APressingIssue[continued from Awakenings: Cole] With Silk's map and directions, Cole easily discovered the Blue Bucket at the end of Thetis Road, overlooking the Amber Harbour. The establishment had been built from the hull of an old whaling boat, touched up and repainted a vibrant blue and white. Sweet smelling smoke rose from a stove pipe; a blessed relief from the other retched smells that permeated the air. Hardy flowers had been planted beside the rounded blue door, adding further color to the quaint establishment. On a bench near the door sat a large orange tabby, happily gnawing on a fish head. It gave him a lazy glance and then resumed its meal. Cole paused long enough to stroke the cat twice. He thought of himself as a dog person, but he was becoming rather fond of cats lately. It didn't look like the home of 'the best washerwoman in Amber'—Silk's words—but then again nothing in the city lived up to its appearances. And after having worn britches starched to the consistency of oak, any washerwoman was better than Cole currently had. His future brunch with the Queen and her daughter would not go well if he could hardly move his arms. A lean man with poor teeth and wearing far too much perfume abruptly opened the front door; a small ship's bell clanging with the violence. He muttered foully and stomped down the street, a leather bag clutched in his stringy fingers. The cat gave a bawdy chuckle. Cole glanced sharply at the distinctly uncatlike sound, shrugged, and watched the perfumed man continue down the street as he shoved Silk's map into his pocket. Inside the surprisingly well-stocked and spacious store, Cole could hear some men laughing. "Oi, thought the blighter was about te cry, I did," one said. "Well, serves him right for trying to pull a stunt like that. And in front of a Blackcloak, no less. The pure cheek of that nob." "I'm not sure he knew," a young woman replied thoughtfully. She was short, coming to maybe Cole's chest. Long hair of a nondescript color of brown was pulled back from her face with a clip and dark wire-framed glasses hid the color of her eyes. She wore the school uniform of Faiella University. Two men—the speakers presumably—also occupied the shop. The first stood behind the counter, an older stocky fellow with short gray hair and stubbled beard. The taller, middle-aged man wore the obsidian and navy blue uniform of a Blackcloak. They both glanced at Gillian and then one another, shaking their heads with amusement. The young woman looked over at Cole as he stood in the doorway. "Syd, looks like you have another customer," she said as she wiped her hands on the old rag she held. Syd—the older man—gave Col a broad smile, rubbing his thick hands together. "Mornin', sir. Welcome to the Blue Bucket." Maes adjusted his spectacles to get a better look at Cole, smiling in welcome. He pushed back from the counter to make room for Cole. Cole ducked through the doorway, scraping the top of the door frame with the bulging duffel on his shoulder. There was a palpable thud as he dropped it to the floor. "My name's Cole," he said with a grin. "I'm looking for the best washerwoman in Amber. Mury, is it?" he asked, his hand held out to the young woman. "Um, no," the young woman replied. She smiled, amused, and shook Cole's hand nonetheless. "School uniform. Faiella University. Like you. My name is Gillian Talbot." Syd chuckled. "Yer lookin' for my wife. I'll fetch her for you. She's right out back. Gillian will you make sure Lt. Maes here keeps his hands off my new knives while I be gone. Don't ye think for a minute I didn't see you eyein' them, you bloody thief." Maes grasped his heart, a horrified look on his face. "You wound me, Syd. I'm family man. What sort of example would I be settled for young Elissa? She's such a darling child. So innocent and beautiful. "Oh yes, did I show you. . ." "Aye, ye did! Thrice!" Syd protested. Maes followed him anyhow, crinkled photo in hand. Cole scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed. "Oh. Sorry. But you could have been the best washerwoman in Amber and a student both. I don't think there are any rules against that yet. My valet was a student." Though Cole was mostly in uniform, Gillian could see through his open jacket that his white shirt was printed with large, very non-regulation yellow and orange flowers. Gillian looked curiously at Cole—a rebel that could afford to have a student valet and his laundry done for him. Just how much money did he have? She eyed his shirt. Enough money—or more likely parents with enough money—that he could also afford not to follow rules and regulations. He did have a nice smile though, she thought, remembering his grin. He cocked his head to one side and looked at her a bit more closely. "It's kind of hard to tell here because the lighting's not very good, and your glasses are in the way, but I'm pretty sure you have lovely eyes. Has anyone else mentioned it to you?" The comment caught her completely off-guard. She stared stupidly at Cole for the space of a breath or two, then flushed and stammered, "Th-thank you. Um...no...no one. Err....." Gillian looked over her shoulder at the doorway Syd and Lt. Maes disappeared through, hoping Mury would suddenly show up and rescue her from this young man. Gillian's savior did not come. Instead, she was beset by a devil. "Oh Bast. Please preserve me!" a feminine voice came from near Cole's ankles. The orange cat from outside brushed by his legs and pounced up onto the counter. Its tail flicked from side to side like an angry metronome. It addressed Gillian with a disapproving tone. "Did you swallow your entire tongue or just part of it?" "Ginger, please!" Gillian entreated. It turned its head and sighed at Cole. "Please, forgive my Kitten. She may act it on occasion—usually around young, strapping, you-can-pet-this-pussy-anytime men—but I promise that she isn't mentally inflicted." Deeply embarrassed now and skin a uniform rosy pink, Gillian covered her face with one hand and muttered, "I'll just go find Mury..." She favored Ginger with a direct glare that promised they would discuss this later before striding quickly toward the doorway that led to the back of the store. Cole smiled after Gillian. "I really didn't mean to make her uncomfortable. I guess that sounded like a pickup line." He dropped to one knee and held a hand out to Ginger, as if he expected to shake hands. "Good morning. I'm Cole. Pleased to meet you, miss Ginger." He looked awkwardly as his hand. "Normally when meeting an unfamiliar cat I'd let you sniff my hand, and then, if there was no hissing or biting, I'd scratch the top of your head and stroke your back. But I'm not trained in the protocols for when the cat talks." Ginger extended her paw regally, awaiting the proper kiss. "Firstly, refer to me as Queen Ginger, Favored of Basthet, Daughter of Strega, and Mentor to Hecate, if you'd please Mr. Cole," she announced. "And you may redeem yourself by petting me now." Cole stroked the cat. "Sorry, I'll never remember all that: I can't keep my own titles straight. Rather than insulting you by saying it incorrectly, I'd probably better just stick with Queen Ginger." "Well, if you must, I suppose I can forgive you," Ginger said with dramatic exasperation. She curled into him and began to purr with great flourish. An older woman entered the shop from the rear room, her face a happy moon. She gave Ginger a disapproving frown before gazing up at Cole. "I am Goodwife Mury, young sir," she said. "My assistant told me you are looking to have some laundry done. Well, you've come to the right place. We have reasonable prices and there isn't a spot I can't remove. I'm a seamstress as well, so if you have some repairs needed, I can help you there too." She rested her hands on the counter, "So, exactly what might I do for you today?" Cole hefted his duffel bag onto the counter, which creaked under the weight. "Goodwife Mury, in this sack are a number of ugly and uncomfortable school uniforms. I need them cleaned, because continually buying new ones offends my aesthetic sensibilities, and is really cutting into my beer money. I suppose if you were somehow to miraculously make them no longer ugly, they wouldn't look like the other uniforms and I'd get fined again. However, anything you can do to make them comfortable will double your fee. And because I'm very lazy I will also gladly pay someone to bring them back to my room, put them away, and retrieve the other three bags full from my closet for your further washing pleasure. Oh, and I need at least one uniform cleaned by tomorrow morning so that bowing to the queen won't result in audible creaking noises, like so." He bowed before Mury with a grin and a flourish, noticeably hampered by his overstarched clothing. Ginger immediately grew bored of the discussion and wandered off in search of more interesting subjects. She soon discovered a stray beam of sunlight in which to curl up and soon snored in a most unladylike fashion. Mury plucked through Cole's clothing with a discerning eye, half-listening until the ever-so-important words 'double your fee' were mentioned. At this she quirked a brow with a merchant's keen attentiveness; her humor however remained quietly absent. She rubbed her chin and nodded to some inner thought. She picked up one of the uniforms and turned it over. "If you're willing to pay three crown a week, I can arrange for all you ask, including the pick-up and delivery." She laid the crumpled uniform aside, "If you pay four crowns this week, I'll have this one cleaned and pressed for you by morning. It will be wrapped and sent to your dormitory. Save you the trip down here, aye? Don't want to have the scent of fish on you when you meet our Queen Vialle. Although she might think that a tad homey, dear girl." "Done and done!" Cole beamed. He dug four crowns out and set them on the counter. "Much less expensive than buying a new uniform each week, especially having it tailored. Everyone is so short here. No offense." Mury cocked her head, keeping the biting comments now dancing in her mind to herself. Instead, she straightened her back and raised herself to her full and imposing 5 feet in height. With a practiced hand, she collected the coins and pocketed them. "I'll be leaving then. If you can spare your assistant for a little while, I can show her where to deliver the uniform, and pick up the next load. A barrow or a cart would also be helpful." Never one to turn her nose at promised coin, Mury gave a prompt nod. "I'll fetch my assistant, then." She waddled off into the back room. As Gillian reached the back door, she nearly stumbled into Mury. The small woman tilted her head and smiled worriedly. She touched Gillian's cheek, her hand as soft as old silk from a lifetime of lye and soap-water. "Is everything alright, my dear? You look a'fright." The smile transformed into a disapproving frown. "Did that orange demon say something to upset you again?" Gillian put her fingers over Mury's mouth and looked back over her shoulder at Ginger and Cole. Good—Cole was keeping GInger preoccupied. She turned back to Mury. "It's all right," she whispered. "I just...well. I just need a moment. "There's the student that has laundry for you, talking to my orange demon." She smiled at the older woman, kissed her lightly on the cheek, then scooted around her into the back room. Gillian paused in the middle of the room and hugged herself. What was her problem, anyway? She'd been working on her social interactions with Ginger's guidance—standing up straight and looking people in the eye and keeping a calm demeanor, etc. etc.—and had been doing well, so she thought. So what just happened out there? Syd and Maes' conversation cut into her reverie. Her ears pricked up as she recognized it to be a political discussion. [GM Note: This takes place after the Invasion of Eregnor also known as the Six Week War (mentioned in Raina & Joao's thread). It wasn't so much a war as a slaughter with Kashfa utilizing its latest needle-rifles and artillery against Eregnor and Begman cavalry and light troops. Only Amber's threats of intervention prevented Kashfa from extending its gains into Begman territory. As it stands now, Eregnor has been completely 'unified' under Kashfan rule.] Maes and Syd were talking on the balcony overlooking the harbor, the backdoor having been left ajar to let in the brisk air. As yet, they hadn't noticed Gillian. Syd busied himself with some torn netting, "So, do ye think that Kashfan fool will honor the treaty?" Maes leaned on the railing, staring out at the line of white masts and colored flags. "According to my sources, the peace will hold at least until autumn. He can't stabilize his gains before May and only a fool would march during a Kashan summer." "Should I be worried for my daughter?" "I wouldn't worry yourself, old friend. She's in a safe corner of Shadow." Maes paused and turned to cast an impish grin toward Gillian; his attentiveness almost unnerving. "And your other daughter seems to have found herself a new friend." Syd grumped, "About time too!" Gillian rolled her eyes and walked closer to them, lest their conversation be overheard out front. "I have not found myself 'a new friend.' Did you see what he was wearing? Blatant disrespect for authority." The men laughed deeply. "Oi! Listen to this one all prim and proper like," Syd exclaimed. Maes chuckled, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "She apparently doesn't know the riff-raff she associates with." Syd gave Maes' arm a backhand slap, "Speak fer yourself, Cloaker!" Maes straightened his glasses, "True enough. I just think she can't stand the fact she finds him so appealing." Syd nodded sagely to this, lips pursed to keep the laughter in. Gillian gave Maes an exasperated look. "It would be irrational of me to base my opinion of him on a half a minute of interaction. Besides, he's too tall." Both men began to laugh again. "Too tall," Maes parroted, making Syd laugh even harder. Maes nodded, "Yep, she likes him. But who can blame her? Proper ladies always fall for the bad boys. Isn't that right, Syd?" "Aye. My Mury couldn't resist this old pirate's charms." "More like I couldn't stand the incessant whining any longer, you old fart," Mury snapped; suddenly at Gillian's shoulder. Maes laughed, Syd sputtered. Mury ignored them both and patted Gillian's arm, "Time to earn your keep, my dear. I need you to go with this new customer and pick up another load of his skivvies." She waddled back inside, clucking her tongue in annoyance. "You two are incorrigible," Gillian accused, stabbing a finger at them both. She straightened and smiled. "Lt. Maes, I will see you at supper tonight. Thank you very much for the invitation." Gillian stabbed her finger at them one more time for good measure, then turned and followed Mury back out to the front. Mury returned shortly with Gillian in tow. Gillian avoided looking at Ginger as she came into the room, but she did intentionally make eye contact with Cole—and then didn't let the contact go after a comfortable period of time. Overcompensating. "You have more laundry?" she asked. Cole squirmed under her gaze, smiled, looked confused, and tried smiling again. "Oh, gosh yes, lots. You'll want a cart or something. Maybe there's one outside?" And he turned and went out the door. Success. Or at least Gillian thought so. She smiled a farewell to Mury, avoided again looking at Ginger <<maybe she won't be interested in coming along, or maybe she won't even notice I'm leaving>> and headed for the door after Cole. She found him, already in negotiations with a dock worker over the price of renting his wheelbarrow. Cole had offered the old man a fee that would have purchased two wheelbarrows outright, but the dock worker plainly sensed that he could squeeze even more. The boy did not know the value of his money. The old adage about a fool and his money came to mind as she watched, but she said nothing, letting Cole get taken for as much money as the docker could manage. Stinky Sal knew a rube when he met one and lacked any compassion for haughty-taughty nobles; a poor combination of personality traits for the health of Cole's coin-purse. If Gillian hadn't shown up, he'd have reeled the fish in all day. But upon seeing the young woman, he hurriedly scratched his scruffy beard, "Oi. Ye be puttin' me outta business fer the day, but oi'l settle fer these coins 'ear. Just be quick aboot returnin' me barrow, boy-o. Er oi'l charge ye interest, savvy?" Stinky spat into his palm and extended the spittle-soaked hand to Cole, "We 'ave a deal, boy-o?" Cole spit into his own palm and accepted the handshake. Stinky flashed him a yellow and brown grin. "Well den, be off witch ya," he said and wandered off to spend his riches before the boy figured out he'd been swindled. When the transaction was finished Gillian looked at the size of the wheelbarrow and commented, "You really have that much laundry? For just one person?" "Well," he replied, "it's been accumulating for a few months. It's hard to find good help around here, and it's so expensive. But I think it will all fit in one load." He looked at her for a moment, then looked significantly at the wheelbarrow. Then he looked back at her again with a faintly puzzled look, wiped his right hand on his pants, and took the handles of the wheelbarrow. Gillian watched, bemused. If she was too small to handle the empty barrow, how was she to manage it filled with dirty clothes? He'd trundled it up the street for a few yards before he laughed and said "Ha, you know, I don't remember how to get back. Could you get the map out of my right hip pocket?" "Um...all right." Gillian walked up self-consciously behind Cole. After a moment's hesitation she reached her hand into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She stepped to the side and unfolded the paper. "Hand-drawn map." Gillian squinted at it. "It's not to scale." As they talked, Gillian became aware of several local residents now taking noticed of Cole and his generous nature. These attentive on-lookers included a young member of the Bilge Rats; the labyrinth tattoo on his cheek evident for all to see. They may have been children, but the Rats were as vicious as they were numerous. This close to Death's Alley, it wouldn't be long before more arrived. Gillian refolded the map. "We should move on," she said in a low voice to Cole. "We're attracting attention here—the wrong sort, if you catch my drift. Turn left at the next street, please." Cole complied. "Okay. Am I following your instructions, or am I following the map? I don't want to wander into Death's Alley: my cat warned me about it. Well, not exactly warned me. It'd be more accurate to say that she offered me a tour. But I don't need to look for trouble; it finds me every night." "I can believe that," Gillian replied dryly. "I'm leading you back to the University—via a bit of a circuitous route for our safety, but back to the University ultimately. "Do you tire easily?" Cole laughed. "I've given much cause for complaint, Miss Talbot, but never on that score." It took Gillian a second to realize Cole's full meaning and she felt her face heat, much to her dismay. She looked away and shut her mouth tightly, lest she speak and say something stupid again. The Rat slipped into the shadows; the reason became evident only a moment later. They noticed a Blackcloak and his entourage approaching at a purposeful pace. Gillian recognized the dark-haired man—Maes' superior officer—although she had not heard his name mentioned. He must have recognized her as well, tipping his hat as he passed by on the way to the Blue Bucket. The young officers, a man and woman, remained a step behind him, looking as comfortable as a pair of sheep at a Weir conclave. Gillian dipped the officer a brief curtsy in deference. "Friends of yours?" Cole asked Gillian. "They have the distinct look of people off to do a distasteful duty. I know the look well." Gillian shook her head. "I recognize the senior officer as Lt. Maes's superior but I don't know him personally—Maes is the officer you met at the Blue Bucket. Their timing is fortuitous. "Do you often perform distasteful duties?" "Not anymore. I escaped, thanks to my little brother. Long may he reign, though not soon." The trio entered the shop, but the street remained clear of its less savory elements, still too afraid to risk the hunters' return. Cole watched the trio enter. "Hmm. I think one or more of your friends may be in trouble with the law." "No. Surely not. Neither Lt. Maes nor Syd would do such a thing." Regardless of her words, Gillian turned and looked back at the entrance to the store worriedly. After a brief moment, the trio and Lt. Maes stepped out of the Blue Bucket. Maes and the commander were involved in an animated discussion. They couldn't make out the voices over the harbor noise, but their faces betrayed its seriousness. As they passed Cole and Gillian, Maes brought the group to a halt. "Gillian? Can you tell Gracia that I may not be home for dinner tonight?" he said, uneasy. The commander caught the name, "Gillian Talbot? The girl involved in the other incident?" Dark eyes pinned her as if she were a rabbit beneath an eagle's talons. Maes inwardly cringed, while the other two Blackcloaks perked up their ears. Cole set down the handles of the wheelbarrow and leaned against the wall, observing Gillian with one raised eyebrow. He could only mean the incident when Jonathan lost himself and when she—not her, but someone using her—went on that fiery rampage. Gillian wished she could sink into the earth and disappear. "Um...yes, certainly, Lieutenant Maes. I will inform your wife. "Good day to you, Commander. I must show this young man and his pile of laundry the way back to the university before he inadvertently heads off down Death Alley and gets waylaid. He asked Mury if she'd do his laundry for him. I don't know how he found out about Mury and the Blue Bucket, but there he was in the doorway just a few minutes ago." Gillian knew she was babbling, but she was too frightened to stop. "He says he has more laundry at his rooms at the university, for he's a student like me even though he's wearing a nonregulation shirt, and though I suppose it's possible he's wearing a nonregulation shirt because he hasn't any clean laundry, which is a thought that occurred to me just now and I wonder why I didn't think of it earlier, but I think it's simply because he can..." Cole's eyebrow rose even further. "Actually," he said, "it's because the uniform stifles my sense of creative self-expression." Gillian turned and stared at him, completely derailed. To his credit, the commander patiently weathered to Gillian's verbal tempest. Finally, he brushed a raven lock from his forehead with a bored swish of his gloved hand. "As interesting as textiles and care thereof may be, Ms. Talbot, it has very little to do with the matter at hand," he said in a glacial voice. "Lt. Maes informs me that you were one of the first witnesses to this growing. . . problem. Apparently your youth and familiarity with the victim allowed my subordinate's empathy to cloud his better judgment and save you from a more intensive. . . interview. It is time that oversight is rectified." "Lt. Maes!" "Sir?" Maes said, snapping to attention. "I want you to bring the young woman to my office tomorrow at Fourth Strike," he announced. "Is that fine with everyone?" He added, "Excellent," before anyone could reply. Gillian gazed down at her shoes. The commander noticed Cole at this moment, "You are a Perondorian, are you not?" "I am, Commander. Is that relevant to your...problem?" "There are many issues which require my attention, young man," the commander replied. "That includes the presence of oak-bloods in my city." His eyes raked over Cole once again before he began walking away. "Until tomorrow, Ms. Talbot. Be vigilant. Be pure. Behave." The trio left Maes behind, wringing his hands. "Well, that could have gone better," he said. "Sorry kids. Commander Coteaz can be a tad overwhelming when you first meet him, but somewhere underneath that gruff exterior is the heart of a sadist." Cole snorted. He gave a hollow laugh. "You two should be on your way." Gillian looked up at Maes imploringly. "I don't want to go tomorrow," she whispered. "What sort of problem did you witness, Miss Talbot?" With a wan smile, as if he were making a poor joke, he added, "Something as horrible as, say, blood-soaked streets full of onyx coffins?" Miss Talbot squealed. Her hands flew to her mouth, cutting the sound off abruptly. Without another word she turned and fled down the street, away from Maes, Cole, and Cole's dirty laundry. Cole blinked. "Huh. I'd call that a yes," he said. He pushed himself away from the wall and ran after her, calling "Gillian, wait!" Maes sucked in sharply, shocked by both Cole's revelation and Gillian's sudden departure. As fast as he was, the surprise slowed his reactions just enough to barely miss grabbing Cole by the shirt collar. Before he could give chase, both Cole and Gillian were around the corner and out of sight. Because of his unfamiliarity with the area, Cole had a difficult time keeping pace with Gillian. However, his height gave him a minor advantage; allowing him to see her head as it moved through the crowds. Cole plowed through the streets in Gillian's wake, narrowly dodging people and their belongings... well, dodging most of them. "Oops, sorry. Gillian! Wait! I'm sorry I scared you! Excuse me, ma'am." It was the shouting that convinced Gillian to stop—the last thing she wanted was Commander Coteaz and his entourage to return and start asking questions. She glanced at Cole over her shoulder and detoured into a narrow alley. Cole muttered a curse. He could follow Gillian easily through a crowd, but with her smaller frame there was a good chance she could find a mousehole in that alley that he couldn't fit through. He plunged after her, knocking two people to the ground ("Sorry!") before he was able to duck into the alley himself. The alley ran beside a pub and smelled of onion-something and stale beer. A small door from the pub kitchen sat atop a short stairway and it was against this wooden structure that Gillian pressed herself, her back in the grungy corner formed by stairway and wall, her face in shadow. "Clock strikes midnight and the color leaches out of the world," Gillian whispered as Cole drew near. She trembled. "Darkness oozing, looking for me. Holding knives and wanting my blood. "What do you see when the clock strikes? Do they look for you too?" "Yeah," Cole said, leaning against he wall, trying to stay far enough away that he didn't spook Gillian again. "Started the first night I was here. Some woman with flames for a head tried to seduce me to death. Stuff like that's been happening at midnight ever since. At first I thought that was just what happened here, but any time I mentioned it to someone they thought I was raving. You're the first person who knew what I was talking about." "My buddies don't understand why I always leave parties so early. Truth is, I go hide alone in my room with the door double-locked, trying to sleep. I had a... um, friend, with me one time. Waiting with the coffin was worse than being alone." "What's going on? What causes it?" Gillian shook her head and gazed into the middle distance between them. "I don't know...I don't know." She crossed her arms and hugged herself tight. "Do the...does...do you ever, um, hear someone inside your head talk to you? When you're in that place?" she asks tentatively. "Um, yeah. I mean, I think so. I hadn't ruled out the possibility that I was somehow talking to myself, but now that you mention it, that's probably just wishful thinking. It's kind of a relief to hear you mention it. Maybe it's just the world gone crazy then, and not it and me both at the same time." "And I didn't want it to be my own thoughts anyway. The first thing it told me to do was kill an old woman." Gillian's eyes grew wide. "Wait, no, the first thing it told me to do was stop trying to open her coffin, but by then it was too late. Don't ever do that, by the way. Near as I can tell, it's the only thing that protects normal folk when that time comes." Cole sighed. "I'm pretty sure one of those things got her while I fought the flame-headed one." "So, how long has this been happening to you?" "It started at the Vernal Equinox last year." Gillian's expression clouded, remembering. She continued, "I wondered if I was the only one. I...don't go out of my room then, so there's little chance I would know about anyone else. "What if there are others? What makes us different, that we have to experience it rather than being blissfully unaware inside a coffin?" A polite cough interrupted them. Maes—sans wheelbarrow—stood at the alley's mouth, arms folded and eyes dark with disapproval. "I'm not going to inquire," he said. "Whatever that little scene was is between you two. But I'm going to impart you with some friendly advice. You're being watched by an extremely unpleasant fellow. And I can't always protect you, Gillian." He pushed his glasses up his nose, "That goes double for you, Mr. Cole." Gillian looked at Maes sheepishly. "It's my fault. Cole paid too much to rent the wheelbarrow and it attracted attention. I should have interfered and I...didn't." Cole gave her an exasperated look. "Um, yeah. Me spooking her and then running down the street yelling at her had nothing to do with it." Maes shared the expression and shook his head. He took a deep, calming breath. "Just keep your discussions about monsters and coffins to yourselves. If you need to talk about it, do so only when you're sure you're alone. Or with me. And only myself. "Coteaz is acting far too interested in these ghost stories for my liking. And trust me when I tell you, if wants to extract information from someone, he has the skills to get it. Not to mention the backing of a very powerful man should an 'accident' occur while doing so. Am I being unclear in this?" Cole gave Maes a puzzled look. "I have no idea what you are talking about. I was just making a lame joke. I certainly didn't expect Miss Talbot to react as she did. And all I want to do now is go collect my laundry." He glanced down the alley to make sure they were alone before adding, in a much softer voice, "At least one of those statements was true. Maybe two." "Understood," Maes said in a soft voice. He took Cole's hand, as if to shake it. Cole felt a card slipped into his palm before the gesture ended. "Seek me out, Cole. I have a few questions regarding your country's recent trade agreements with Rebma, which you may be able to answer. Such cooperation would be most pleasing to some." Gillian inclined her head to Cole before turning back to Maes. "Lieutenant, I am sorry. For everything. Is...um...supper still on for this evening?" "Of course," Maes said. "And bring your new boyfriend, if you like. I'm certain Gracia will want to needle you both mercilessly." He smiled wryly. Asking Maes not to refer to Cole that way would only ensure he would again in the future. Gillian closed her eyes and passed a hand over her face. Maes turned to leave, "Your wheelbarrow is back at the Bucket. Until tonight, try not to get yourselves arrested or murdered. Or both. Cheers!" Gillian said nothing in return, feeling very subdued. She looked at Cole. Cole watched him go before saying, "So. Tell me about 'the incident.'" She considered his request, then shook her head. "Let's go retrieve your laundry. Are you interested in dinner? That was the Lieutenant's roundabout way of inviting you so he can ply you with questions." He looked at the card, then tucked it into a pocket. "In that case, I'm even less interested. I might look him up later, but he'll be very disappointed if he wants any political or governmental information from me. I make it a point to avoid such things." "I don't think it's only political or governmental information he's interested in," Gilliam mused thoughtfully. The Lieutenant was showing as much an interest in the Dark Hour as Corteaz and Gillian wasn't sure how she felt about this. Of the two, there was no question which man she trusted more, but she wasn't sure exactly how far she trusted Maes. [Cole] held out a hand to help Gillian rise. "I am sorry I frightened you. Let me make it up to you some time." He grinned. "I could give you a ride in my shiny new wheelbarrow." She smiled back weakly and took his proffered hand. "It's full of your dirty laundry—I think I'll pass. Though...sometime...it would be comforting to spend that...time...together. It's...lonely." "I'd be very happy to do that, Miss Talbot," Cole replied, leading her back out of the alley. "But people will talk, no matter how discreet we try to be. If you're willing to live with that, I'd be glad of your company." Gillian's expression faltered. "I cannot be indiscreet--I'm not at university on my own coin, but on that of my parents' employer." She looked about to cry. "Let's go pick up your laundry." In time they located Cole's laundry wheelbarrow, set in front of the Blue Bucket as promised. An orange head popped up from within its depths as they approached; guard-duty apparently having been delegated to Ginger. "This wasn't in my job description, you realize. You two owe me big-time," she announced. "And you can start by telling me one thing. . ." She looks to the left and then the right, before giving them a coy wink, "How was it? Don't spare the details." Cole picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and proceeded toward his waiting pile of laundry. "Well," he said, "everything was going fine until the constables showed up...." "The constabulary had to break you two up?!" Ginger exclaimed. "Oh Gillian. I'm so proud of you." She touched her paw to her eye, as if to wipe away a tear; sniffling. "My little Kitten has grown into a woman." She gazed up at Cole reverently, "I knew you'd be the one to make her purr the moment you walked into my life." She arched her back up, wiggling her butt in Cole's direction. "Now, it's my turn!" Cole's eyebrows shot up, but all he said was, "I'd better not. My cat would get jealous." Gillian smiled and hid her surface thoughts so her familiar couldn't glean the story from their bond. It would be good to keep Ginger guessing. She'd tell Ginger about Cole and the Dark Hour later—for now there was work to do and with a little effort on her part that would effectively keep her mind off the interview with Coteaz tomorrow. |
