The Darkest Hour | TheDarkestHour / Awakenings: Cole browse

The girl with flaxen locks was definitely looking at him. Definitely. She might have hid it well, what with her cute nose buried in a book, but Cole could tell she wasn't really reading it. Ever since the train had descended into the Vale of Garnath, she'd been glancing over at him from her table. And no one drank that much tea unless they didn't want to go back to their cabin.

She'd come aboard at Stormhome, the only Begman city connected to the Iron Road. As she passed his window, she'd provided Cole with an awkward smile before continuing down the car. She looked like a doll in her winter clothing, a round face framed by a stylish hood and scarf, her cheeks and nose bright pink from the bitter cold. Tall and lanky as a spring-time wapiti, she lugged an overloaded carpet bag through the train with surprising ease. He'd seen her in passing during the four-day journey, always alone, always reading, always with a pot of tea.

And now, on the last night, they shared the empty lounge together.

Mother had given Cole a first-class ticket on Her Resplendent Flame; a winter solstice present. It was also a goodbye present of sorts. Although Opening Ceremonies at the university were still a couple months off, she'd insisted that he get settled early on and learn the campus before classes began. Before he even knew what was going on, his luggage and things had been packed up and shipped to far away Amber.

Not so far away now. With every rhythmic clack of iron wheels, Cole drew ever closer to his new home. With no real family or friends to speak of there, it seemed a daunting prospect. Perondor had never been so far away.

Lady Flaxen-Locks touched the choker at her neck and smiled. Her gaze then flitted away like a startled fawn, returning to the sanctuary of her book.

Incapable of shyness, Cole arose and gracefully relocated to the seat opposite the young lady.

As he advanced on her, Flaxen-Locks cocked her head with animal curiosity; blue-smoke eyes bright and aware. She set her dog-eared book down on the tablecloth, resting her folded hand over its leather cover protectively.

"That must not be a very good book," he commented. "The more's the pity for the poor thing, to have your lovely eyes continually drawn away from it. If I were in its place, I'd do everything in my power to hold your attention."

She quirked a grin, "Unicorn preserve us. I've been waiting four days for that?" Her playful laugh dispelled the lounge's wintriness. Warm fingers bless Cole's hand with a soft touch. "Oh do forgive me. It was quite clever and truly welcome. Thank you."

Cole rubbed the back of his head a moment, smiling an embarrassed little smile. "Sorry, it took me a while to come up with that. I considered coming over and babbling the first thing that came to mind." He continued, gently brushing his thumb over her hand, "And it would have been worth it to hear you laugh. So no forgiveness is necessary."

"Still, I feel most rude," she said, allowing his hand to linger for a moment. "In truth, I am my father's daughter, but if my mother ever heard I'd been so bold as to approach a strange young man unchaperoned, she'd let her disapproval be known to me in most concise terms. And Mother hears everything. At least now the blame will fall solely upon your shoulders." Her thin lips pursed into a sly grin.

"Tea?"

"Thank you, no. Tea always tastes to me like hot soapy water, and I've had enough of the flavor of soap for a legion of schoolboys.

"My name is Cole. I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Rhea," she replied, warming her cup. "And truly, you should try a cup of Dragon-Frond. It's bitter as death, I assure you."

He made a face to match the tea. "You make it sound most appealing, but no, thank you. Bitterness doesn't agree with me."

She offered him a plate of powdered tea cakes, "Are you hungry, Mr. Cole?"

His smile returned. "I'm eighteen, Miss Rhea. I'm always hungry, in one way or another." He took one of the cakes, but paused before popping it into his mouth. "If your mother and father are so protective, how is it that you're traveling alone? Honestly, I cannot in good conscience allow you to continue unaccompanied. It would be quite irresponsible of me." He smiled his most charming smile, then bit into the cake, his twinkling eyes upon hers.

The cake was sweet and nutty, almonds and honey. Rhea smiled and then sipped her tea. "Well then, I accept your kind offer of company."

She set the cup down, "As for my parents, they agreed with me that traveling alone would allow for discretion. An entourage attracts attention, something I prefer to avoid. Besides, I have long since outgrown the need for a nanny. And, as my father knows, my pout is a terrible sight to behold."

"It must be very difficult for you to avoid attracting attention," Cole commented.

She smiled brightly, "Flatterer."

Rhea sprinkled some powdered sugar over the already winter-white biscuit and took a bite. She dabbed her lips on a napkin. "So, Mr. Cole, you do not strike me as a practiced traveler. Is this your first trip to Amber?"

"I'm much more used to sea travel, actually. I'd rather be on an open deck where I can feel the sea breeze, instead of in these boxes where we have to close the windows before going into a tunnel so the smoke doesn't choke us. It's smooth enough, and it's certainly fast, but it's not my preference."

"Most of my uncles prefer the sea to land as well," Rhea interjected. "And mother, of course."

"I've been to Amber once before. My tutor took me and my brother on a field trip about four years ago. We came by ship that time, though Langley, that's my tutor, didn't much enjoy the voyage. He'd probably prefer this machine, actually, But regardless, we came, we rode in a carriage to the castle and had tea with Princess Florimel. We saw the chapel of the Unicorn. I carried Deric piggyback when he whined about walking. Deric and I slept through an opera, except for when the singing was too loud. We had some good food, and a tour of the University, and we went home. Not necessarily in that order."

Rhea shifts in her chair, "Oh? And you survived a tea with her? Most impressive." Her discomfort transforms into an adoring grin.

"Oh yes, she was very polite. And she didn't make a big fuss at all when I knocked over the teapot. She seemed to somehow imply that it was her fault, as if she'd set it too close to the edge of the table or something. But then, I've never been invited back, either. Given my opinion of tea, I hardly have cause to complain."

Rhea covered her mouth as she laughed, her eyes filled with mirth. "Oh dear. How funny. She must have been mortified. Although, I doubt she even batted an eyelash. How did she put it�?"

She touched her chin, seeking out the memory for a moment, before chuckling with success. "Ah yes. 'Scorning no one openly, a lady should feel gentle pity for the unfortunate, the inferior, and the ignorant, at the same time carrying herself with an innocence and single-heartedness which disarms ill nature, and wins respect and love from all.'" She rolls her eyes and bites into another biscuit.

Cole grinned. "I suppose that compared to a royal of Amber I'm an inferior, and I'm afraid I display my ignorance all too frequently. But I believe that I'm actually one of the most fortunate men alive. Anyway, enough about me."

Cole helped himself to another cake. "How about yourself? Have you been to Amber before?"

"Why yes," Rhea admitted. "I was born there, in truth. However, my childhood would not be spent there alas. Mother wanted me away from the politics and father agreed. This was during far less stable times, of course. Only a few years after the Interregnum, I believe. I have returned for brief visits. Boarding schools in Shadow are ever-so dreary in comparison to what I recall of my home."

A laugh bubbled up. "And don't fret, Mr. Cole. I'm probably your age. Something to do with time distortions, I suppose. I never could get my head around the metaphysics of Shadow."

Cole nodded pleasantly, and then his eyes opened wide in sudden realization. "You're a royal."

Rhea flinched and set her half-eaten biscuit down. She dusted off her fingers with polite refinement. "You've found me out, Mr. Cole. I do so hope we can keep that particular aspect of my lineage private. It isn't terribly important. We are simply two young people on a train. Yes?" The hopeful plea in her tone was unmistakable.

Cole couldn't help himself: he covered his mouth with his hand, but the laugh burst out anyway. He waved grandly around the empty car. "Who would I tell? Oh, I suppose you mean when we arrive at our destination. Very well, Miss Rhea, I'll gladly keep your secret, but I require two conditions of you. First, please just call me Cole, not Mr. Cole. I'm sure you do it to be proper, but propriety gives me an awful headache."

Rhea joined in his mirth, covering her smiling mouth with a delicate hand. "Agreed, Cole. And you will call me Rhea. Except in front of my family, of course. then we must be on our best behavior."

Her hand fell to reveal her grin, her fingers seeking Cole's. He barely noticed the slight calluses there; a fencer's hand. "And what is the second condition?"

"Why, only that I might call upon you after our journey is over," Cole said, tracing his fingers around hers, "if not sooner."

Rhea chuckled and gave a pleasant nod. "You will need my father's permission, but I can certainly speak to him. Maybe you can come for brunch tomorrow." Her fingertips touched his, her head tilting slightly. "Beyond that, I believe our time grows short."

She gestured to the window, where the lights Amber's harbor could now be seen beyond the dark hills. A sadness darkened Rhea's features, doubt and trepidation burning in her eyes.

Cole leaned closer across the table. His hand reached up to brush her cheek, gently turning her face from the window to his bright green eyes. With a little smile he said, "So, Rhea, how shall we make the most of the time that remains to us?"

Rhea reached up, holding his hand to her cheek, nuzzling against him like a contented feline. Then blissful smile on her oh-so-kissable lips blossomed into a wry grin. "I shall spend it packing my things, I believe," she said. "As much as I want to enjoy these last moments with you, I do have some responsibilities to attend to before our arrival in Amber."

She drew away after kissing his knuckles, "I suggest you do the same. You may escort me off the train, where we will exchange cards, as is proper for people of our station." Her brow rose in question. "You do have a business card, yes?"

"Ah, yes, of course," Cole said, with a wry grin of his own. "They were provided for me. And I'm afraid I'll be spending the rest of our trip locating them among my luggage." He stood, and offered his hand. "For the time being, can I at least escort you to your compartment? Who knows what scalawags lie in wait along this vehicle's sooty corridors? I fancy you've had some training in protecting yourself, but it's always safer to have a friend at your side. And I wouldn't want you to carry this burden alone." With his other hand, he reached for her book.

Rhea chuckled and stood up. "Indeed you may, Mr. Cole." She took Cole's arm, the perfumed warmth of her body gently brushing against his like a lover's breath. "I believe my cabin is only a few doors down from your own. I'd be honored if you could watch over me until I arrived there safely."

The much-loved book she'd been reading appeared to be a copy of 'Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus.' Rhea smiled shyly when she noticed him looking at the title.

The title meant nothing to Cole, and he did not comment upon it. "After you, milady," he said with a little bow, carrying the book as he escorted her toward her compartment.

The train rattled and shook as they made their way through the tight corridor to the first-class carriage. Rhea used Cole's arm for support, leaning into his body as the train entered a curved section of track. In truth, she sensed a great strength lurking beneath the frail exterior, but nonetheless she borrowed his. The gentle smile betrayed nothing and she remained silent until they reached her cabin.

"Here we are," she announced sadly. "We must part for the moment. Will you be able to survive our brief separation, Mr. Cole?" she said lightheartedly.

Cole leaned over her a bit, one arm on her door frame, the other bracing her book on his hip. "Oh, I expect so. What's true suffering if it ceases merely by ending one's life? I expect to live long enough to be tormented by your absence on any number of future occasions."

"However, I must point out that you've twice violated the terms of our agreement already by calling me 'Mr. Cole'." He leaned a bit closer. "I must insist on some form of reparations."

So I have," Rhea said with a smirk. "Tis but an oversight by prematurely reassuming my role of a proper and polite noblewoman. But, you are correct; a promise is a promise." She touched his cheek, lightly brushing her fingers along his jaw line. With a gentle ease, she guided him to her lips and kissed him, an electric embrace that lingered like a lightning strike.

She gave him a satisfied smile, "You will be trouble, Cole. I can tell."

Rhea slid the book from his hand and retreated to her cabin, a wistful laugh following behind.

Even this late at night, Crow Station bustled with activity. Hundreds of people departing and embarking Her Resplendent Flame rubbed shoulders as they hurried about the main platform. Behind the brass railings that ran the length of the station's interior, family members waved excited greetings and made tearful goodbyes, while vendors tried to squeeze the last coin out the midnight travelers.

As overwhelming as the hum of life may have been, the sheer scope of Crow Station captured the attention even more. Built to rival the Gare du Nord of Shadow Earth's Paris, The Crow Terminus stretched on forever, with wrought iron and granite pillars supporting the curved roof. Six tracks had been built for future use, each meticulously maintained. Glass windows normally would have provided light during the day, but now an untold number of coal-gas lamps and chandeliers illuminated the vast room. Everywhere the eye went, statuary or murals depicted the glories of Amber City.

But for Cole, the true wonder was the young woman at his side. Rhea grinned brightly, intoxicated by the sights around her. She laughed and pointed, oh-ed and ah-ed, with childlike innocence. She'd 'allowed' Cole to carry their bags and fortunately a porter had provided them with a wheeled cart. As he'd discovered, the worn carpet bag that she doted over�and carried with apparent ease�weighed at least 5 stone. Between it and her steamer trunks, the girl packed with hernia-inducing efficiency.

Somehow Cole managed to keep one eye on Rhea and one eye on the wonders around them, while at the same time still managing to gracefully navigate the cart without any collisions. Fortunately he'd sent most of his own belongings ahead, and had only an immense duffel bag, which he slung over his shoulders since the cart was already bending under Rhea's luggage. One near miss resulted in another passenger dropping his own parcels, and Cole quickly helped him regather them before continuing on.

They pushed out onto Vine Street, where carriages and carts waited to pick up new arrivals. After briefly scanning the crowd, Rhea hurried toward a carriage marked with the Royal Seal on its door. Beside it, a rather bored and green-haired fellow leaned against the tying post, puffing on a sweet-smelling cigarette. He glanced up and smiled brightly in their direction when Rhea shouted his name. "Martin!"

He tossed the cigarette away and swept her up his arms, "Rhea! Unicorn preserve us, it's good to see you again."

Rhea hugged him tightly, tears staining her cheeks. "And you, too! I'd hoped father would send you to get me."

Still embracing Martin, she looked over her shoulder and beamed with pride. "Mr. Cole. I'd like you to meet my brother. Prince Martin."

Cole's eyes widened considerably, but he betrayed no other signs of surprise. He released the cart and bowed formally, despite the weight of the bag on his back. "Your Highness," he said. Then his long arm lashed out and caught the cart as it started rolling down the street toward the sea. Continuing as though nothing had happened, he added, "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

Martin chuckled at the display, "I see my darling sister has conscripted you into carrying her books for her. Most noble�and brave�of you."

"Ah, her books," Cole said. "That also makes sense. Given the weight, I'd assumed I was hauling bullion to the royal treasury."

Martin laughed, "You should have seen her room when she was twelve. Books everywhere. And I do mean /everywhere/. Why once, father and I heard here screaming for help. Thought she'd been attacked or some such. But when we went to her room, we realized she'd been buried under one of her stacks. Took us forev�"

Rhea swatted Martin's chest, "You could always help him, you realize."

 She wiped the last of her tears from her cheek, smiling with

unfettered satisfaction.

Martin nodded, rolling his eyes. "True, true." He moved to help Cole unload the cart. He took the opportunity to shake Cole's hand before struggling with the bags. "A pleasure, Mr. Cole. And thank you for assisting my sister with her things. I am in your debt."

Rhea slid between them with feline alacrity, a business card with delicate calligraphy held between her long fingers. "As am I, Mr. Cole. My card. I hope that someday you might see it in your heart to call on me? I'd most like to repay you for this evening's kindness. A brunch at the castle, perhaps?"

Martin gave an amused snort and turned away to hand the bags to their silent porter/driver.

Cole accepted the card with a little bow. "That sounds lovely, highness," he replied, with a slight emphasis on the last word, and hint of a smirk on his lips. "As long as the tea is kept away from my side of the table. And please give my regards to your aunt."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slightly battered card of his own, as well as a neatly rolled sheet of linen paper, and passed them both to Rhea in return.

Rhea took both with a wide grin, "That I shall, Mr. Cole. I look forward to seeing you again." She began to lean forward, tilting her head to kiss him. A sharp cough interrupted them; Martin moving to separate them.

"Okay, you two," he chuckled goodheartedly, ushering his sister toward the carriage. "Remember that you're in public, Rhea. The last thing your mother needs is to read about your 'exploits' in a mosquito. Give her at least a fort-night before you start accumulating rumors, okay?"

Rhea grumped, but heeded her brother's advice. She gave Cole a rueful smile, "Until we meet again, Mr. Cole." She clutched his card and note as if they were one of her precious books.

After making sure all her belongings were safely aboard, Cole gave Rhea a hand up into the carriage. Impulsively, he kissed her hand before releasing it. On noticing Martin again he started, then gave the prince a rueful smile. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Martin shook his head, "It won't be me you'll have to contend with, Mr. Cole. Remember that." He smirked and climbed into the carriage, closing the door behind him. The driver tipped his hat and coaxed the horses out onto the street. Within moments, Rhea and her entourage were gone from sight.

Cole stood and watched with a happy grin on his face until they were gone. "Well," he said to no one in particular, "that's started off well enough."

A touch of snow began to fall, but the evening lacked the true chill of winter. Cole's mother�ever dutiful�had provided him with a map showing the route to his dormitory; easily within walking distance from the train station.

He adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulders, grateful that it only contained necessities for the trip, since Mother had sent most of his belongings on ahead. Harris had seemed most interested in packing everything that might be needed, as if he wanted to ensure Cole had no reason to return for anything.

Map in hand, Cole stepped out into the street.

Even this late at night, Amber City bustled with life. People of every race and creed passed by him, some smiling politely, others brushing by him without meeting his eyes. Here and there, a beggar accosted him for a spare coin, a young girl offered him coal and matches, a brutish wall of a man nearly ran him over with a cart, a cat-eared woman offered to warm his bed, and many more encounters were to be found.

Cole gawped his way through the streets of Amber, his purse lighter by a few coins, but heavier for the matches and a few lumps of coal. He'd been intrigued by the cat ears, and wondered what other cat parts went with them, but decided that he shouldn't violate his mom's only command before his first day had even started.

 As he reached Vine Street, the spires of the University

came into sight, the library glowing with Magitech light; a billowing cloud of mist wafting up from the waterfall that bisected its campus. A few blocks to the south of that, Cole could see the Renaissance-style dormitories, all much taller than most of the city's architecture.

Cole paused for a moment, enjoying the sight. As he glanced down the street on either side, he saw a pub sign that made him laugh out loud. It was obviously supposed to be some sort of bird in the middle of flames, but the dramatically posed creature looked more than anything else like a duck. This bore further investigation.

But as he crossed the street, he heard a distant chiming; a clock striking midnight. As he watched, the people on the street began to slow and grow still. Each of them underwent a horrific transformation into tall, black coffins. The snow on the ground turned crimson as blood pooled up from the cracks on the street. A layer of filth and decay coated the structures, once beautiful sculptures dissolving to reveal twisted gargoyles and obscene shrines to some forgotten god. And when the chiming finally faded away, Cole found the wondrous city of Amber had been replaced by nightmarish copy. T

Despite this transformation, the map showed that his dormitory was located only a block away.

Cole dropped his duffel bag, disregarded, into a bloody puddle. He ran to the nearest coffin, which a moment ago had been a bent old woman wearing a brightly colored scarf. He ran his hands over it, seeking a lid or some other means to release her. He pounded on it, trying to get its occupant's attention, asking "Hello? Are you okay in there?" He drew the hunting knife from his belt and tried to find some crack in the obsidian surface that he could pry apart. He even tried pounding the hilt on the coffin a few times, but to no avail.

Finally he warned the occupant, "Brace yourself," set his shoulder against the coffin, and shoved, trying to tip it over.

<Are you mad?> The Voice erupted in his head like a thunderclap. But it was already too late.

Cole felt an electric rush pass through his body, beginning in his heart and arching outward down his arms and fingers and into the coffin. A white nimbus surrounded the coffin, blazing like a torch in the night. In the space of a heartbeat, the coffin blasted away to reveal the old woman beneath.

She stumbled backward, landing hard on her behind. Dazed, she lifted her hands up to her face, staring at the crimson stains on her skin. Her eyes then moved to meet Cole's with mechanical sloth, her mouth hanging open. And then, she unceremoniously began to scream.

<You damned fool!> The Voice yelled inside his head, cracking his skull with the venomous intensity. <Kill her! Kill her now before she attracts attention!>

Cole looked around for the source of the Voice. "Kill her?" he said, incredulous. "I was trying to save her before she suffocated in that coffin thing! Help me get the others out!" He reached over to help the old woman up, knife still in his other hand.

For a terrifying instant, Cole felt his weapon hand arch back, preparing to cut the woman's throat the moment she came into range. But the image�no, the /need/�of doing so was stifled by his own internal desire to help. Unfortunately, those thoughts must have been betrayed on his expression, because the old woman began to backpedal, clawing to get away from him, still screaming.

The Voice fell silent, a rush of chilling worry turning Cole's veins to slush.

Down the street, a figure casually stepped into view. A woman, perhaps, for the fashionable corset and cotton dress hugged its hourglass figure like a second skin, pressing its moon-pale breasts upward enticingly. Long, gloved fingers ran over its voluptuous hips and flat belly in lewd circles. As it moved, a hint of ankle appeared beneath the bloody hem of its train. Its sensual perfume�night blossoms and carnal promises�soon drifted over Cole, surrounding him in murky kisses.

But the bluish spire of flame floating above the hollow stump of its collared throat dispelled any illusions of its human femininity.

It also dispelled any notions Cole had of dropping the knife. He gulped, audibly. He tried to recall if his fencing saber was in his duffel bag, but he was pretty sure he'd decided it wouldn't be essential. He doubted he'd ever decide such a thing again, one way or another.

"Ma'am," he said to the screaming woman, his face still on the figure, "I think you'd better hide. And shut up. No disrespect."

The older lady immediately took flight, her screams growing distant and muffled as she disappeared down a side-street. And then the cries were cut off, leaving nothing but a lonely echo.

And then, despite every survival instinct to the contrary, he stood upright and took a few steps toward the terrifying figure, his knife hand behind his back. He attempted a cocky "Good evening!" but his voice rose in a very unmanly squeak. His eyes flicked furiously to either side, looking for a street, alley, or even an open doorway he could run into once he was sure he had the thing's sole attention.

The Burning Woman turned in his direction, the bluish flames shifting as if in a delighted smile. The perfume slid over Cole's skin, sank into his pores. Sensual fingers ran up his spine and stirred the heat between his legs. Euphoria overcame him, dream-like warmth washing through his body. He forgot about escape routes and fear and blood; only the bluish flame existed. . . only the flame. . . blue like the ocean. . . so deep and wondrous. . . sinking. . . down. . .

Pain lanced through his face, blood filling his throat, causing him to cough. Tears clouded his gaze, but he'd been punched in the nose enough times during childhood scuffles to recognize the agony. He'd just never punched himself in the face until now.

<Serves you right, wanker!> The Voice grumped. <Now look lively, will you?>

Somehow, the Burning Woman had closed the distance during Cole's momentary lapse of reason. Now dangerously close, she gestured for him to approach, lifting the hem of her dress to reveal the porcelain legs and alluring shadows beneath. Another wave of perfume washed over him, stronger now.

"Come to me," the Flames whispered. "Come lose yourself in the pleasures of Oblivion."

Before he could stop himself, Cole took another step forward.

Unable to go back, he strode forward, picking up speed, as if running to embrace her. Instead, holding his breath to avoid any more of the intoxicating perfume, he dodged to his right, whipping his left hand from behind his back with his forward momentum, and plunged his knife into the hollow at the base of the thing's truncated neck.

As he sprang at the thing, Cole felt his body surge with athletic prowess. The world appeared to slow down, his perceptions sharper, clearer. He sensed the deceptive dangers now facing him, like how the creature's reach could stretch far beyond human capacity. As he closed the last few feet, its fingers sharpened into metallic blades, slashing out for his throat. Normally, it would have had him dead to rights. Yet somehow, he found himself dodging under the creature's killing blow and delivering his own. The knife sank deeply into the weak point between flame and flesh, causing it to scream in ear-splitting agony. Even though he did not see it die, the young man knew he'd inflicted a mortal wound.

The praise gave Cole small comfort, perhaps, for even in his victory, he suddenly found himself facing defeat. Not the glorious endings found in battle, but something far more vaudevillian in nature.

His foot landed on a patch of snow-covered ice and went out from under him. At his current speed and unnatural angle, Cole could do little more than look up at the greenish sky for the split second before his skull bounced off the cold cobblestones.

<Ah crap!> The Voice thought.

Darkness followed in natural progression.

Cole awoke pillowy bosoms hovering inches from his nose. Tightly bound in a purple corset, they filled his vision, a sensual landscape of perfect flesh. Two female voices could be heard beyond them.; one young, the other older.

"Is he dead?" The young girl chimed hopefully.

"No. He's just knocked out, poor dear." This came from the elder and owner of the lovely cleavage.

"You sure? Looks dead to me."

"He's still breathing, Silk."

"Don't mean nothin', Rita. Let's at least go through his pockets!"

The bosoms lifted away like an amethyst fog, revealing a buxom barmaid, beautiful and bizarre. Tapered, snow-white and black dotted leopard ears rose from her head, while a long cat's tail swished Angrily behind her. Across from her a smaller cat-woman sat on a bar table, lanky legs folded beneath her; her curled tail a brilliant calico. The youth folded her ears back in mock innocence, "What?!"

Normally Cole would have found this a delightful situation to awaken to, but the pounding in Cole's head prevented him from appreciating it fully. What had he been drinking to make it pound so? Whatever it was, it must have had some hallucinogenic properties, judging by how it was affecting his vision. No, he'd seen a cat-woman before, on the way to campus. And then he'd seen that funny bar sign. And then....

He sat bolt upright. A single massive throb of pain nearly knocked him out again, and he collapsed back onto the wooden floor, clutching his head. He opened his eyes and glanced at the lovely creatures on either side of him and said, slightly indistinctly, "Thank God their heads aren't on fire."

Rita blinked with feline stupefaction, her tail flicking from side to side. "Why? Are they supposed to be?"

Silk snorted, "Told you we should have gone through his pockets. The guy's daft."

Rita ignored her calico companion and leaned over Cole once more. She gently put her hands on Cole's cheeks, examining him with a keen eye. "You really must have bumped that cute head of yours, Darlin'," she chimed. "Let's get you up and put some warm food into you, alright?"

With surprising strength, Rita lifted Cole up, the buxom curves of her body pressing against his without apology. After placing him in a chair by the communal fireplace, she busied herself with fussing over him. "Silk, fetch us a bowl of soup, some bread, and a tankard of spiced mead from Richard, would you?" Silk reluctantly hopped of the table to do so.

Rita playfully pinched Cole's cheek, "Much better. Now, who are you, young man?"

Cole really wanted to come up with something clever to impress the lovely creature, but his pounding head conspired against him. "My name is Cole," he managed to reply. Then his gaze was caught by her vertically-slitted pupils and he stared at them, his head cocked slightly to one side. In the voice of one in a trance, he added "I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Well, of course you are, Mr. Cole," Rita grinned. Her immaculately groomed tail looped around his shoulders and guided his head forward into the comforting warmth of her chest. She stroked his head in a not-so-motherly fashion as she may have intended.

"You had me worried there, young man," she said, kissing Cole's goose-egged noggin. "Falling on the ice as you did. Gave me a scare, yes sir, indeed. Where were you off to in such a hurry?"

Cole stiffened in her embrace for a moment, remembering the flaming nightmare from before. But Rita didn't have the creature's intoxicating primal perfume. She did have a pleasant scent of her own, and she felt so soft and warm. So very...

"If you're a cat woman," he mumbled, his voice thick with drowsiness and fatigue, "why do you only have two breasts?"

Rita laughed heartily, patting his sour head. "What? Two aren't enough for you, Mr. Cole? If you needed more, than I might suggest you seek a Huldumaiden. They take great pride in their� additions. But I am a Katayan and I am built the way I am built."

"That and the fact you drink half the beer you brew," Silk said, appearing with a food-laden tray. She set it down on the table and then regarded them with exasperation.

"And you could do with a good meal or two, Silk," Rita said, releasing Cole from her comforting embrace. She rested her hands on her hips, nose upturned. "You're as thin as a Murkside alley cat. I can't dream of what they feed you at that foolish university."

Her jade eyes then fell on Cole. "You. Eat!"

Cole obeyed without hesitation, and his normal cheerful mood was re-established well before it was done. The food, truth be told, was only marginally edible, but the beer was so good as to make the food's flavor irrelevant. When it was gone, Cole pulled out his purse and asked, "Wonderful, thank you. How much do I owe you, Miss Rita? And, um, where am I?"

"Mr. Cole, you have found yourself in the best, little pub in all of Amber," Rita preened. "Welcome to The Phoenix."

Silk nearly choked on her mead, laughing. "What she means is welcome to The Flaming Duck," she chortled. "So regal. Duck. Quack. Quack."

 She burst into mocking laughter once more, only to be silenced with a

sharp whack in the head from the patroness.

"I told you to stop calling it that, wretched beast!" Rita snapped. She brushed her hair back, regain her unfaultable composure. Her gaze returned to Cole, her fluffy tail curling up into a question mark. "And you owe me nothing, Mr. Cole. Call it an investment for a regular patron to The Phoenix, yes?"

"Absholutely!" Cole replied in a slightly slurred voice, the drink having entirely removed the fright of his earlier encounter. "But please, jush call me Cole."

"Well then, Cole, I think we'd best see you home," Rita purred, satisfied with the future influx of coin. "Silk, you'll be his escort."

"But it's snowing, Rita! My fur will get wet."

The patroness' tail slashed the air, "And I'll have Richard shave it off, if you don't."

Silk glowered between her two tormentors and folded her arms defiantly, "Fine!"

"Ladies, ladies!" Cole interrupted. "As mush as I normally love to have such lovely persons as yourshelves fighting over me, you've already been extremely helpful, and I can't ask for more. Just let me check the streets to make sure the coffins and the headless flaming things are gone, and I'll take my map and be on my way to my dormitory. I'm shure I'll be fine." He patted his pockets and looked under the table for the map his mother had provided, but it was nowhere to be seen, doubtless forgotten in the previous encounter. "Say, you didn't find a map or a duffel bag near me, did you?"

Silk too-quickly shook her head, "Nope! Did see 'um. Why would you ask?" Her tail curled behind her as if were trying to hide.

Rita snorted, "Silk, I swear by Sekhmet's teats, if you don't hand them over now there'll be hell to pay."

Silk wrapped her arms around her knees, "But I found them, fair and square! By the Code, they're mi�"

Rita lost her patience, real anger in her voice. "He's a patron now. So by the Code his possessions belong to him. I don't care when you stole them. Now give them back!"

Silk hopped off the table and stomped over to the wood pile by the hearth. She moved a few logs and retrieved Cole's duffel bag. Defiantly, she tossed it onto the table in front of him. "The map is in there, Beanpole."

Cole stood, wobbled only the slightest bit, and picked up the duffel bag. "Thank you," he said sincerely, "and thanks for getting the blood out. That musht have been a mess. Good evening, Ladies. I shall certainly be back." He fumbled in his pockets, left a generous tip on the table, and took a few steps before stopping. "Excuze me. Which way is the door?"

Silk grumbled and took his arm, "Just follow me, Beanpole. Rita will have my hide if you get knifed or fall down on your way home. I need to go that way, anyhow."

She cast a glance over at Rita, who was busy counting money. "See you tomorrow, wench."

Rita smirked and stiffed the money down her corset. "Bright and early, kitten. Those pots don't wash themselves you know. And good evening to you, Mr. Cole."

Silk pulled Cole toward the door, "Let's see this map of yours."

Cole dug out the map and handed it to Silk. At the door, he put his hand on her shoulder, abruptly sober. He stepped in front of her and, right hand on the knife in his belt, opened the door cautiously. Seeing no coffins or blood outside, he relaxed and said, "Okay, it looks like it's all cleaned up. We can go."

"You sure you don't need a chirurgeon, Beanpole?" Silk said dubiously, tail flicking from side to side. "I think Rita needs to keep your alcohol consumption to minimum."

As Silk stepped outside, she wrinkled her nose at the falling snow; a sprinkling of thick, wet flakes. She grumbled and examined the map. "Phew," she said. "Your dorm is right across from mine. No doubling back."

Ah, good," Cole said. In that case, I'll be happy to escort you. The streets here are considerably more dangerous than Mother had shuggjes..." He frowned. "Suggested." He was standing a little more steadily now, and seemed a little more subdued. The cold air and the prospect of the things in the streets had sobered him somewhat.

"Dangerous? Here?!" Silk laughed. "Sekhmet's teats, this is the safest place in the city! Now if you want danger, I should take you to Death Alley someday. The stories I could tell you would put hair on that chest of yours."

She checked both ways before skipping across the slick street. "So, you married Cole?" she said, tightening her leather longcoat against the sleet.

"Married!?" he said, with half a laugh. "Probably never! I'd never permanently inflict myself upon any woman I loved enough to marry."

Silk cast him a bemused look. "Who said anything about love, Beanpole? That's just something you tailless made up to sell shilling novelettes. No, no. I mean marriage, as in dowries and popping out kittens and such. I need a few husbands before I return home at the end of my schooling. And you seem like a good post to climb. Rich too."

Cole strode along beside Silk, distracted by the conversation from his fears of the night. "I'm an outstanding climbing post," he said, waggling his eyebrows. He glanced at her hands. "Not a scratching post, though. And if you have any interest in keeping me rich, kittens are right out."

"Well, better a feeder than a breeder, I guess," Silk said. She turned a corner and spun around to walk backwards. Gaslights illuminated the wide street rising toward a sheer cliff, a faint layer of white coating everything. No more bloodstains or moldering buildings. Now everything was color and life. Despite the inclement weather and late hour, several students still wandered about the campus in pairs and groups, talking and laughing with great excitement. A clutch of stone dormitories lined the street, each emblazoned with house markings. Beyond them, the university loomed out of the night, three vast complexes of stone and glass set above a raging river that poured off the mountain in a billowing display.

"Welcome to Faiella University, Beanpole," Silk chimed, tail held up proudly. "That's your dormitory over there; Terpsichore Hall," she said, pointing to a three-story structure of Baroque architecture. Most of the upper windows were dark, but warm light spilled out of the circular, foyer windows.

Cole gazed upon it all in unabashed wonder. "This is more like what I was expecting," he said on an exhaled breath. "It's lovely."

He turned back to Silk. "However, I said I'd see you safe to your own dormitory. Lead on."

"Yeah, you did didn't you?" Silk snapped, tail slashing the air. "Was that some kind of sexiest remark? Are you trying to say I'm just some helpless kitten that can't cross the street, is that it? 'Cause I ain't. I'm tougher than you, Beanpole. And I got better things to do than stand here being insulted and getting my fur wet." She turned up her nose, waiting for his apology.

"Um, you're the one that picked me up unconscious in the middle of the street, remember? I don't think you're helpless, but there's safety in numbers. And an attractive female like yourself could easily draw unwanted attention. And I might have other reasons for wanting to know where your dormitory is."

Silk blinked and opened her mouth to reply, only to realize this was a compliment and shut her mouth again. "Well, of course, you meant that," she finally said, her tail flicking with satisfaction. She sashayed up to Cole, allowing him to take her arm.

He did so, with a smile.

"If you play your cards right, you could be my official campus escort," she announced. "The faculty thinks we ladies can't walk alone at night. Such bollocks, if you ask me. But I'd think a cute nobleman on my arm will be the source of much jealousy. And that, of course, works to my advantage."

She pointed to a four-story building down the street. Its Romanesque pillars shone in the snowy light, adding some warmth to its otherwise imposing grandeur. "That's it right there," Silk said. "Most of the schools minor nations live there. Which makes for a colorful group, let me tell you."

"I like colors. They add so much joy to the world." And he escorted her down the street.

At the stoop of her dorm, Silk grabbed Cole's collar and yanked him down to her level long enough to kiss his cheek. "You're okay, Beanpole. For a noble, anyway," she said. She gave him a soft smile and then placed his coin purse into his hand.

"When you need a tour of Death Alley, you know where to find me," she chimed and danced up the steps and was gone.

For good or ill, Cole's new life in Amber had begun.