Confrontation on the DocksIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | Confrontation on the Docks Once Vikund left Mandor and his guests, he decided that the circumstances were less than ideal, but haste seemed to be necessary. He didn't want to miss whatever was going on, since he was certain there was a fair chance of things escalating. He'd had time to don the long, hooded trenchcoat that he habitually wore when stalking the streets, but not much else. He was armed with a crossbow, and there was a rapier beneath his coat, but he still felt somehow underdressed. His left hand was in one deep pocket, fingering the vial of green goo he had acquired this morning. With luck, he would need none of these things. Hidden in the shadow of the doorway of a boarded up shop, he watched and waited. Alex and Sergio were at the end of the pier, both. They moved forward to investigate while Portia and Angelo moved to the pier from the ship. For a moment, then, they hesitated. In this conflict, who was friend and who was enemy? Deciding that there was at least one group who definitely needed protection, Alex and Sergio moved toward the woman and child, who were now being by two shocked older women, who hovered protectively. But someone moved faster. Around him, Goran sensed rather than saw the reactions of the security people on the ship. His eyes never left the scene on the docks. He pushed Phil back around the corner out of harm's way, then charged over to the rail of the ship. If the mystery of the disappearing bullet wound had not been obvious before, it was now. Bracing with his formerly-wounded arm, Goran leapt the rail cleanly, landing on both feet on the dock below. Women and children. From somewhere in his long-ago travels, he remembered the call. Women and children first. Goran's sprint to the woman on the ground was reflexive rather than planned. In fact, Vincenzo would probably kill him later for not taking up a position aboard ship. Well, at least he was already here if they needed to cast off. When he reached the pair, he scooped the boy under one arm like a sack of potatoes and grabbed the woman by the elbow with the intention of moving them both to safety. On the ship, the practised drills were paying off. Security was stationed so they could cover all possible entrances, in line of sight of one another, and most of them on the lower decks, as those were the ones easily accessable. The upper decks were covered by Antonia and Edward from the top deck, also with crossbows. Vincenzo and Aura were on the mid deck. Both were armed by the time Petra joined them.. For the 18th time today, Vincenzo was wishing his guns worked in Amber. "Let's decide who we want to shoot at first," said Aura. "Lowenstein and his goons or the one in the cloak who threw little Jonkins." "Beating up Lowenstein and his ilk, that can be seen as a civic duty," Vincenzo said with distaste. Petra looked from watching Goran's heroics to her Security Chief. "I would much prefer letting one our friends from Vinecia have a go at those slime." Vincenzo just drew on his cigar with a look in his eye that gave Aura a reason to put Petra between herself and the man. But even as they watched, the cloaked man leapt onto Lowenstein's back, his weight driving the man to the ground. He bent low, and appeared to whisper something to him. Then he sidestepped off the man's back, grinding his right hand viciously underneath the heel of his boot. Then the man gave a prodigious leap, catching hold of a window two thirds of the way up the side of the warehouse. With a graceful twist of his body he began to use his momentum to swing up past the window and towards the roof. Seeing Alex and Sergio nearby, Goran handed the boy off to Alex and left the woman in Sergio's capable hands. He sprinted then toward the retreating form, with a burst of speed that none on the Queen could match, save for perhaps Petra on a good day. His eyes were fixed on the warehouse window as he decided it was probable that the windowsill was quite rotten in just the spot where the man was pivoting. It creaked and groaned as the man put weight on it. Vikund disappeared from his doorway - inside the shop itself, perhaps - despite the fact that it was boarded up. Vincenzo signaled to those on the ground with a sharp whistle, directing them to leave the cloaked man to his escape. As far as he was concerned, the man was doing them a favour. As for Lowenstein and his friend, someone could send them to join the rest of the bottom feeders on the sea floor as far as the Queen's security people were concerned. At Vincenzo's whistle, Goran drew himself up short, but his gaze remained focused on the window as crumbling splinters fell from the underside of the sill. The rotten windowsill creaked and groaned again, and the man clearly slipped a little. His free hand scrabbled for balance, pushing against the window itself ... A tingling sound, faint and high as the glass broke - and then he was clutching at the iron frame with a gloved hand, and using that. It was more awkward ... but the rotten windowsill was already falling towards the ground. For a second he hung there, the gloves presumably protecting his hands from shards of glass ... And then he swung ... once ... twice ... his body gaining momentum ... And up! A leap, a push off - and he had made the roof and was racing away over the roof tops. Goran watched him go, clearly annoyed at not being permitted to follow. He turned back and stalked toward the Queen, muttering Srebijan curses under his breath. He scowled at Lowenstein as he passed, but made no move to help the injured man up from his place in the dirt. As Goran neared the ship, his professional demeanor returned. He strode up the gangplank, adjusting his uniform as he went. Behind him, Sergio was working to calm the women and child, and determine how they became involved in the altercation. While Alex was checking on the second man that was not Lowenstein to ascertain his identity. Portia sauntered over to join them in case they needed a woman's intervention with the females. The women were badly upset - so much so that Portia decided the best thing to do was to bring them onto the ship for them to tell their somewhat muddled tale to Petra and her cohorts. Possibly after a soothing glass of brandy all round. Portia turned her eyes to the ship and sought out Vincenzo's attention. She gestured to the witnesses, then to the ship. At Vincenzo's nod, she turned back to the women. "Come," she said soothingly as she started to usher them toward the ship. "Let's get you off the street and someplace you can collect yourselves. I'm sure we have something to soothe your nerves. We have a healer on board who can look over the lad, and yourselves." "Thank you," said the older woman, "I'm sure ... " But the younger woman spoke, holding fast to Jonkins, her son. "He could have killed him! What if I hadn't caught him?" "He said I was brave," said Jonkins stoutly. "Before he threw me at Ma. He called me lad and said it was bravely done. Cos I attacked him." They let Portia lead them away. The second man was Mario Zimbardo, a man of average height, 5'8" (1.72 m), pale gray eyes, and auburn hair, and one of Al Coch's favourite bodyguards, along with a thug called Hans Milfram - who was probably not far away. It looked as though Zimbardo would be taking an enforced vacation from bodyguarding ... Alex grinned cheerfully at the both of them. "An intelligent fellow would see this as a sign from the gods that they're in the wrong line of work. But then, no one's ever accused you people of intelligence. Don't suppose you got a look at the civic minded fellow that did this?" Aura had gone back inside by the time Goran reached Petra and Vincenzo. Vincenzo didn't seem at all phased by Goran's interventions, or his disgruntled moment at being called back from the chase. "He was not our problem," the Security Chief said simply. "And Lowenstein's well being, it is certainly not our responsibility." Phil was nowhere in sight. The last time Goran saw him was when they were on the deck together - before he leapt off to intervene in the fight. It seems Phil must have disembarked at that point ... Goran nodded curtly at Vincenzo's first comment, then smirked self-deprecatingly at the second. "I reckon not," the younger man agreed. He turned to Petra. "Lady Petra, I found the only heir to the Greasy Spoon. I don't know if he'll suffice for what you had in mind, but he's all we've got right now." Petra's eyes strayed from Goran to Portia's group coming up behind him. "Where is he now?" "Solarium," Vincenzo said, and it appeared to be an answer to her question and an order to Portia. Portia nodded and ushered the group up to the outside stairs that led to 4th level deck with the solarium. "Well, if all this excitement is over, I will attend our guests," Petra said with a last look at where Alex was still standing over the beaten slime and then up at Vincenzo. "Send for the Watch. I want that rubbish removed before the Pier opens. Oh, and Larissa wants us to see if we can't find any of the slugs from Johann's attack this morning. Please see to that if you have not already done so." She then moved over to Goran and smiled. "Shall we?" "Yes, my Lady," Goran replied, offering his arm if she wished to take it. On the way to the solarium, he looked for Phil where he had left him. The women and the boy were all seated, rather nervously in ... whatever room they had been shown into. At least, with them, the aroma of fried fish was notably absent. Petra left Goran to find Phil while she spoke with the bartender in the solarium, where the window panels had been opened to allow a cross breeze in to air out the area now that Phil had left it. She sent Portia to fetch Aura, who was once again resident healer. After ordering dinner for their current victims of violence, Petra collected glasses and a bottle of grappa - the good stuff-for the ladies, and a hot chocolate with marshmallows for the boy. "Here we go," she smiled generously as she sat down the tray and then herself. "Drink that slow," she informed the lad. "It is hot." Petra turned her attention to the women. "What happened down there?" she asked kindly as she poured their drinks. It was one of the older women who spoke. "We were in the morgue, with poor Mabel here, for her and young Jonkins to pay their last respects to Jonkins her man as was killed this morning. And as we stand there, that Mr. Lowenstein came up to her and started in on her ... " "He never did!" said Mabel hotly. "He just said how as he was sorry for my loss, and how he hoped he would be able to help. That if we sold the warehouse to him, there'd be enough gold for Jonkins's education." She smoothed the golden curls of her young son, who was staring up at Patra with fascination. "And he promised us a place to live, a nice new home, too. Money to look after us. And that was a kindness - for how am I to manage now without my man, and the warehouse nought but a ruin?" "Then we heard something behind us," resumed the older woman. Like Mr. Lowenstein's man had got into a fight. And when we turned, we saw that the old man who had followed us in ... well, he was fighting something fierce." "When Mr. Lowenstein went across," said Mabel, "he just picked him up and used his head to batter through the door! It was terrible!" Petra kept the frown off her face, knowing the boy was watching her. He had enough of a fright and she would not add to it. She was more then thankful when the Atlantean showed up to take cheerful possession of young Jonkins to check him for injuries. She pursed her lips when Mabel finished her tale. "We are sorry for your loss," she said gravely to the women before her. "This morning was a tragedy for many. My staff, they knew all of them in one way or another." Her gaze focused on Mabel. "But that offer was too good to be true, and you are a smart woman, Mabel. If you look beyond the surface of his words, beyond your grief, you can see the underlying deceit. They are taking advantage of you in your time of loss. Not just you, but all those who suffered this morning. There is simply no way they can provide you with all that it appears they are promising. Not without extracting some payment from you later. One that you will not question until it is too late. They are opportunists, Mabel. They do nothing that will not profit them, and damn every one else." Petra rocked her brandy snifter between her thumb and forefinger. "We have been thinking on how best to assist you ourselves. I cannot stop you from taking the questionable offer from Lowenstein. But I hope you will allow me to present to you a counter offer. One that takes into account the future educational needs of all the effected children, not just Jonkins." Mabel looked worried. "He wouldn't have to work here, would he?" she burst out. "It isn't what his father would have wanted!" "Mabel!" said one of her elderly mentors, shocked at her speaking out of turn. But Mabel shook her head. "It has to be said, Aunt Ciss. We come of good merchant stock, and dressing up in silks and jewels and knowing the right sort of wine to serve and dancing around with a sword - well, it's not for the likes of us. Mr. Lowenstein ... well, he was offering a fresh start. And the contract he gave me to sign ... Well, I can show you." As Mabel handed the contract to Petra, Goran returned from his search for the fry cook empty-handed. He nodded and smiled politely to the women and stood behind his employer, hands clasped behind his back as he waited patiently to report. "It is alright," Petra assured Aunt Ciss. "It is an honest question." She turned back to Mabel. "Yes, I would like to see this contract, if you do not mind, and No, he would not have to work here. I am surprised that you would even think we would force someone to work here, even so subtley as that. This is not that kind of place, Mabel." Mabel, looking slightly abashed, handed the contract over. She, (and perhaps Mr. Lowenstein), had interpreted its contents generously - it offered what was a fair price for a scorched warehouse, as well as a rental agreement and loan to get her through the next 12 months. By Amber's standards, the rates were high but not usurious. Interest payments began the next month, with penalties for non-payment. Depending on how fast she spent the money, (and how elaborate a funeral she threw with her pockets full of coin), she would have no problems for a few months.... Petra read it over, mentally reviewed what Mabel had said earlier, and frowned. "So. You will no longer own your own business and will need to find a job, you will have a limited amount of money to live on that *might* last you a *few* months, a house that you will have to pay rent on, *plus* a high interest loan to repay with unknown penalties should you miss a payment, and no where do I see how this is supposed to pay for your son's education, and you think this is fair?" Mabel stared at her wide-eyed. "But ... but ... he said ... he said the terms were generous ... he said ... " She trailed off, staring down at the contract as though it was a snake that might suddenly bite her. Petra looked up at Goran behind her while waiting on Mabel's response. "Will you be a dear and take Aunt Ciss to another table to get the details about the fight and our cloaked crusader who seemed to take issue with Mr. Lowenstein and his henchman?" Mabel was still looking worriedly at Petra. "But I signed it," she said simply. "So you did," Petra agreed heavily. "I am uncertain there is anything I can do to get you out of this at this point. My suggestion to you, if you have already accepted any monies, do not spend a penny of it. Taking advantage of a grieving widow is wrong, and I will try to get it declared null and void. I am not without friends in high places." She gestured at the contract. "I will need to keep this for the time being. I will also need to know who else has signed one. If you could find that out, tell them what I told you, and let me know in the morning, I would appreciate it. That way, I can argue them all at once. See if you can get the word out to the others to *not* take these people up on this travesty. Unless they just
to feed their families. "Can you do this for me?" Mabel nodded worriedly. "I'll try and tell everyone. But I signed it," she said. "And what will they do to me if I go back on it?" "If what I have in mind works out, they will have the eye of the Crown on their pointy little heads," Petra replied with a smile that was faintly shark-like. "If you are concerned for your safety, I can offer you sanctuary on the ship. As a guest. Until we get this straightened out. I also have an apartment in Five Corners that is sitting empty and collecting dust, if you would prefer that. Or I can get you out of Amber entirely. I have friends who will arrange employment and lodgings, and a good school for your son. A completely fresh start." "It is your decision." "But Amber is our home!" Mabel protested. Then she bit her lip. "If we could go to Five Corners," she said slowly. "I ... I'd feel safer there. And it's not like we have a home here anymore. Not on the docks. We lived above the warehouse, you see." Clearly, she was shocked to find herself so dependent on others. "I understand," Petra assured her. "For my own peace of mind, I am going to send one of the girls to stay with you. Just until we get a few things sorted out. You will be doing me a favor at the same time. She needs some time to unwind, you see, and the apartment is plenty big enough. "Now, I just have a question about the man who was a little too late to rescue you from the trap Lowenstein tricked you into. Did you get a look at his face, perchance? Anything stand out about him at all?" "Oh yes," said Mabel. "He was a Kashfan - wearing a Kashfan cloak. I saw his face as he threw poor Jonkins - the boy could have been seriously hurt, you know! He had a cruel face ... a nose life a hawk, dark flashing eyes ... Evil, he looked." Petra raised an eyebrow. "I cannot imagine," she said mildly. "That a man who put those horrid men on the receiving end of his fists was evil. After what they did to you. He did throw Jonkins to you, his mother, and not across the cobblestones, afterall." She signaled for Portia and sent the security guard off to fetch Ornella and tell her to pack a bag for couple of days. Including her daggers. She was also to get Antonia to provide her the housekeys, and with the Amber equalivant of $500.00. Mabel and her son were going to need everything, and there was no food in that apartment. Portia was to send Alex with them, to provide an escort while Mabel talked to people and got food and clothes for a couple of days, and then to the apartment. Petra gestured to one of the staff and borrowed a pencil and several tickets. Using the backs, she begin sketching from Mabel's description, coaxing more details out of the woman until Mabel was positive Petra had the face of the man down on paper. As she drew, (and as Mabel's eager agreement seemed to change the resulting face into such a monster of depravity that it was no wonder the man had chosen to be hooded - not for concealment, but to spare people around the sight of a countenance of unparalleled evil), Petra became aware that young Jonkins, seated by his mother's side, was looking increasingly concerned at what was being produced. Petra looked at the boy and winked. She poured Mabel another half glass of brandy. "Why don't you take a moment to just relax, and get your bearings?" she suggested smoothly. Really, the woman was not the most reliable of witnesses. But that imagination was certainly impressive. "You will be on your way as soon as Ornella and Portia arrive." She then turned her attention to Jonkins. "It was very brave of you to jump in like that," she said encouragingly. "Did you see the man's face? When he called you a brave lad, perhaps?" Goran nodded formally and extended a hand to the older lady. "Mistress... Ciss? My name is Goran. We would appreciate any information you can give us on this incident. If you would accompany me, please?" With a gentle smile, he politely indicated a small table by a window in plain view of the lady's companion. "Can I get you anything?" he asked, hoping to put her at ease. She graciously accepted a glass of brandy. "For my nerves," she said, fixing him with a gimlet eye. Then she tossed it down like a pro. "But I can't tell you much more than Mabel said," she added. "Though I have my suspicions." "And they are?" Goran prompted, his hands studiously clasped before him on the table. "That the man in the cloak was not what he seemed," said Ciss, folding her hands primly around the brandy glass. "Not an old man, certainly. And not a dock dweller, neither, I'll be bound." She leaned forward and said confidentially, "I reckon as how he was from up the hill." She leaned back in her chair and nodded. "One of the Blood." Goran's eyebrow quirked at that. He leaned forward himself and smiled somewhat mischievously, encouraging the older lady to confide in him as a new partner in gossip. "Is that so?" he gasped quietly, appearing to hang on her every word. "And what makes you think that?" The old woman regarded him with a certain shrewdness. "The way he escaped for one thing. The way he clmbed that wall. Odd the wood should be rotten right there, though." "Termites," Goran shrugged. She raised the brandy glass to her lips. "And you handled yourself very well too, young man." "Thank you. I try to keep in shape. Master Vincenzo requires it," Goran replied easily. "Odd though, that one of the Blood would take an such an interest. I had thought their vision did not extend past their own entertainment when it came to us on the docks. Had you ever seen this man before?" "He was disguised by a long Kashfan cloak and hood," said the old woman with a certain asperity. "I wouldn't have known my own grandson in that get-up!" "I thought perhaps the hood might have slipped when he threw the boy. You two were facing him. I only saw him from behind when I chased him," Goran explained patiently. "So tell me in your own words. What prompted the fight? Did the man say anything except to the boy? And which direction did he come from?" As the woman began to tell her tale, Goran was aware that Petra had risen and was walking toward him. She paused at his table, clearly on her way out of the room. She smiled briefly at Ciss before turning to Goran. "Please come by my office as soon as you're done." Goran glanced up briefly and nodded, but kept most of his attention on the older woman. He listened patiently to her account of the events, nodding where it seemed polite to nod and asking questions where the story needed more prodding. When she finished, Goran escorted Aunt Ciss back to her niece and excused himself from the two ladies, leaving them in the care of the current server as they waited for Ornella and Portia. He then made his way directly to Petra's office using those routes known only to the staff. Petra was behind her desk, tapping a pen against the wood surface as she stared at various papers spread out before her. She looked up when Goran entered through the hidden panel and waved him toward the small sidebar. "You may want to get a drink for this. I suggest the Grappa. It has been very popular today." (Continued in Bad News Never Leaves) |
