SteppingOutIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | Stepping Out It seemed he did. Vikund took her arm and pulled a trump from his waistcoat pocket. The style was not immediately familiar, but there was only a moment to consider this before they were there ... a cloistered section of the Artist's Quarter. He returned the card from whence it came and turned to Islain. "Do you have any plan, other than knocking on the door? If extra hands are required, I should be able to rustle some up at short notice." Perhaps extra hands were even more available ... There was the sound of the steady (if slightly ragged) tramp of feet, perhaps a street away - and flickering lights and shadows could be seen on buildings, as though people carrying blazing torches were marching through the streets. A shrill shout. "The Revolution! Long live the Revolution!" And then the roar of cheers. Vikund gave an exasperated sigh. "That's all we need. Johann's mob let loose on the streets," he said. "Still, nothing we can't avoid with a little care, Highness." They seemed to be coming closer. And now there were more shouts ... "The Baronness! The Baronness! Long Live the Baronness! Long Live the Revolution! Viva Revolution!" And the tramping feet were getting louder. Islain's expression was slowly darkening. "Not Johann's. Some Baronness. Would Solitaire need - or be able to raise - a mob for anything, do you think, or is this some other Baroness?" "The only Baroness I can think of does not command the mob," Vikund replied. "This is mischief directed by another." He glanced around, making a quick assessment of the area and the path the mob might take. "I suspect they will be heading the same direction as us, but I dread to think what will happen if they get there with Duke Helgram waiting for them. He will have no qualms about quelling the riot in most brutal fashion." The mob was clearly on the move somewhere - the flickering torches showed that. "She may not command them, but if they're heading that way, they're for her - by some mischief or other," Islain murmured. "I don't know where we are going - if I did, perhaps I might offer a shortcut. Do you know one? Speaking of Duke Helgram, however, do you think dear Merlin would mind if we just ended the old Duke? One two and the next in your bosom?" "I don't think His Majesty would mind at all, but I believe it would be ill-advised," Vikund replied. "Consider the consequences, even if the attempt succeeded which is by no means certain. Assassination will bring fearful vengeance. For the moment, I suggest we observe." He looked around again, getting his bearings. "I believe I know a way that will get us there quicker, as long as you don't mind getting your shoes dirty." He gestured towards an alley, and led the way towards the Baroness' house. They seemed to be in a quieter area - it was clear that the mob weren't taking the most direct route, but the one that allowed them the greatest chances of swelling their numbers which, it seemed, were already considerable. Islain hid her irritation brilliantly. Her face showed absolutely no hint of the rage smoldering inside her. She - the rightful Princess - been cooling her heels in backwaters for a century and raised no indignation, and now some little half-Chaosian girl less than a tenth of Islain's age had managed to raise a sizable resistance for herself - and to convince Merlin that she was one of the more powerful pieces on the board. Vikund knew routes where such a crowd had no chance of passing - where the walls were barely wide enough to pass - and used them to good effect. They emerged into a nexus of alleys festooned with washing left out to dry, where a man was smoking, seeming to enjoy his own company. He looked much like any other man from the wrong end of town, though not all could afford good weed. Vikund crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and spoke to him urgently. "We have a Code Green; strict non-intervention, but I want names and addresses of the ringleaders by this time tomorrow. Be swift, as they will disappear once the trouble starts. And let the watch know - they can be a bit slow on the uptake sometimes," he said, before going on his way. The man merely nodded, watching Vikund and his companion pass by. In moments they were opposite the house they sought, in clear line of sight from where the man had been standing. The Princess watched this without interfering or commenting. "Time is against us," Vikund said to Islain, "we will have to be direct. Our objective is to bring back the Baroness, nothing else. If you wish to tarry with other purposes in mind ... Good Luck." "Time is always against me," she said quietly, "but if you believe me stupid enough to try to take on the Duke by my lone self, you're either overestimating me, or underestimating me, and I'm not sure which. Do we have a plan of attack? You say direct, but are we going to make our presence known and ask for her to accompany us or is this a grab-and-go?" "I assume that all parties will see reason, and that they will wish to accompany us to the safety of the castle," Vikund said, and strode towards the door with the clear intent of knocking with a fury. Islain muttered something not very complimentary about his father, but then smoothed her hair, tweaked her bodice a little, and followed him. They heard a familiar voice call from above. "Vikund? Princess Islain? What are you two doing here?" (Solitaire enters from A Full House)
They now noticed Solitaire perched atop the wall like a praying mantis; insect-like limbs of writhing shadow holding her in place. Her obsidian eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you have something to do with this mob?" "No. By your leave, I would take you away from it," Vikund replied. "The king has asked for you, and you will find a better welcome at the castle than from the rabble that comes this way. Please, come away now!" Solitaire paused for a moment before turning to address someone on the other side of the wall. "Sparrow? Join me around front would you please?" Once her warder was heading towards the outer gate, the young woman lowered herself to the main street with her tendrils. Having completed their duty, the ropy clots of darkness retreated within her body. She paced over to Vikund, tiny fists balled up. "I cannot leave. I have two diplomatic guests under my roof. I'll not abandon them to some mob of Chaosian haters. And, besides, why I should believe you? The king doesn't even know I exist. This is undoubtedly another of Mandor's ruses. Has he sent you to finish the job that his other dog started, perhaps?" The Logrus stirred beneath her flesh, tattooing her skin with agitation. "A rather interesting selection of messengers though. A betrayer and a dear friend." Her dark eyes flicked over at Islain, the anger softening for a breath, before returning like a brushfire. Islain took a step closer to Tear. "Oh, Little Pearl. Life has not been kind to you since you left me, has it? But please, believe me - Merlin does know of your existence and is concerned for you. Don't be worried - it's just that he's a good, well-informed king and keeps up on all his talented friends. And for your friends - bring them with you, by all means. But please come with us. I do not understand this mob but unfortunately we do not have time to understand it. The King would very much like to speak to you. Won't you come with us, sweetheart?" "This is not one of the Prime Minister's whims; he is currently in no position to trouble you, Baroness." Vikund said. "I daresay your guests are more than capable of looking after themselves. Please, go to the castle and speak with the king. If you would rather I not go with you, then I will do what I can to buy you some time to escape." As they spoke, the gate opened and a young woman in a Ranger's uniform emerged. She immediately made her way to stand at Solitaire's side, as dutiful as a guard dog. Her quiet presence appeared to calm Solitaire little. Solitaire reached up to tug on her ear, Islain's calm words apparently cutting through her anger. Her eyes drained of darkness until they were once more a luminous violet. "I …" she began, unsure. She glanced back at her house and then stepped closer to Islain, gazing up at her fearfully. "But Princess. I don't think it's wise for me to leave. The Duke would be most upset if I abandoned him. And I have Tasha to think of. And my home. When the mob realizes I'm a Chaosian, they'll burn my house down. Shouldn't I speak to them. Make them understand?" "They will understand," Vikund said, and produced a trump card from his pocket. "If it is your wish, I will return as soon as you are under the King's protection to see to their safety." Solitaire's head snapped around with the speed of a predatory bird. "Considering that you've twice abandoned me to the wolves — quite literally in one case — in less than three days' time, forgive me if my faith in you is somewhat dubious at this moment, Master Vikund." Vikund looked irritated by the comment. "You do not have to put faith in me Baroness. Choose His Majesty, or the mob." From an alley near the end of Solitaire's wall, a man approached. Tall and lanky, he walked toward them purposefully yet cautiously, his hands away from his sides to show they were empty. At first, he appeared to be part of the rabble, with an old canvas coat and a worn pageboy cap. The trousers though appeared to be part of a uniform - one which was familiar to Vikund. He'd seen the cap before too. (Goran enters from Red Sky at Morning?)
In the glow of an oil lamp, his face came clearer, as did the tint of auburn in his hair. "Lord Vikund? Highness?" the man said, with a trace of a foreign accent. He inclined his head toward Solitaire and looked at them inquiringly. "May I try?" was the unspoken question. And 'please do' was the unspoken answer, indicated by a gesture of Vikund's hand. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting torches to be hoving into view at any moment. In a second, he had made a decision. "See that she gets safe to the castle," he said to Goran, offering him the trump. "Please." Goran took the trump with a nod of thanks. "I will," he promised with a grave nod. Solitaire turned around at the familiar voice, narrowing her eyes against the biting lamplight. She held up her pale hand in front of her face to block it. The recognition came immediately, the brilliant smile a heartbeat after that. "Goran," she whispered, as if the name were sacred and not to be spoken frivolously. The hand fell limply to her side, the jaundiced light outlining her haggard features. Shadows in tow, she sprung at him, encompassing him with her frail arms, burying her face in his chest. Goran held her to him and kissed her tenderly on the top of her head. Though his gentle words were inaudible, his relief was obvious to those around them. The secret words and embrace nearly undid her. For the first time in days, she felt as if she were finally home again. She trembled against him, whispering his name over and over. But not for long. Like a startled animal, she leapt back and thumped him in the chest with her fist. "You can't be here," she whispered harshly. "My. My uncle is here. If he sees you. I. I …" She glanced back at the house with true fear. Her fingers tightened on his shirt. "I don't know what he'd do to you." "What?" Goran started, thoroughly confused about why Uncle Gloomy would be angry enough for Tear to be this fearful. Solitaire gazed up at him, equally confused at his calmness. She opened her mouth to explain, but a nearby shout startled her to silence. He shook his head to clear it. "Never mind. Vikund's right. There's powerful stuff afoot and you need to be outta here," he said hastily. He grasped her hand tightly, offering no room for argument as he raised the trump Vikund had given him. "You two coming or staying?" he asked Vikund and Islain urgently, sparing no breath for formal niceties. Islain had watched the two exchanges with a nervous energy and a vague cold distance. As the unknown man (Goran, Tear had called him) approached and embraced Tear, she took a step backward, uncertain of what to think of the situation she had found herself in, and suddenly oddly jealous. She bit back those feelings and said, "I have no desire to stay between a mob and Duke Helgram. If you'll take us, I'll go." "Of course, Highness," Goran said levelly, though he had paled somewhat at the mention of the name. He offered her his elbow as his hand was still holding the trump. Solitaire's cast over Islain, "Of course, Princess. Sparrow? Guard the Princess and do as she asks until we reach the King." The Ranger looked stricken at the request, like a puppy who had been kicked at being asked to place another duty above the only one that gave meaning and pleasure to her life ... "Mistress," she said, and her voice was stifled with real pain. "Mistress ... please ... no!" Solitaire blanched at the reaction. "Oh," she said, staring at Sparrow's stricken face. It pained her to see the young woman's obvious distress. She offered an apologetic smile, "Okay, Sparrow, stay with me then. It's okay." As one might soothe a nervous pet, Solitaire stroked Sparrow's hair. "I'm sorry, Sparrow. I won't ask that of you again." Sparrow looked at her with evident gratitude. If she had had a tail, it would be wagging. "I'll try to hold them up," Vikund said, loosening his sword in its scabbard. "Go quickly - now!" Goran watched him go, again wondering if he might have misjudged the man. Another crash of glass spurred him on. "C'mon, let's go," he urged the women, raising the trump again. The mob was getting closer - the tramp of their feet and their shouts suggested they were in the next street. Solitaire stared at Vikund, conflicted. She bit her lip and then shook her head. Her eyes turned on Goran, "But I can't! Not without Tasha. I swore to watch over her. So, the King can wait a moment more. I'll not leave her to the mob. And she is with my uncle. There's no telling what might happen if I abandon her." Goran held back a growl as his grip tightened on her wrist to keep her from fleeing off on some fool's errand. Once again she saw the confusion on ablaze upon Goran's face. A frown painted her pale features as realization settled in. "Not Uncle Gloomy. My other uncle, Goran." His eyes widened. "Here?" he breathed, putting the pieces together. "I'll fetch her," she whispered. Oddly, she remained exactly where she stood; only closing her eyes to concentrate. "Dammit, Tear, we can't...!" Goran snarled, cutting himself off when he realized she had not moved. Instead, he merely scowled and turned his attention to the trump without releasing her hand. Vikund turned with a nod to Goran and Islain, before dashing off across the street, drawing his sword as he went. Within moments, he had disappeared from view. (Vikund exits to Vikund on the Prowl?)
Goran's trump wavered into life. "Yes!" said Merlin irritably. Then the words came with silent force. ~Goran, I'm the sodding King of Amber, not telephone exchange central. Do you people mind giving me some space to do some kinging here? Yes there are riots in the city. Yes, I know where Petra is, and she's saf ... fine. And ... and ... what the hell are you doing with a trump of me, anyway?~ (Continued in Stepping Back In)
|
