the flagstones and comes to a sharp halt. Another puff of smoke escapes her upturned nose. "You rang?" she says, staring into those red eyes.

Alex moves to stand at Swan's left. Caz has Swan's right. He gives a slight nod of the head in Swan's direction since she has spoken first. and then looks at the hooded figure.

Azakel moves as quickly as he can without running to the side of the man, and then behind him.

He unveils his cloak, to reveal that in addition to those red eyes, he is fair haired, fairer than any blonde Swan has ever seen. In point of fact, he looks as much like an albino as anything else.

"I did." he says. "I am Waris, Vizier to Jaladin, Pasha of this city. I look into matters that most do not wish to engage."

"Why do Efreeti such as you tread in my city?"

Caz starts to speak in response, and Loris thrusts the butt of his staff against the stone in response before Caz can get more than a syllable out. "Not you. I can sense the dissembling that will come from your tongue."

Waris tilts the snake-headed staff toward Swan even as Caz looks at the Vizier balefully.

"You. You speak strangely but forthrightly."

Unruffled, Swan pauses a moment to light a new gasper off her dying one. She grinds the butt out under her heel. "Well Casper, as old Sol once said, we're placed before you by the Grace of Lord to test if you're grateful or ungrateful. Right now, I'm bettin' on the latter, 'cause only an ungraceful bird would have sent two button men to tail us. It don't take a snooper to know you got the bulge here and a simple buzz would have sufficed. So, if you'd wanted to break bread, a chiv in the back wasn't the way to do it. Hell, it's a sign of my forgiving and gentle nature that I didn't fill that cantaloupe on your shoulders with daylight the moment I walked through this door, savvy?"

"Your words are strange but I take your meaning." Waris replies. He regards Swan, Caz and Alex warily.

She takes another puff on her gasper and pads closer to Waris. "But we're here now and we ain't taking it on the heel and toe anytime soon. So, we can all get along or we can get gashouse right here and now. I know that doesn't answer your question, but I rarely lay it on the line with a man that wiggles their snake at me on the first date."

Swan offers him a lioness' grin, all teeth and dignity. "Truth is we're bindle punks passin' through for the shopping. Once gotten the slant, we'll beat feet. Simple as that. But if you're wantin' some sugar for that right, you and I can work something out I'm sure."

"It would be well for the three of you to be only temporary sojourners in this city that I rule, if not by name." Waris replies. "You speak strangely, have unusual abilities, but you are not the first, or the only effreeti to come beneath my gaze."

To her size, Swan can see Caz widen his eyes slightly at this.

Waris continues to speak. He blinks his eyes slightly.

"Perhaps those who served me were somewhat hasty and impetuous in engaging you in such a manner. For now..." he looks at Swan speculatively and smiles. "let us discuss this matter of sugar, and a few other things." He looks at Caz and Alex and glances at Azakel "*without* our respective companions." Swan doesn't blink, doesn't flinch. She simply nods. "After you, handsome." She doesn't even look back at her companions. After all, they're more than capable of handling themselves in a fight. They knew as well as she that it was better to stand beside the Devil, than in his path.

"Nice digs, you got here, Waris," she says, puffing on her gasper. "Where's your bread and butter come from for them?"

Waris gestures for Swan to proceed him back into the darkness from which he emerged. Back here, in the dark, its now easy to see a second chamber attached to this one. In the semidarkness, Swan's cigarette is one of the few sources of light. There is also a hooded, dim lantern.

Waris sits down in one of the two chairs in this room and gestures for Swan to sit down in another.

Swan sinks into the chair and stretches out. Her eyes scan the room appraisingly. When Waris speaks, her attention returns to him in full.

"To answer your question, being a beloved and trusted advisor to the Pasha is a lucrative position. He pays me well to deal with matters beyond his ken or caring. Of course, being a young man, there are many things that Jaladin has me oversee."

"You will forgive me, of course, but I find that strong light does not suit me well." Waris continues.

"Nothing to forgive, Gee. You and me both," Swan says, crossing her legs. "Most of my negotiations are done in the dark, anyway."

Waris gives a nod.

She takes another hit from her gasper and then blows a few rings into the air. "So, you're the throne's high pillow, huh? Well, you can assure your boss that we ain't here to take a bite out of his apple. We're plain, old wheats in search of a lost lamb, if you will. Just a straight up meet and greet. No chisel, dig? So, sorry if we gave you the crust. We didn't think anyone would notice our stop over."

Swan sniggers, "But you did and here we are, right? So, what can a lowly efreet do for you, Gee? 'Cause a little bird tells me you ain't going to share this little pow-wow with Jaladin."

Waris smiles thinly. "You see a very many things..." he stops and regards Swan. "Forgive me, but it is rare that someone has burrowed this far into my lair without giving me their name. Which is not to say that I necessarily lack it; it would be interesting to hear it from your own lips."

"Because, as you say," the Vizier continues "I am not going to necessarily share this conversation with Jaladin. And you, perhaps, are not going to share it with your companions."

"They're paying me for my shooters, not my sincerity," Swan smiles in return. "And you can call me Swan, Mr. Waris. It's as good a name as any other I've got."

She taps the ashes from her gasper before continuing. "Before we get to it, I won't con my clients, no matter the cush. I do have some scruples. Besides the girlie makes me smile. So, if you plan to grift them, I'll beat feet right now."

Swan leans back in the chair, "That said, I'm a freelancer. And a hungry one at that. What's your poison?"

"I am loyal to my tribe, to my lord, to my city...Swan." he says. "I was born here. I shall die here." Waris says. "Visitors from other cities, other kingdoms, and other worlds." he looks at Swan with a hard look "may come and visit my city, but I allow none of them to disturb it."

"You say that you are loyal to your two companions." Waris replies. "I can accept that. What I wish to know, Swan, is this. Are you as loyal to them as you are to the other Efreet who have co very recently come to my city as well?"

Swan idly taps the ashes from the end of her gasper. "Depends on the Efreet, Waris. If it's a confused, young chippie, then she's our meat. We'll brace her and dust. No more worries for you. But if it's a pack of trouble boys, then you and I are both in a jam. So, I guess it all depends on what the wire is on these other Efreets. "

She gives a thin smile, "And what you're willing to pay me to 'banish' them from your city."

Waris smiles thinly in return. "And there we come to the crux of it, Swan. For you see, the other Efreet in my city do not include a confused young girl. A pack of trouble boys is a more apt description."

"But here's the thing, Swan." his eyes stare at her like a serpent's. "They have already offered *me* payment...to report to them if any should come inquiring about a young woman, or the appearance of the woman herself."

"Ay, there's the rub, Waris," Swan replies, jerking a nod. "Normally at this point in our relationship, I'd use my winning smile, a couple of razors, and a little bleach to find out who these trouble boys are from you. But the fact you've given me the wire on their presence at all gives me pause. That and I sorta like this whole Lugosi-thing you got goin'. So, I ask myself, 'why'd he do that, Swan?' And thus asking, many possibilities present themselves.

Waris listens attentively, his fingers curling around his staff.

"Maybe they ain't offering enough cabbage for you to drop a dime on us and you think squeeze us for more. Maybe you're just barbering with me long enough for them to get here and go gashouse on us. Maybe you just want to glom which way the wind is blowin' before you make up your mind. Or maybe they've got you behind the eight-ball and you're rollin' the hard six by chinning with me."

Swan's gasper sparks its last between her lips. She leans forward like a crouching tigress. "Either way, it's best you spill your guts before I do. What do you need from me and what do you know about the frail?" She bats her ravishing eyelashes with sociopathic demureness.

"What I need is for you to eliminate them as a problem." Waris says, staring right back. "I mislike being threatened, bullied, or even worse, treated as inconsequential. Your counterparts have done all three, with enough of a display of arcane magic to allow me to use a little judicious discretion in my dealings."

"If you and your two friends could, as you say, go gashouse on your fellow efreeti, and remove yourselves from my city, that would be best." Waris continues. "As far as their quarry, and seemingly yours, all I know is that she is a swordswoman from the North, with coloration similar to the young woman who accompanies you. She's apparently eluded them once already."

"They are ensconced near the docks, awaiting a ship. They are certain that the swordswoman is coming here in that manner." Waris finishes.

Swan sits up and nods politely. "Then you just bought yourself a shooter, Mr. Waris," she announces with a smile. "And forgive my rough manner. I needed to know if you were on the square. Not to mention, I don't take too kindly to getting chived this early in the day. But, until further notice you and I are even-steven and I'm your lady."

She pulls out her deck of Kreteks and plucks a new gasper out before offering one to Waris.

With a wrinkling of his nose, the Vizier shakes his head with a definitive refusal.

A touch of match and a sigh later, Swan blows out a delicate smoke ring. "I'll keep my friends in check and keep this on the down-low. You'll be free of your problem by next morning. We'll hang until our chippie arrives, of course. But after that, we're a bad memory."

Swan stands up, only to sit down again on the desk's edge. "Now, is there anything else this lowly Efeerti can do for you, Mr. Waris?" The Vizier looks up at Swan. "I think I know what you may be offering. However, it would be against the teachings of the Infinite One, he who is endlessly reflected in mirrors, for such a mixing to take place."

He strokes the head of his staff again. "No, freedom from the Efreet who plague my city, and your promise never to return yourselves is all what you can do."

"And I think your own self opinion is much more than solely a lowly Efreeti." Waris adds wryly.

Swan blows a ring of smoke into the air with a snort. "Wow. An egg with morals," she chuckles. "I knew if I lived long enough, I'd finally meet one. Don't smoke or drink either, I gather. Huh. That's downright hinky. But I sorta like it."

"Alcohol is forbidden by the tenets of the Infinite One." Waris replies."The smoking of herbal mixtures is not."

She hops up and smoothes her blouse. "Well then, unless there's something else, I'm going to make like a baby and head out. A pleasure jawing with you, Vizier. You got a good head on those shoulders. Observant and polite. Pity we can't do business in the future. But then, the world is full of disappointments, am I right?"

"This world was not created for our pleasure." Waris says wryly. "I can say nothing of yours. Good hunting, Swan."

"And good on you, Waris," Swan replies. "We won't meet again. You can take that to the bank."

She saunters toward the exit, in search of her companions. Alex and Caz are at the edge of the first room, looking warily at the entrance to the back room that Swan had her deliberations with Waris. A look of relief crosses Alex's face. Cazaril's expression, wary, softens a bit.

"We didn't hear you kill him." Caz says. "We assumed this meant negotiations were at least amicable."

Swan smirks and blows out another smoke ring, "I don't always burn powder when I fog someone, Caz. Sometimes I purr instead of roar. But you're right. It's all eggs in the coffee. Waris is a right gee. Just doesn't take kindly to Shadow-walkers doing a gooseberry lay in his backyard."

"Not all shadow-dwellers are ignorant of visitors to their worlds." Cazaril says thoughtfully.

She slips her arms around Alex's waist from behind, resting her chin on the woman's shoulder as she speaks. "Your Brunos have a scatter in the docks area, waitin' on your chippie. Apparently she's comin' in on a boat. And comin' in sometimes soon from the sound of it. We're to send our fellow efeerti off to the Big Sleep, snatch the girl, and gate as soon as we can." She nips Alex's neck playfully.

Alex moves slightly backward against Swan, a hand curling around her and Swan both. "Sounds pretty simple to me." "Simple as blowing up their headquarters, with them inside." Alex says, looking over to Caz.

Swan lightly kisses the curve between Alex's throat and shoulder, purring happily. "Mrmm, when you jaw like that, Doll, it makes me hotter than an Eskimo's crotch in a New Orleans heat-wave. I'd like nothing more for you to turn this into a soup job. But I promised Waris that we'd keep this low-key."

Alex's delight turns to an almost pouty disappointed, mediated and moderated by Swan's touch.

Cazaril gives a head nod. "Let's discuss this outside of the aegis of the Vizier."

"Oh, and our so called guide left the room while you were gone. Almost as if he were controlled or compelled to do so." Caz adds, starting motion toward the doorway.

"It was wicked, like something out of a zombie movie!" Alex chirps, moving forward but offering Swan a hand like a tether to follow.

Swan follows in tow, fingers linked with Alex's. "He's definitely got the goods, Caz," she says. "Although I think his juice is in his staff. He seemed mighty fond of it."

She glances back the way they've come, measuring out a safe distance before speaking more freely.

The group is soon out of the palace, and striding across the grounds toward the small entrance they had been led to in the first place.

"We need to be sharpers on this on this. Really silent like. I think this shadow's butter and eggs man would look poorly on his pet Abercrombie if a pack of efreeti started tearing up the place."

She puffs on her gasper and shrugs, "Frankly, I could give two $^%#s, but I gave him what vaguely resembles my Word that we wouldn't torch the city."

Caz slows and gives Swan a serious look. "If you gave your Word, you should be held to it." he says with a nod. "Failure to hold up your Word, even to a shadow dweller, is dishonorable, where I am from. Your side of the universe seems to think differently about honor, as witness the fate of Duke Borel."

"Duke Borel?" Alex asks.

"Yes" Cazaril says. "He was killed in a most dishonorable fashion during a formal challenge given to one of the family of Amber." He shakes his head,

"In any event, you gave your Word not to disrupt the city overmuch, and while I am not bound to your Word, Alex and I would bring dishonor on you, Swan, if we were to simply blow up this city."

Alex sighs with disappointment and tightens her grip on Swan's hand as the group passes through the little gate and back into the city proper.

Swan squeezes back and playfully begins to swing their shared arms, as if they were two school girls off to class rather than two homicidal vixens heading into another bloodbath.

"Cheer up, Doll. You'll get to do this up-close and personal like. It's oh so much more satisfying," she chimes.

Her eyes fall on Caz's back, "So boss. If the Big Bang is out, what else zotzes hombres? You two mix it up pretty rate, so I'm assuming these guys can too."

"The way to kill an enemy in the Courts is with extreme prejudice and attention to detail." Cazaril says. "Knowledge of what their strengths and weaknesses are would be useful. How good of a shapeshifter are they? Do they have any bloodlines which have Flaws which might be exploited? Do they have personality quirks to be exploited?"

"Finding and utilizing this information is the key to defeating an opponent, or opponents, from the Courts." Caz continues.

"Sounds like going to school." Alex says.

"Unless, of course, one simply just uses the element of surprise." Caz offers. "That doesn't work unless you're severely underestimated."

Swan puffs on her gasper, "'Lex, if you're going to be a professional trigger girl, you gotta learn to be half-dick and half-Abercrombie. Sometimes I watch a target for weeks, learning their schedule, their interests. And when they least expect it. BAM! The Big Sleep. It's pure murder, Doll."

Alex's eyes widen slightly, and she nods.

She shrugs, "But since we're short on time, we need to go old school. Lure them out into the open."

[Swan's] smoky eyes slither over Alex for a moment before a sly grin curls her lips. "Hey, Caz. You think our tomato here could pass for your chippie, if we do her up right?"

Cazaril steps away from Alex and Swan for a moment, taking a few paces into the small square that the three of them have reached. He scratches his chin. "We find a straight sword, a hat, and perhaps some makeup, and they might think its Dara's daughter. We are blessed that Alex is already of a similar bloodline. I think its possible." Caz looks at Swan. What's your plan?"

Alex opens her jaw in surprise, and then she smiles in delight. "I still get to mix it up when the time comes, right?" She gives a hopeful look to Swan.

Swan leans in to lightly kiss Alex's lips, "You can take that to the bank, Doll. 'Cause you'll be in the thick of it."

Her eyes met Caz, growing serious. "After Waris gave me the lowdown on these goons, I got to thinkin' that they've got my balls than brains. They're bully-boys, plain and simple. So if we put out bait out in the open, say on the docks, dollars to donuts they'll make a grab for her. Either they'll come out in force and we net them all there and then. Or we leave one of them alive so you can do your noodle ju-ju on them.

"I'd prefer someone to interrogate." Caz replies and then lets Swan continue.

"We pick a location we can control and cover. Nice rooftops, few street exits. Probably a fish market or the like. Then 'Lex wanders around like a lost lamb, playing up the o'woe-is-me shtick. Eventually, they'll pop their mugs out and try to snatch her. Then I start popping tops with that little bean-shooter you gave me. I'm thinking you can be on the ground floor, Caz, doing crowd control and making sure our fish don't get away."

She flicks her gasper away, "If things go right, we net them all nice and clean. If not… well, then we can track 'Lex more easily than this chippie we've never met. And something tells me, my Puddin' here will make sure to leave one hell of a bread-crumb trail."

"Kicking and screaming all the way." Alex says with a grin.

Cazaril scratches his chin. "Your plan is a good one in principle. I'd rather get the entire nest in one shot, though. This is what I propose as an alteration to your plan, Swan."

"We set Alex loose as you say, to draw out the Jesbys. You and I start reacting, but we're going to let them win and grab Alex. They'll want her alive, not dead."

Alex's eyes look alarmed by this, but Caz holds up a hand.

"Hear me out. We let them withdraw with Alex, and then follow. We can then pursue them to their lair, and wipe out the lot."

"Less bloodshed on the sheets would make your new sweet father Waris happier, eh, Swan?" Caz says to her. He shakes his head. "Sugar daddy, I meant, not sweet father. Your patois is difficult to translate."

"Waris is my Mr. Johnston, my Eggs and Butter man," Swan chuckles and sashays up to Caz. Her lips find his earlobe and plant a light kiss there. "You're my Sugar Daddy."

She wraps her arms around his waist, gazing at Alex over his shoulder. Alex smiles slightly in response and nods. In response, Caz twines a single arm around Swan. Fingers dangle just above what might be considered an impropriety.

Swan rests her chin on Caz's his shoulder, smiling pleasantly at his apparent display of affection.

"Hazards of the babelfish spell." Caz replies. "I can understand your patois well, but it doesn't allow me to speak it well." he says. Swan kisses his ear again and chuckles, "I've had a century to glom the slang, Caz. After a few decades with me, you'll be eggs in coffee."

"Your plan is rate, Caz. Avoids the mess on the streets and gets us a face-to-face with the head baddie. Just as long as we can keep our peepers on 'Lex, I'm down with it. But if they hurt one hair on her pretty head, you'll have to get the low-down from the itty-bitty pieces I leave behind, saavy?"

Alex grins in response to this. Cazaril smiles slightly.

"I am certain we will be able to follow you." Caz says to Alex. "I am going to use a small enchantment on you that I can trace and track. In the melee of snatching you,they won't see the spell, much less dispel it."

"All right." Alex says confidently.

Cazaril then looks at Swan "the spell is strictly a secondary measure, however. I fully intend and expect that we will track them by more mundane means."

"And..." his eyes briefly change color to a crimson red. "any harm to Jurt's daughter would result in a rather unpleasant set of consequences for the Jesbys and their allies." Caz finishes.

"Good to hear, Caz," Swan says, releasing him from her nuzzlings. "My girl is pretty important to me."

She smoothes her skirt, "Alrighty then. Let's get her dolled up and put the meat on a stick, shall we? I've got a hankering for some ultraviolence. I want to see how these Jesbys croak."

Swan skips over to Alex and takes her hand, "Okay. Let's get your clothes off." "Here?!" Alex replies, disbelieving, gesturing to the small square at large.

"I don't think Swan meant this moment and in the open" Cazaril replies.

"Don't make assumptions," Swan smirks.

He looks at Swan. "If we're going to do this the mundane way, we'll probably want a spot to do it in relative privacy. He gestures to a small residential building of white sandstone nearby. "That one looks pretty quiet, or could be made to be quiet."

Cazaril starts walking toward it, gesturing for Swan and Alex to follow. He pitches his voice as he reaches the entrance, which, as he expected, is quiet and deserted. "Besides clothes, what else do you think we need, Swan? The base of this op is your idea." Swan lights up another gasper, puffing away as they walk. "At least one or more concealed weapons," she says. "If things go south, 'Lex'll need some heat to cool things off. Not too obvious, of course. She should also be carrying a pig-sticker. We don't want this to be too easy for them." Lex nods. "Weapons, and not the explosive kind."

Alex nearly completely keeps from pouting.

She glances at their surroundings and nods, "Yep. This'll do just fine."

Swan turns her gaze on Alex, "You're sure you want to do this, doll? I can slip into a corset as easy as you."

Alex looks around at the small room in the building. She then looks at Swan and Cazaril. "Positive." Her eyes are bright. "Let's get me undressed."

Cazaril nods and looks at Swan. "You start that, I will get started on pulling things in."

"And some kind of mesh-armor," Swan adds. "If you can go all sci-fi with the bean-shooters, can you grift us something that'll stop a bullet? If we go all Chicago-style, Lex may catch some lead."

"Armor." Cazaril furrows his eyebrows. "I'll see what I find."

She smiles at her lover, "Not to worry, Doll. I'm a killer shot. Just being a mother-hen."

"It's the others that I am concerned about." Alex replies. "You won't miss, but they might hit *me*...even by accident."

When Caz steps outside, Swan begins helping Alex out of her clothes, pausing once to kiss the woman's bare back and shoulders. A grumble escapes her as she slides her hands around Alex's waist. They drift lower before coming to an abrupt halt. "No time, no time. Dammit," she chided herself. "You'd better come back in one piece, Lex. 'Cause we're taking a week to get to really know each other after this is said and done. All private and screamy like."

"You and Cazaril are going to make sure I come back in one piece." Alex says confidently. Her hands briefly reach around to clasp Swan's, frozen in their progress.

"And so I will I make sure. As for what happens after we find and free my cousin or whatever she is, I'm sure we'll find time."

Alex turns, pivots and begins slipping off her clothes. Her voice is more secure and certain. "We'll *make* time."

"I can't wait," Swan purrs. Her eyes study the girl for a moment, a silent resolve clouding her features.

Even though he is off in another room in this providentially empty building, Cazaril's efforts, even unseen, engender that strange creepy feeling in Swan, and to a lesser extent, Alex.

Swan groans as her stomach churns like it has just returned from a two week bender in the DogFenn's with some oozing disease from a faceless hussy. "God-$%^#, what the bubble-butted %^$# is that?" Swan curses, shaking off the nauseous sensation. "I swear that boy-o is a rate charmer, but that evil mojo of his makes my nips twist."

A smirk blossoms as she a long finger down the smooth flesh between Alex's breasts, "You'd better keep that crap in check when we start going steady. That is unless you can't waggle the tendril to begin with."

Alex shakes her head, bending her neck back at Swan's finger.

"I can't waggle the tendril...yet. On our trip, Cazaril explained a lot about what he does and how he does it. I have to learn to change my shape first, before walking the Logrus. Or so Cazaril said. That's what he is using." Alex explains helpfully.

Alex sobers and looks thoughful. "Caz said that not many try to walk the Logrus and not all survive. Which means that some of the Jesby's we face will be able to do it too."

"Can't you use your Pattern against it?" she asks.

Swan pauses at this, "Well, ain't ever had the opportunity, so can't say either way, doll. I've just used it to skip town mostly."

She starts collecting Alex's clothes. "Dad once said about pulling it up in your head to keep out the nastiness. And if my guts go gashouse every time Caz pulls his trick, you gotta wonder if it wouldn't work the other way around. We should give her a go when he gets back." Swan finishes folding the clothes and smirks, "We'd better warn him first, don't you think?" Alex smirks back. "Yes, we should warn Cazaril before trying that stunt. " She pauses a moment and then adds. "Probably. We wouldn't want to shock him or have anything untoward happen to him. Especially if he is covering my back..." Alex peeks behind her shoulder "and yours."

"Now." Alex adds brightly. "What's our next step?"

Swan sets her hands on Alex's bare shoulders, "First, we strap you into something more lady-like and paint you up like a lost lamb. Gotta be tempting enough for them to nab you. But first, I need to ask. . . how are your gashouse skills, doll? They might take your toys from you, so you'll need to get close and personal."

Alex regards Swan for a moment. "Not as polished as Cazaril might like." she says reluctantly. "I've always relied on my Nitro-9, and never really needed it. "My cousin, though, has told me that I have to learn how to use weapons in the Courts. So we did a bit of practicing while on the train."

She shrugs. "He was happy with my progress."

"Well, as much as I want you handing out Harlem Sunsets," Swan says stepping away, "I want to be wise to your chin music. A shiv can be snatched. Mitts can't."

She fell into a loose stance and gestures for Alex to approach her.

Alex blinks uncertainly for a moment, and then enlightenment reaches her eyes. She nods and slowly approaches.

"First thing when dealing with palookas is to remember they have the advantage of upper body strength. Don't dance with them or they'll eventually get their paws on you. And if they're like you and Caz, they're gonna be hard, right? A few smacks aren't gonna put them down. So, when he grabs you, I want you to do a stay chilly and grab his thumb like this. Yank that and he's going to be girlie screaming. Then twist and use the torque of your body to do the rest. Give it a go."

Swan demonstrates the move a few times with Alex until she's satisfied that any attacker is going to end up crippled. For all of her protestations, Alex is a fast learner. In point of fact, this demonstration gives Swan an opportunity to assess Alex's raw talent, compared to hers.

In terms of martial arts, Swan is clearly a couple of ranks better than Alex. Her grasp at picking up the move, though, suggests that when it comes to the arts of War, Alex is a much closer match, although Swan feels that she can still 'take' Alex in a fight.

"If he doesn't go for a ride off the bat, you can strike him like this or this to encourage him to let go. But most important. No matter how hard a trigger man is, his eyes are still jelly. Thumbs can make short work of a pair of peepers, I guarantee. You just have to be willing to get some squishy crap on your hands. Savvy?"

"Savvy." Alex says with a nod. "You want me to go for the vulnerable spots in a tangle. Perhaps..." Alex looks in the direction that Cazaril disappeared in. "we should ask Caz if these guys have male parts."

"Hurting those would be in your playbook too, wouldn't it?"

"As my uncle once said, this isn't the Olympics," Swan smirks. "In my book, ripping a gink's nards off and beating him to death with them is perfectly acceptable and even encouraged."

Alex's eyes widens slightly.

Swan touches her forehead to Alex's, her lips seeking the intimate warmth of a kiss. A low growl escapes her, "Damn. I'm all heated up and we gotta beat feet. Always the way."

Alex, finishing the kiss and pulling back, pouts in mutual agreement with Swan's sentiment.

She runs her hand down Alex's belly and then drifts away, heading for the door. "Let's get you dressed up and talk to Caz about naughty bits, shall we?"

"Dress me up!" Alex says enthusiastically, following Swan. "I'm all yours."

"It like the sound of that," Swan chuckles. She takes a moment to retrieve the new outfit from Caz and then gets to work on disguising Alex. If anything, she's rather fastidious with the whole process, making certain her companion stands out against the crowd, yet appears to be blending into the background. It takes a careful balance, but she's done it a dozen times before herself. "Just remember when you're beating feet, if they have heat or a shiv, take it from them. Even if you don't need it. 'Cause darlin', you'll always need metal when you least expect it. Savvy?"

"Yes" Alex says with a nod.

She has Alex spin around and then nods with some satisfaction. "You look pretty as a picture, doll. I want to snatch you, myself."

Alex grins.

Swan raps on the door, "Ready when you are, Caz."

"Good." Cazaril comes in, and appraises Alex. "This will do very nicely, very nicely indeed, Swan." He paces around Alex with a look and mien that seems to Swan like a cross between an appraiser, and a predatory cat.

He snaps his fingers, and Swan's senses feel something small, brief and arcane come over Alex. She doesn't seem to notice.

"Let's go." Cazaril says.

An hour later, the trap is set.

A market for fish and seafood, not far away from the shore, is the venue picked out for staking Alex. Its not the largest of markets here in the city, its smaller than the market where they tangled with Waris' men. The streets run from here down to the docks, and up into the rest of the city, providing it as a logical venue for someone lost to find themselves in.

There is a three story building with a view of the market that allows Swan a birds eye view of the proceedings. Caz is on the ground, pretending to be a patron of the market.

Swan goes about preparing a suitable sniper's nest before settling into her usually prep. The building's worn stones radiate the sun's captured heat up through her body as she lays there, waiting. What little shade there is does little to alleviate this misery. Wiping the sweat from her eyes, she focuses on the market below with keen interest, staring down the rifles sight rather than through the currently-covered scope.

The scene is set.

It takes about thirty minutes of Alex's wanderings to bring a nibble. Swan can see a group of a half dozen men in blue with orange turbans enter the market from the port side and split apart. Like a well timed machine, the men individually start moving toward one goal: the stand where Alex has bought a paper cone of fried fish and is (apparently) obliviously munching it.

Swan smiles faintly, the rifle's dark maw drifting from target to target, setting up her firing sequence. "One, two, three, four, five, six. Oswald was a gink."

Caz is actually out of position, as he is watching the landward side of the market. Its not clear that he has seen that the gambit is paying dividends as yet.

"Damnit, Caz," Swan softly curses. "Open your freakin' peepers."

Her finger twitches on the trigger as her anxiety grows. Another bead of sweat trickles down her brow, adding to the annoyance. This habit of getting close to people has to stop, she realizes. It's affecting her professionalism.

She relaxes her finger off the trigger and waits for them to make their move.

Caz opens up his eyes a half minute before the men seem set to make their move. His reaction is cool as ice. He begins walking toward the fracas slowly and carefully, his head slowly turning about in his progress to take in a ground-level view of the proceedings.

And then it starts. Two of the six men step forward toward Alex, appearing suddenly, with drawn curved blades. Alex makes a convincing scream, dropping her cone of half-eaten fish.

She starts to put her lessons to use, putting up more than a token resistance with some sweeps, kicks and lunges against the two men, as the four others start to close in.

Swan resists the urge to pop a few of the goons here and now. But exploding craniums are usually taken poorly on the part of people you want to track. Makes them skittish for some reason.

She flips open her sight, keeping it hooded to prevent a telltale reflection. She studies the face of Alex's assailants, burning them into her mind. Once satisfied she can track them, she begins mentally rehearsing routes to follow them by via the rooftops. The great thing about this world's architecture means she can keep a pretty good pace across the relatively flat terrain.

The men assaulting Alex look like men of any men. There are a few telltales here and there, but to Swan's eyes, they look almost a bit too generic, a bit too much the same, either. Each of them has the exact shade of hair, eye and skin color, even if the facial features are not identical.

That's odd, Swan thinks. This family must be /really/ tightly knit.

Finding routes on the rooftops in this district looks like its easy, peasy. Plenty of flat real estate to work with.

Ready to go, Swan takes one last check on Alex, to make certain they're going to grab her, rather than kill her.

Swan's last glimpse of the fight before she gets on the road is the six men starting to dogpile Alex. There is no evidence of blades or anything that suggests that its anything more than a kidnapping.

By the time Swan gets to the rooftop to track the group, the assailants have got Alex, still kicking, carrying her out of the market. A little too close for Swan's taste, she can see Cazaril is stalking the group doggedly. Following along and keeping pace keeps Swan busy. The jumps across the buildings, with few exceptions are trivial for Swan to make.

Swan speeds over the rooftops like a master traceuses, whilst still using her surroundings to keep out of sight. Fortunately, most people never look up in their day-to-day lives, giving her a slight edge at staying hidden. She pauses briefly from time to time, checking her targets before she continues again.

It soon becomes clear that the group's target, as far as Swan can tell, is a tall, four story warehouse on the edge of the fishmonger's district. Sensing their eventual destination, the nimble predator increases her pace to reach the warehouse before they do. Swan's pace can and does increase, as does the difficulty of keeping up with the group. They seem to have quieted Alex enough to continue their own pace. The reasons are only peripherally visible to Swan as she leaps rooftops and races along.

While Caz is still shadowing them closely, Swan sees something else: a group of turbaned men are moving, swords drawn, through the adjoining meat market toward the kidnappers. Their outfits are very similar to the guards that Swan and company saw in the Sultan's Palace.

Swan can make a daring leap to the top of the warehouse as she sees that she is perhaps a minute or so ahead of the kidnappers...and a couple of minutes ahead of Caz and the gendarmes. The smell of fish emanating from the two shacks at the top of the roof provide a pair of possibilities to descend into what is surely a labyrinthine nest of seafood for sale below Swan right now.

Swan curses to herself, any hope of avoiding the Law now in the crapper. Worse yet, the coppers might make the snatchers edgy. A bad thing for 'Lex. Being trapped between a pack of trigger men and sword-wielding coppers was bound to be unhealthy for everyone.

She decides on the leap of faith to the warehouse. She needs to get in there before 'Lex becomes more of liability than bonus. Her nose wrinkles at the bitter stink of fish as she sprints across the rooftop and launches herself through the air. At least, if she messes up, she'll have somewhere to land.

It's a leap of faith, as Swan courses across the gap. There is a shout of surprise below her, either from the guards or the kidnappers, but Swan is a good enough athlete not to screw up the landing.

This is fortunate, for she lands on her feet less than a foot past the edge of the roof of the tall warehouse. There appears to be a ventilation shaft of some sort in the center of this warehouse, not much more than a bare opening in the roof of the stone building. Checking it out, it appears to be a steep sided opening onto, presumably, the fourth floor of the warehouse. Boxes and crates are visible.

There is also a strange light--in fact a faint blue glow, from an source not immediately visible from the skylight.

Swan heads over to the ventilation shaft and peers down. Plenty of cover, but the light gives her pause. "No time like the present," she mutters and swings her body into the shaft and lets gravity do the rest.

The slide down isn't the sweetest ride that Swan has ever had, but the sides of the shaft are relatively smooth, and the shaft is a straight shot down.

Swan draws the Boys the instant she lands, savoring the cool metal on her fingertips. She knows she needs to move and move fast. No telling who say her out there, but she's not taking chances that they'll drop a dime on her. She moves from cover to cover, heading toward the blue light. When she's close enough, she shifts her vision to Muggin's mouth-like barrel to scan the room in Mage Sight.

There is plenty of cover, with the aforementioned crates, storage barrels and other obstacles in the immediate vicinity of the shaft. This is enough for her to move and move quickly toward the blue light. She finally finds a decent spot at the edge of cover to get a good look at what is causing the blue light.

With her ordinary peepers, the blue light appears to be coming from an upright oval ring sitting in an area cleared of boxes. The entire surface of the ring is glowing in that funky blue light, illuminating a half dozen men dressed in clothes of a matching, complemented by orange.

When Swan takes a look at the ring through the barrel of the Raven, the ring resonates strongly of sorcery, much more than if it were simply a fancy illumination device. What sort of sorcery starts to become clear as the empty space of the ring fills with a shimmering wall of water, with a whooshing sound. A seventh man appears to come into the room from the wall of water inside of the ring. He begins to converse quietly with one of the other men standing guard over the Ring. None of the seven seem aware of Swan as yet.

And then distantly, below, three floors down, Swan can hear the sounds of struggle.

Swan mutters an internal curse that could strip paint. Just when she thinks it can't get worse. These hinky guys again! If they get Alex in that swirly whatcha-ma-bob, she's good as dead. Time is far too short. But isn't it always?

Rather than risk letting loose with her cannons and being heard, Swan stalks forward through the clutter of boxes and barrels. A cold resolve comes over her as she tries to get behind the men, so that she'll be between them and the Ring O'Watery Teleport. When she's close enough, she silently draws her pig-sticker and closes the distance in a few quick steps.

Swan stalks up to her jumping off point, and strikes.

The first man is much less skilled than Swan, and even without the benefit of surprise, takes the blow to the neck. Swan's kick of his body toward the others sets off a chain reaction as the rest of the men scramble to react.

Only one of the other six remaining men is caught by the impromptu missile that the stabbed man becomes. He is sent sprawling. against a crate.

The others scramble to react to Swan. One dives for the Ring O'Watery Teleport and just manages to tumble and roll out of Swan's reach and hits the horizon of it and is gone.

A second man trying the same stunt is close enough for Swan to give the long goodnight to with her blade.

Three men still standing, all backing away trying to escape Swan's fury and keep out of her reach, fumbling for small weapons on their wrists. They appear to be some sort of missile weapons of some kind, given that they are trying to aim at the whirling blade and fist combination that is Swan.

"So much for subtle," Swan curses.

Before they can get a bead on her, Swan rushes toward like a crazed valkyrie. Using her sword as an improvised javelin, she spears the farthest man on the right with a hasty throw. But rather than leaping onto the other two, she drops to her knees and allows her momentum to slide through the pools of blood on the floor, arms straight out at her sides. The sudden change in height causes both men to hastily alter their aim.

One takes a shot, a flurry of darts speeding above her head. If Swan had come straight on, the darts would have struck her from forehead to chin.

However, the miss and the necessity of recalibrating their shots allows the Gun-Mage all the times she needs. As she passes between the pair, her Rune Pistols appear in her hands to blow both of them into more manageable pieces.

Using the last of her speed, she rolls onto her feet and checks for survivors.

There is one survivor, the man who had been pinned underneath the first man Swan had killed. He remains very still after Swan's display of carnage, looking at Swan with wide, frightened eyes.

In the meantime, the sounds downstairs have become more urgent, as the sounds of Swan's carnage have not gone unnoticed. It does sound like they will be at least a minute or two in reaching her, however.

Swan stalks over to the man, holstering one of her pistols. With the free hand, she casually tosses the body atop him aside and lifts him up by his collar. The other pistol rams its muzzle into his crotch like a friendly Doberman. "How do I close the gate, gee? And how many people are downstairs? Chop-chop!"

"Serpent's Blood!" the man exclaims, struggling in Swan's grasp, and the threat of her gun in the center of his body. He wriggles like a fish, trying to break free, and not quite having the strength and ability to make a go of it.

"Yo...yo....you can't...close the Gate." he stammers, as he tries to get out of the way of the muzzle of the gun. His response is halting and slow. "It...it takes a s..ss..sorcerer...trained...trained in...P...Porte."

As he looks at the silvered haired Swan, he seems to sense this answer is not satisfactory. He suddenly starts up again.

"Or...or...destruction of the apparatus on the other side. We...we use devices to enhance the sorcerer's r...range."

"I don't...I don't know how many people are downstairs." he then wails. "I just got here. A full..full occupation party is about two d..d..desets. Twenty." he finally stammers.

"Twenty? Eh. Seems nobby odds to me," Swan says, turning him around roughly so she can hold him by the back of the neck. "Now, two things, Gee. One. You move, I snap your neck like toothpick." She gives him a crushing squeeze to let him know she can carry out that threat.

"Yes" the man gasps, once Swan releases the squeeze enough for him to gasp out a response.

She puts her gun away and removes one of Alex's Soup-can from her utility belt. With a happy smile, she clips it onto the gink's backside. "Second, I need you to pass a message to your buddies on the other side. . ."

"Y...Y...yes?"

Swan pauses long enough to kiss his earlobe and whisper, "Screw. Off."

She pulls the pin and unceremoniously heaves the man into the gate like a sack of potatoes.

The man goes flying through the edge of the gate and is gone. Several seconds pass, and then there is a soft sound of drums, through the Gate. And then with a crashing sound, a wave of force exudes from the Gate, knocking Swan to her knees and pushing crates and bodies in its wake.

And when the silver haired, deadly daughter of Caine looks up, her use of Alex's toy on the hapless man has produced the desired result. The Blue Gate is gone.

Swan raps her head to stop the ringing. "Heh. Something tells me that worked," she mutters, then 'yawning' to pop her ears.

Still slightly shaken by the resonance blast, she gingerly rises to her feet and draws her pistols. The world swims around her for a moment before settling back down to relative normalcy. Back in the pink, she hurries toward the stairwell to greet anyone coming up to investigate the creative—if somewhat noisy—usage of hired gumby and high explosives.

Swan can hear people near the stairwell to this floor, and looking down the stairwell as she approaches it, she can see there are several figures there.

And then comes a voice, not from one of the visible figures. It has a mocking tone, almost of laughing madness.

"No, no, we'll let her come down here."

And then the voice pitches upward toward Swan.

"You blew up my Gate, didn't you? You do want to come down here now, I think. Slowly. I'll give you two reasons why, and I don't think we need to name them."

The figures clear backwards from the base of the staircase, offering Swan a clear path.

Swan spins her pistol in her fingers and grumps audible. "Well, if that ain't a cold turd in a Dixie cup, I don't know what is. Guess I have to put on my Keyser Soze thinking cap."

She shrugs and hops casually down the stairs, guns akimbo. "Oh? That was /your/ gate, Bo? Color me sorry. But it didn't match the décor, so I gave it the bum's rush. Call it a simple disagreement in interior design."

The voice laughs.

As she descends, she uses the height advantage to mentally survey the room below, targeting the various ginks she'll have to deal with.

The room below is a squared off open area with more of those boxes and crates, apportioned off by corridors and passages breaking up the larger groups of boxes into smaller ones in a fractal pattern. What concerns Swan would be the dozen individuals on this level.

Bound and on their knees are Alex, and Cazaril. A few of the men, dressed in the same way as the ones Swan killed at the gate have those dart weapons pointed at them.

Standing off to the side and clearly in charge are two figures dressed differently. The woman, blonde, is dressed in a sheath of a dress so deep a color of orange as to be nearly red. The man with short cropped hair is dressed more formally in blue. He gives a slight bow as Swan appears in view.

(Casting Calls: John Simm and Alexandra Moen)

"Well, well, well, isn't this nice." the man says. The woman says nothing, just smiling in a bemused fashion. He speaks in a stage whisper to the woman. "See, my faithful companion? This one can be dealt with."

The man toys with a pen-shaped object a little thicker than a fountain pen and watches Swan as she continues her descent.

"I can't decide." the man says with a wide grin to Swan "whether you should live or die."

Swan laughs loudly, pretending to wipe a mirthful tear from her cheek. While the gun hand is raised, she subtly scans the room with Mage Sight for any surprises that might be awaiting her; particularly anti-magic fields.

There definitely is a protection shield of some sort around the man and his companion, a shield of some sort. A much less intense field of unknown provenance fills the room, some sort of low level arcane field. Its probably not anti-magic, its too weak and Swan would recognize it.

Still chuckling, she says, "What a co-winky-dink, Bo. That's /exactly/ what I was trying to decide about you."

"The name." he says, "is Saxon."

Reaching the bottom step, Swan turns her full attention on the guy with the more-than-just-a-fountain-pen. "So, at this point, I guess we move into the stroke-me-gently phase of the stand-off, right? First up, if one of your goons so much as blinks in my direction, I lay him and the gink beside him on a slab, savvy? Second, and more importantly, where'd your moll get that dress? It's the cat's meow."

The woman leans forward "I don't know what a moll is, but I assure you, insults will do you no good." She then giggles slightly.

The man taps the device against the back of his hand. "As long as we are that phase, I don't think we need to say that untoward moves on your part would be unfortunate on the part of your companions."

"Clients," Swan corrects. "They're my clients."

"What I want to know, though." Saxon says "is who in the Serpent's Breath are *you*. I just can't place your House. And you have too much of a mouth to be the other one I'm looking for. Although knowledge of where Esperance St. Vier is would be helpful for your future health."

"Sophia Blues of Lord Elwood's House of Blues," Swan says with an outlandish curtsy. The playful grin fades to a glacial frown. "Now that we're all cozy like, this is what happens. You let the cat and canary take a powder. Once they've dangled, I give you the slant on the dish. Otherwise, I see what a fuel-air round can do to this scatter and take a wash on the roscoe-scratch my clients are paying me."

She cocks her head and smirks, "Think that shield is enough to stop a warehouse falling on your head, Saxon? Either way, a little birdie tells that your button men won't pull though."

"Your mangling of language is funny." Saxon snickers. He gives a glance toward Alex and Cazaril. "Does she speak in this charmingly banal manner to you as her companions. Excuse me." He bows toward Swan "Clients?" "Oh wait, you can't answer that question." Saxon turns back to look at Swan. The woman beside him represses a giggle.

Eyes brighten. "Don't tell me. I can't believe it..." he stares at Swan for a moment. "You're one of those accursed Amberites, aren't you? That explains everything, except why you would have a pair of House Sawall as a client. Un-believe-able!"

"Watch it, Sax," Swan says, narrowing her eyes. "We Royals don't take insults lightly. If we'll ventilate one another for a slight, consider what we'd do to one of yours, savvy?"

"So, if they are your clients, *I* can be your client, too." He grins. "I think that you don't know as much as I was hoping you did. But Sawalls are no fools, despite their other faults. All right. In exchange for the lives of these two, you're going to help me track down and capture Esperance. She's the one I want. This one..." he points at Alex with the pen-that-is-not-a-pen "is a secondary target. And her partner is completely expendable for my purposes." He gestures with the device at Cazaril before looking back at Swan. "So what do you say? Let's make a deal."

Out of the corner of her eye, Swan can see Cazaril give a slight signal. At the glance, she can see that neither his, nor Alex's bonds are quite as firm and tight as perhaps Saxon thinks.

Swan scratches her chin with Muggin, apparently considering Saxon's words for a moment. In actuality, she mentally scripts a new spell-structure into one of the gun's rune-bullets, transforming it into a relatively harmless gel-round. As helpful as Caz and Alex might be free of their bonds, she knows that the weapons trained on them are probably a great deal faster. They'll be dead before they get to their feet. So she needs those guns turned on her or—at the very least—have their owners paying more attention to her rather than the 'helpless' captives.

"See Sax," she says, "Therein lies the rub. A bread and butter man ain't so useful to me if he's not going to pay me. And as sweet as the tomato is, I prefer cabbage. So. . ."

Saxon starts to smile.

With snake-like speed, she shoots Caz in the chest. The gunshot is deafening in the confined room, cordite and grey smoke filling the air like sin. Swan blows on the end of the barrel, smiling innocently.

Cazaril takes the round and topples over. Alex starts to scream. The rest of the guards cock their weapons and start pointing them, mostly at Swan, a couple at Alex. Saxon's nameless Companion looks dumbstruck and thunderstruck. Saxon, too, looks surprised.

". . . I think you'd better up the ante, Sax. Since half the deal just left this mortal coil, I expect /actual/compensation for fetching your mark." She bats her eyes and giggles like Shirley Temple. She trains the other pistol on Alex, " Mo'Kay?"

Saxon looks from Swan's pistol to Alex, and then past here to the presumed corpse of Cazaril Sawall. He holds up his free hand.

"Serpent's blood, you're my kind of woman!" he says. "You and Uliana here could do a double act with that sort of salesmanship." In response, Uliana takes a step closer to Saxon, in a clearly possessive gesture as she regards Swan as one might regard a new rival.

Swan winks at the woman, a Cheshire grin curling the corners of her red lips.

Saxon makes a gesture for the men to stop pointing their weapons directly at Swan, although the one guard still trained on the hysterical Alex keeps on target. Alex's bonds may not be as loose as Cazaril's, as she makes what looks like honest effort to try and free herself in her hysteria.

"A deal is a deal, and I'd rather not lose Alex, even if we manage to bag the real prize out of this set. Remind me, though, never to face you in a game of Tarocchi. Now, let's settle this bill for services without any more unplanned pleasantness. Two House Jesby favors, in exchange for bringing Esperance to me."

"Not a pfennig more." he adds. The small pen like object taps against his hand, and then he levels it in Swan's direction. "Deal?"

Swan's gunsight allows her a half glimpse that Cazaril is starting something arcane, and likely very nasty, but there is clearly a few more moments of buildup needed before its time for true mayhem.

As she watches Caz, a nagging sense of doubt fills her. The Jesby's obvious have the lettuce and Sax makes her all squirmy. All she needs to do is clip Caz for real and get back to being a true villain. And that's /exactly/ what she would have done before Carl. Her big, dumb, sweet, wild-man Carl and his coffee-and-donuts belief in honor and friendship. The damned Jasper still has her all jingle-brained with benevolence.

The hairs on Swan's neck prickle as the spell that Caz is preparing, or whatever it is, gets ready to go off. The guards are less cognizant of it, but, tellingly, Alex has stopped her bawling.

Saxon and Uliana, however, have their attentions firmly on Swan...

"You drive a hard bargain, Sax," Swan says, tilting her pistol to keep an eye one Caz; the other pistol lowering to her hip. "But I'll pinch the dangled skirt for you. Just remember, if you play me for a patsy and slip me orphan papers on this deal, not even the Serpent will save your sweet ass from the reaming I'll give it."

She cocks her head, "Waris told us you had the lowdown on the chippie's arrival time and location. That true or do I have to go wallpaper his walls brain-matter grey for swindling me?"

"It matters not to me if you want to practice your skills on an ordinary shadowdweller." Saxon replies. "He is correct in that I know where the target is. She should be dealing with a test force of men I sent to assess..."

Saxon doesn't get to finish the thought, since Cazaril's sorcery chooses that moment to go off. Swan is ready for chaos, so she is not knocked off of her feet by some sort of storm shock wave, a front of sound and air that emanates from Cazaril. The guards, without exception are thrown against walls, boxes, the floor and even up to the ceiling. Alex, crouching nearby, escapes the blast.

Through the sight of her gun, Swan can see that the spell has crashed against the shield of Saxon and Uliana and has punched a large, gaping hole in it. Their surprise and shock, however, means that, crucially, Swan now has the initiative.

Swan drops to one knee, rune-pistols extended and steady. With Muggin, she polishes off anyone still standing or getting back to their feet, targeting those closest to Alex and working outward.

Swan's bloodthirsty tendencies find two appropriate targets, one guard trying to get a bead on Alex, and a second guard trying to do the same to her. The former takes a round to the head, the second is a little more hurried, and gets it in the mouth, barreling him backward.

Alex uses a well placed kick to take the wheels out from yet another guard as she then turns to seeing to getting Cazaril and herself to their feet.

With the other pistol, she launches the afore-mentioned fuel-air round through the opening in Saxon's shield.

The round detonates in mid air inside of the shield, a ball of flame that fills the entirety of the shield, and pluming outward from the hole like a tongue, back toward Swan. Swan has to move to avoid the tongue of flame. It manages to sear and scorch a pair of the fallen guards in its path before giving out.

Swan blanches as she feels the crisping heat on her bare skin. She reminds herself to check for the presence of eyebrows when this is all said and done. She tries to regain her footing as soon as she's out of danger.

In the meantime, the air explosion fills the area of the shield with flame, fire and smoke.

A scream, a woman's scream is heard in concert with the sound of rage, a male voice. The flames start to die down, and Swan can see a head composed of flame and fire. Two eye sockets full of red flame stare at her angrily.

"You *immolated* her!" the voice of Saxon roars. "Know this, Amberite. You will regret this treachery. You and all things and persons that you hold dear will *burn*."

Swan smirks back at the burning Chaosian, "Take a number, stud!" Despite her bravado, she feels another twinge of guilt. Saxon has been growing on her. He would have been a rate drinking partner.

And then the flames begin to rise again, this time around Saxon like a wreath even as the rest of the flames inside the shield begin to die.

If she's the only gunslinger left, Swan puts one of her pistols away and gets out a gasper. She leans over one of the barbequing guards to light it, taking a much needed drag. "Thanks, chum," she says to the toasty corpse and moves to check on Alex and Caz. Along the way, she plugs any crumpled bodies in the noggin for good measure, punctuating each gunshot with a luscious drag and smoke ring.

There are some surviving guards, none of which are in a position to escape Swan's efficient dispatch of them with single shots to the head. By the time she is finished with this, and heads over to Alex and Caz, the flames in the shield die down.

The smoke takes some time to clear, but the lack of flames of any sort suggests that Saxon is gone. There is a single charred body of a woman near the center of where the shield once was. The smoke spreading out from the area suggests that the spell is gone, along with its creator.

Swan casually nudges the greasy skull with her foot, taking another drag off her gasper. "Who's laughing now, B!tch? Oh? What's that? You'll have to speak up on account of you being dead." She blows a smoke ring into the air and chuckles heartlessly.

"We should all get the hell out of here." Alex says, getting Cazaril firmly to his feet with a few coughs from the smoke. To Swan's eyes, he looks like someone who hasn't eaten in days and has the shakes from pure hunger and lassitude.

"I used a lot to pull off a spell like that without any real preparation time." Caz says, blinking his eyes and leaning against Alex. "And I needed to use a fair amount of energy to make sure the shield would go down. I wanted to collapse his whole shield, but it was enough for you to do the job." he says to Swan.

"Sorry about the whole shooting you thing, Caz," Swan says, dusting him off. "Seemed like both our plans worked." Her eyes met Alex's, her cheeks flushing with guilt; the girl's screams still ringing in her ears. "Beat feet, doll. Find a scatter somewhere near here and I'll catch up. I need to do some snoop work first or all this is for nothing but giggles."

"I need a rest. And recovery" Cazaril admits, with reluctance. "I am sure will find us once you are done here. Let us know what you find." Cazaril says, between coughs.

She puffs on her gasper again, "You did good, kiddos. Now let momma finish this, 'kay?"

Alex nods, gives one glance at the skeleton of Uliana, and guides Cazaril out of the area and presumably soon out of the warehouse altogether.

Aside from the puffs on Swan's cigarette, all is soon quiet in the warehouse, leaving Swan unmolested for her detective work.

Swan begins her search in anything that looks like an office or private room, and then works outward and upward. Saxon had looked like an Abercrombie, so she hopes he's left notes or a manifest about the people he'd sent after the Skirt. She moves from room to room hurriedly, but makes sure that she doesn't miss anything out of the ordinary. Bodies too get a good once over.

Swan hits gold in her search of the warehouse.

Twenty minutes of searching does the trick for her. To the contrary. Indeed, as Swan suspected, Saxon (and presumably his now deceased partner), did have an office. Amid the main rooms of the warehouse, Saxon had set aside an area for his real business.

These Chaosians aren't big on written notes, although there is a map of this city, as well as of another city labeled "Niejwein". The maps appear to have been made by the Chaosians themselves, since the alphabets and language are all in the brand of Thari they use. There are a few what seem to be names in Chaosian, five in fact, listed on the bottom of the map. The fifth name has a line drawn through it.

Swan collects all these items and carefully stows them in her backpack. Caz should be able to recognize these, she hopes. She lights up another gasper and continues her search.

There is also a small cloth bag with a half dozen large gemstones, rubies and sapphires. None of them are perfect, in point of fact all of them have a large imperfection or flaw in the center. The more Swan looks at them, though, the more they seem to be much more than just pretty stones for Saxon's lady.

Saxon—a butter and egg man if there ever was one—hadn't struck her as the kind of guy to accept imperfection. She wonders if this had anything to do with the gate or his magic use. Swan pockets the gems and makes a mental note to give them a once over with her Mage Sight when she has more time. Either way, they're suitable compensation for the last few hours.

There is also a trump deck. The back of the last card has an orange pyramid on a blue sky background, with a single open eye at the top of the pyramid.

Bingo! Swan fans through the cards in her hand and smiles victoriously. Dad never wanted her to have a pack of these; another of his attempts to keep her separated from the Family. Still, it seems strange that these pesky Chaosians would have them. Or was it? She pockets them with a sigh, wishing someone had told her a little more about all this whole Amber/Chaos BS.

The cards are mostly of people. Except for the now incinerated woman that accompanied Saxon, none of the people are familiar to her. Most of the locations are not familiar either, and seem to be indecipherable as to what they might be. One, though, by reputation and description, even given Swan's lack of knowledge of Chaosians. The crazy four color sky has to be somewhere "outside in Chaos", and the two big buildings suggest a palace, or a cathedral or something important and impressive.

The bodies, those which aren't incinerated anyway, have a variety of bric a brac, with nothing more interesting than their dart-throwers and some personal effects.

Swan collects any pistols and ammunition that have survived the blast. Rule One in a combat situation: Make sure to take all the guns from the dead guys. . . you never know when you'll need them and keeps other ginks from picking them up and using them on you. She makes room in her bag by placing a few of Alex's soup cans in the office, beneath the warehouse's main support beam, and a last one near the inactive gate. Swan suspects letting the locals get their hands on this kind of technology would come back to bit her in the ass someday. With the timers set to go off simultaneously, she heads out the back door to track down her friends.

Swan times and plans her explosions perfectly, and is halfway to a likely looking establishment when the demolition brings down the warehouse in a cloud of dust and wood. Amid the chaos and confusion, she can enter the dive, a likely enough place to find Alex and Caz convalescing from the doings in the now leveled building.

Swan's instincts are good. In a corner, the two have a table with cups of water, and three wooden plates. The scent of aromatic food in bowls alongside a stack of warm flat bread greets Swan simultaneously with the nods and smiles of Alex and Caz.

"We just heard the explosions." Alex says with her usual enthusiasm.

"Have some food and tell us what you found. You must be hungry, too." she adds. Cazaril says before returning to eating with obvious gusto.

"Hungry, sure," Swan sits down, giving them a wry grin. "But not for food. Blowing crap to Biloxi and back stirs a whole different kind of hungry." She breaks off a piece of bread and chews on it, "But this'll do for now."

Alex grins widely. Caz nods and watches Swan.

She unfurls the fifth map and puts a knife on either side to hold it in place. "I found this along with a few others in Saxon's office, including a city called Niejwein. I may know from nothing, but dollars to donuts one of these is probably where they waylaid your chippie. He also had a cartload of hinky gems and a Trump deck. Your types, I'm assuming, 'cause I don't recognize one of the mugs on them."

Cazaril rises slightly to get a better look at the map. With a sidelong glance at his food, Caz runs a finger along the words in the Chaosians script, nodding. "Definitely Jesby work, but we knew that already. Let's see. He reads aloud. "Acestes...Amata...Turnus...Nerva...and" he puts his finger on the crossed out name. "Uliana. Those must be the Jesbys that went to Niejwein to try and waylay Dara's daughter there. Perhaps they were playing a two headed game." Caz muses.

"You mean try and catch her there and if that didn't work, lie in wait for her here?" Alex suggests.

Cazaril nods at Alex's analysis and then looks at Swan, reaching for more food. "May I see the gems and trump deck?" Cazaril says. "They are yours by right, but I may wish to purchase them from you, or at least show you what you have uncovered."

"Sure thing," Swan says, glancing around for possible covetous observers before setting the bag of gems and the Trumps on the table. No sense in attracting further complications from would-be thieves.

"They're a bit hinky," she says through a mouth full of bread. "Notice the flaws? I was going to give them the once-over but ran short on time. You're probably a better Abercrombie than me though."

There is a little interest from the rest of the patrons, but a glare from Caz at a rather unsavory looking individual convinces him to return to his food rather than molest him, Swan and Alex. Caz then takes up one of the gems and stares at it, letting the light shine through it and the flaw.

"Why would they make..." Cazaril looks through it and then grins. "They might be very useful to pay you in trade goods." he says to Swan, setting it down for Alex to look at. Caz repeats the gesture with one or two more. He looks at Swan.

"Let me guess, you were looking for notes or record keeping and found nothing besides these, the trumps and the maps, yes?" He smiles, pauses, and takes a bite of his food. "The Jesbys have been using these as library gems. I wouldn't want to invoke one HERE..." he gestures to the room "but the protections on these things are likely minimal."

"So these will tell us what we want to know?" Alex enquires.

"Yes" Cazaril says with a gleam in his left eye. "Great work, Swan."

Swan smiles with honest pride. In the last few days, the Chaosians has become more like family to her than her true blooded one. The praise affects her more deeply than usual. "Just doin' my job, Caz. I just hope the dope on your bim is on one of those pretties."

"I shall certainly find out." Cazaril replies.

Swan drinks some spring water to soothe the burn from the food. "So, I may be a plain Jane when it comes to Chaosian highbinding, but something tells me these Jesbys are interested in more than Dara's brat. That gate looked awfully familiar. Did someone start a war and forget to Western Union me?" She lights up another gasper, offering one to her companions. "Not that I mind. Wars mean work for me. But I like to know when my keister is in the line of fire."

Cazaril's jocularity fades slightly. He looks at Alex for a long moment. Cazaril then turns back to Swan.

"In truth, Swan, I slowly came to suspect that you didn't know what was going on, but there hasn't been any time to discuss it. Or reason to, until now."

Swans smirks, "I'm just a good guesser."

"What?" Alex asks.

"I've been so preoccupied with training you on our trip before we ran into Swan yet that I haven't told you either." Cazaril says to Alex. He looks at the two women. "Swan, though, has made a good guess about War. There are a bunch of conflicts ready to rip loose, in Chaos and beyond."

Dollar signs sparkle in Swan's eyes, a feline grin warming her features.

"Tell me, Swan." Cazaril says. He takes a bite of his sandwich, in a dramatic fashion. "Did you happen to run into any shadowstorms before meeting us?"

"None that I can recollect," Swan says, puffing away. "But I was cooling my heels in Bete Noire before I ran into you two. The Beast is back of Bourke, so we don't get the storms like some shadows."

"Hmmm" Cazaril temporizes. "You were lucky."

Swan stubs out her gasper, "So, will these house politics spill over to Amber? Saxon didn't seem pleased to see me. Even before I put his chick on the barbie." "The word I had not long after I left the Courts says yes to your question, Swan." Cazaril says. "An...incident happened in the Courts, with the fingerprints on it belonging to one of your Amberite cousins. That incident spread a shockwave through shadow, disrupting many shadows, especially near the Courts. Even if the Emperor does not act, individual Houses might decide that scores need to be settled."

Swan listens with growing concern and annoyance at her pesky relatives.

"That would include the long standing scores against Amber." Cazaril finishes. "It might explain why the Jesbys are using so many resources in going after Dara's daughter. It's part of a concerted offensive."

"Just House Jesby?" Alex asks.

Caz shakes his head. "No. They'll get some of the other Houses, major and minor onboard, for their plans."

Swan rolls her eyes. "Yep. Sounds like my idiot family. And my blowing up a Jesby staging area probably won't fetch smiles, I'll wager." She runs her fingers through her hair and sighs. "Well, you can't mulligan a brodie, right? I'm just a bird of nature and what's done is done. No sense in blowing my wig over it."

She leans forward and rests her arms on the table, her head upon them. Staring up at Caz, she smirks. "So, Saxon is going to be coming at me plenty rugged. And soon. We'd better dangle before this turns into a trip for biscuits."

"Well, then." Cazaril says, taking a pause to ingest even more food. From what Swan has seen, and she has heard rumors of, Uncle Gerard would have been challenged in eating as much as Caz has in this meal. "We finish our meal, I take a look at the stones to find out where Esperance has gone, and we go and collect her. And then get out of this veil. That would conclude the terms of our contract, and you would be free to..."

"Swan could come with all three of us to Chaos!" Alex pipes up.

Swan smiles at Alex's sudden exuberance.

"Maybe." Cazaril says dubiously. "If there is a vendetta between Jesby and some of the less smart Houses and Amber, Swan might not want to go walking into the Courts. She might prefer to shoot Jesbys and Chanicuts closer to familiar territory. Although once inside Sawall, she would be safe."

"After all." Cazaril says. "A debt would be owed and Lady Dara is not likely to forget it, and would not like orange and blue clad chaosians running around SawallWays."

"Unless they finally learn some fashion sense," Swan chuckles. "Frankly, I'd like to give that part of Shadow a glom. Sounds like a fun place. In that ultraviolent way."

"Then it is settled." Caz says decisively.

Caz rises from the table and regards Swan "Think your skills can find us a nice, quiet place for me to look at these gems?"

Swan stretches her legs and gives a prompt nod, "I'm pretty slick when it comes to finding scatters. I'll find us some place to rest our jets." She kicks back from the table and straightens her bag over her shoulder.

"Can either of you ride? Horses couldn't smell worse if they were dead, but they're easier to nab than boilers in low-tech worlds like these." "I have ridden horses." Caz replies. "My steed of choice is not a horse, but rather, a Wyvern. Preferably an Ultramarine" Caz says.

"Cool!" Alex says. She then looks at Swan. "Well, I've had pony rides when I was little, but that's about it."

"Well, I think I can drum up some horses," Swan says, scratching her neck. "Wyverns? Not so much." She chuckles, "You are a deep well, Caz."

Caz gives a nod of the head.

The two of them stand, Caz grabbing one last bite of food from the remains on the table, and make ready to follow Swan.

Swan leads them outside and summons the Pattern to her mind. As she walks down the city streets, she begins editing the various structures and alleys, trying to shift them toward a more equestrian-friendly society. The temperature drops and humidity rises to more comfortable levels.

It takes a little effort to shift away from the shadow, given its subtly influenced real nature. However, this effort proves to be no real barrier to Swan's skills as desert-by-the-sea starts to meld toward steppe-and-grassland by the sea.

As she walks, she turns to Alex and gives her an apologetic smile. "Listen, kid. I'm sorry about scaring you back there." Alex, who has been walking in a fashion that suggests hugging herself tightly, slows down and opens her body language to look at Swan.

"It was a surprise more than anything." Alex finally replies after a long moment of crunching over grass. In the distance, Swan can hear hoofbeats of approaching riders. "I wasn't sure that you would sell Caz and me out so easily. You were...convincing."

Swan nods lightly, trying not to look guilty. You don't know the half of it kid, she thinks. I surprised even myself today."

Cazaril nods.

A Baccaran would be hard pressed to top your performance." Cazaril agrees.

"You should barber with my cousin Lorius about my poker face some time," Swan smiles mirthlessly. She comes to a halt and slides her rifle off her shoulder. She raises the scope to her eye and scans the fields ahead. "I usually don't play well with others. But you two have grown on me. We're in it for the long haul."

"Lorius." Cazaril repeats.

"I've heard tales of him." Cazaril continues. "His mother is venerated in some quarters of course. I don't know of any shrines to him though...however, his name is spoken of among the arcane workers in Chaos."

The hoofbeats come closer. "So, are we trading or glauming?" Swan says, clicking the safety off. "You brought us to this shadow, so I suppose its your choice to make." Caz says.

"Did you make them horse traders or just horse riders. Is that right...make them so?" Alex says.

I can do that? Swan thinks. Well blow my wig. And here I thought I could just seek Real people. That'd have saved me some serious brodies. Not to mention avoided a few scars. "Uh…yeah, sure," she says.

Caz gives a short nod.

Just over the next rise, a quintet of riders have appeared on the horizon. Their long shadows precede them down the rise as they look at Swan and her companions. They are dressed in riding robes, and clearly armed with swords and bows and some sort of light medieval armour.

The horses themselves are of a stocky build, with relatively short legs and a large head.

"Let's just hope my subconscious wasn't looking for a brawl," Swan says, slinging her rifle again. She waves to them, "Oi!"

"Let's hope not." Alex says quietly.

She is struck by a memory of seeing Carl for the first time. For an instant she searches for his face amongst the riders.

Swan's subconscious might be playing tricks on her. And then again, Alex's suggestion may have played a role, too. The riders do not look hostile, and indeed, the leader has at least a passing resemblance to Julian's son. The skin is too dark, and the hair is shaggier, but the eyes definitely resemble Carl's.

Damn, Swan thinks; a happy-shiver passing through her. He just /had/ to have those peepers. What is it with me and peepers?!

He pounds his chest with his fist and looks at Swan, Alex and Cazaril when he and the riders come within a few yards. They remain on their horses.

"I am Checheg. What brings travelers such as you to the borders of the Steppe of the Ten Clans?" he asks. "Are you from the Kingdoms of the South? The Jurchen? Perhaps even Annam, given your strange dress?"

Swan pounds her chest and straightens her back, "I am Swan. A Traveler from the Great Mountain. A place beyond all borders. And these are my droogs, 'Lex and Caz." She jerks a thumb at her companions.

Cazaril bows his head and following his lead, Alex does as well.

"We seek horses to continue our great journey and the lowdown says you've got the best. Is that jakeloo with you?"

One of the riders says something in an unknown tongue to Checheg. Checheg responds in the same tongue. As a gesture, he raises his hands above his head, forming a steeple with his outstretched fingers.

The rider, along with the other three, murmur and speak a few words in the same tongue. Checheg, finally addresses Swan again.

"The Great Mountain, and the Endless Forest at its base are known to us as a distant land ruled by a powerful family. It is an honor that travelers from the Great Mountain would come all this way for our poor steeds."

Swan chuckles, impressed. "Well what'd you know? Kolvir Express. Don't go anywhere without it," she says, more to herself than anyone else. She casts an alluring smile at the man, "I sought the best horsemen, gee. So, I'll wager you can give me a good. . . ride."

"By Begtse, I sense your intent." Checheg says with a toothy, perhaps too toothy grin.

Alex and Cazaril say nothing, and just watch.

Checheg continues to stare at Swan apprasingly as he continues.

"If it is truly your desire that you wish to purchase mounts, our trading camp lies but two miles distant to the north."

"Nailed it in one, Chec. Just jerk a nod in the right direction and we're right as rain. Unless you want to escort us there, so you can get the trading rights yourself?"

She walks up to his horse, lightly running her hand along its powerful neck. But her eyes remain meshed with Checheg's, the animal virtually ignored.

There are some murmurings from the other men, but Swan's focus, as well as her inability to understand the language, make it a background noise.

"If you wish to engage in tantra as part of the trade agreement, I accept with gladness, Little Bird." Checheg says, holding Swan's gaze. "In order to make it a fair trade, however,the wise woman of the camp will insist that the man of your band bless one of the young women with his seed."

"For now, though, we ride there, quickly!" He says something else in his tongue, drawing cheers from the men. Hands guided by muscular arms reach for Swan to place her on his horse, in front of him.

Swan lets him pull her up without complaint, still rather stunned by this unexpected—and overly successful—turn of events. Normally, her flirtations rarely result in anything more than playfulness. Now she finds not only herself, but poor Caz, with a rather sticky and provocative future. Apparently 'subtly' wasn't one of this clan's personality traits.

She turns her head to give Caz an apologetic roll of her shoulders. I'll make it up to you, she mouths. Honest!

Alex looks slightly amused; Cazaril for his part seems somewhat resigned. They are soon paired with riders as well.

As the horse begins to move, she grips on for dear life. She tries to yell over the hoof beats, "Already Chec, just so we're level. No one touches the young bird with me. They do and I'll feed them their own spleen, savvy?"

"If she is yours, Little Bird, then she shall not be touched save by your leave." Checheg replies, his voice a shout into the wind. He then laughs and grips Swan even tighter. "It would increase the cost of doing business in any event!"

The ride with Checheg leading the other riders is a short one. A couple of miles, and into view over a rise comes a large stone walled open air enclosure with a wide opening facing Swan: A Caravansarai. Checheg slows the horse with just his legs, his hands still firmly holding Swan about the waist.

Swan doesn't know if it's the rhythm of the horse or the feel of his arms or the recent violence, but she feels another happy shiver. She leans back into her host and pretends he's Carl until they arrive in the camp. She scans the camp with wonder; having always been a city girl, this is amazing to her.

The rest of the riders catch up and form a single file line behind Checheg and Swan. As a line they head toward the wide post and lintel entrance. A few guards, not mounted, look smartly as the horses trot along.

"Welcome to Erenhot, Little Bird" Checheg says proudly.

"Little Bird," Swan repeats, "I like that, Chec. You've got swing for a Jasper, that's for sure."

She smiles despite herself. "Beautiful place you've got here. A rate little town in its own right. So are you the head honcho throughout this entire land or is someone squeezing you?" She puts her hand over his, pushing it tighter against her waist.

"I am the Noyan of Erenhot and its environs, Little Bird." Checheg replies. He takes the hint, strong fingers holding her in place as the horse passes by buildings, mostly yurts, along with stalls, bays, and other small structures made out of wood and covered in cloth.

"Even I must ultimately answer to the Khan of the Ten Clans, Little Bird." Checheg continues as he guides the horse toward the largest of these stalls. "I have never had the honor, but I look forward to the day that the Khan will decide to conquer the world, and as a Noyan, will be permitted to ride with him when he decides to conquer the Jurchen, the Kingdoms of the South, and beyond."

Swan listens with genuine interest. She's always looking for a stand-up fight and participating in invasions never grows old. Dad made her read enough books on Shadow Earth's history that she recognizes some of the terms. "Sounds like a true honor, Checheg," she smiles. "I'd pay to see that."

"The People of the Great Mountain are known for their skill in War." Checheg says, as if it was axiomatic. "For one to ride with us to conquest would be an honor for the Khan, to say nothing of myself."

Checheg stops the horse at this point, at the front of a stall. The other riders and their horses, two of them with Caz and Alex, move toward adjacent stalls. "Time to get down little Bird, so that we might make our bargain." Checheg says, his hands reaching to lift Swan down to the ground.

Swan lets herself get lowered and moves away to straighten her skirt. "A man that gets straight to business. I like that." She walks over to the adjacent stall, "Caz. "lex. I'm going to sort Chec here out. You two have fun."

"Good luck." Alex chirps cheerfully. Cazaril looks around, a little resigned.

She winks at Caz, "You especially, you old dog. Furrow some fields for the team."

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