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λren
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Joined: Feb 2009
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Karma: 0 | | Fable2 project
« Thread Started on Nov 1, 2009, 7:50am » | |
For my class I have to write a chapter per week as a class project to make my own original story, so I chose fanfiction! Fable 2 is actually pretty nice once you get over the fact that the ending slightly sucked and it was perfect fodder to spread my imagination around!
There aren't any italics or bolds (unless I add them!) because I didn't use UBBC on WordPerfect.
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Come Little Children, I'll Take Thee Away
Into A Land Of Enchantment
Come Little Children
The Time's Come To Play
Here In My Garden Of Shadows
Chapter 1
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“Everything interesting happens in a bar, you know?”
–Abby LeMaster
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Bowerstone Town Square
Dusk
2 years after Sparrow left for the Spire
Even past nightfall, the Cow & Corset was full to the brim with regulars and newcomers alike. The lights were on, the ale was flowing, and the talk was running high. Members of all types of elite lingered here; the prudish and their large-buttoned coats, the middle-class with their fluffy mustaches, the beggars wearing their worn-down clothing. Anyone with enough money to buy a pint–or just had a lot to say, mind you, for the pub was the center of every piece of gossip in Bowerstone–had taken a load off and were beginning to tell their tales to all who listened.
An older-looking gentleman stood apart from the others, bent over a large journal of some kind. The pub was so loud that the scratching of his quill could not even be heard over the roar of the crowds gathered at the bar. A few curious glances were spared his way, most notably from the waitress, who hadn’t even been acknowledged when she went and offered him a drink, but he was otherwise left alone.
You would wonder why an older man of such obvious learning was bothering to write in a pub and not in a quiet, respectable place like a study or at his own home for instance. The patrons wondered this at first, as was their wont, but eventually they decided to leave well-enough alone. Besides, the man wasn’t hurting anything, was he?
“More rum, Missus Shaw? No, not you, you little terror. ‘Oo let you in here?” The waitress glared at a smaller girl, the miniature of her mother. Betty just smiled impishly, dodging the waitress’s halfhearted swat at her head. “Don’t let me catch you drinking anything,” she snarled, and turned to walk away.
The waitress was a curvy, red-headed woman whose attention-span mimicked that of a gnat. As soon as she looked away from Betty she was staring over at the Game Master, catching his eye with a waspish grin of her own. Beside her, a dark-eyed woman seemed to have noticed. She laughed openly at this display of affection and said loudly, “Why don’t you two be like a normal couple and date, Lettie?”
Lettie scowled, blushing scarlet. “Tell the ‘ole world, why don’t yah?” she blustered, and moved off before she could answer. There was an answering laugh from behind her from the Game Master that brought humiliated tears to her eyes, and she bustled off behind the counter to hide her face.
You stupid ol’ girl, she thought to herself. You shouldn’t break down like this.
But she did, and that was the embarrassing part. Mood swings like this had been going on for about a month though now, ever since she’d realized she’d missed her monthly nature’s calling, and she was afraid of what the news would bring. Nobody wished to date a woman already claimed by another man, she knew, but there would be no way, no way to get rid of the child...
She felt her eyes overflow with tears again and she mopped the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her overcoat. There were sudden steps behind her, then a voice. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
“Go away, Sarah, I’m not in the damned mood,” she groped. “I’m working.”
Sarah sighed. “You know the gal didn’t mean anything by it, Lettie. It’s just ‘er way of communicating with the lower-class such as ourselves.”
Lettie closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head. Sarah muttered something derogatory underneath her breath and carefully took the empty pewter jugs from her hands. “Fine, just stay ‘ere and mope, then,” she said quietly, but without any real venom in her voice.
And stay there Lettie did. It was a stupid, irresponsible thing to do, that she knew, but it was more bearable than facing the day’s work thinking about that baby growing inside of her. She loved Jameson, for pity’s sake! Why did she have to marry such a foul, evil, loathsome little cockroach...?
The night passed swiftly as she hid underneath the counter, deep in thought and longing. She hardly dared peek over to take a look at Jameson and what he thought of her performance, but on her way to get another ale Sarah whispered that for all everybody was concerned she’d come down with a bad bout of nausea and left. The bartender, Eddie, didn’t even do her the courtesy of glancing down and asking what was wrong. He didn’t have to, knowing her so well.
“All right, all right, it’s time for your lot to clear out!” the older man cried, waving his hand at the remaining table of guests. Apparently they didn’t get the hint, for Eddie walked around the side of the bar and went to deal with them himself.
“Oooo,” Sarah whispered. She was busy washing the bar with a bucket of soap and a washcloth. “Those guys just got in town this morning. They’ve been getting drunk all night, too, from what I recall.” Then, as if Lettie was making some kind of noise, Sarah shushed her and listened intently with her mind only half on her work.
“You’re such a nosy woman, Sarah,” Lettie mumbled underneath her breath.
Figuring that it was better to show her face to new strangers instead of existing friends, she began to stand, folding her skirts about her so she didn’t trip. Eddie was in a deep, heated conversation with the strangers, and as she watched she noticed gold exchange hands. They must be renting a room, she thought to herself.
Eddie straightened up and coughed. “Lettie, Sarah, go to bed. I’ll clean up.”
“I should make up for the lost work, Mister Fastings,” Lettie said pointedly, alarm bells ringing in her head. “Are these old friends of yours?”
The group consisted of just three men, all wearing top hats and looking very respectable. The tallest one, wearing a strange set of goggles, just smiled politely at her and said, “Nuthing to see here, now, love. We just want someplace that’s really quiteable for the night.”
“Well then you can rent a room, can’t you?” Lettie countered.
The man cackled to himself. “Fair ‘nuff. Me name’s Barnum, and yours?”
“Loretta,” she said, still suspicious. The old man in the corner continued to write, oblivious to the commotion. She looked up at him and said, “Oi, you! We’re closin’, now.”
“I am well aware of that, Madame Loretta,” the man said clearly in a clipped, posh accent. The quill paused for a moment, as if he were thinking of how to best word a sentence, and he continued writing. Barnum glanced over at him and grinned a smile full of missing teeth.
“Then why aren’t you leaving?” Sarah asked curiously.
“Because Barnum had generously paid for my continued existence in this Inn past your confounded curfew,” the old man said irritably. For the first time since she’d seen him, he put down his quill and glared at the visitor. “I suppose it’s for an important reason, yes?”
“If you consider gold a goodful reason,” Barnun said, still smiling despite his use of incorrect grammar. “Come sit over here and we’ll tell you all about it!”
Lettie and Sarah exchanged a glance, wondering. “Shall we get you some ale, then, Mister Barnum?” the latter asked in what Lettie supposed she thought was a posh voice. Perhaps she thought she was dealing with a ‘respectable fellow’ as she put it, but Lettie could see from the state of his clothes that he was at the very least a middle-class whelp like herself. She was always rounding high, Sarah was. If you looked past the annoying tendency of it all, it was actually quite amusing.
“Some rum would be nice, eh?” Barnum said, elbowing his two companions. “Just three glasses will do.” He turned to the old man. “I don’t suppose you’ll ‘ave any, eh chap? ‘annah told me–“
“–that I don’t drink, yes, yes.” If anything, the man seemed to be getting more irritated, as if he thought such a man as Barnum had no right to know his drinking habits. Then he did something that completely astonished her–he got up, screwed the lid over his ink jar, and began to clear off his stuff. The journal, already very thick from the looks of it, had to be held in his hand since it didn’t fit in his pocket. Eddie drew up a chair and let the man sit down. “Thank you... now, Barnum, she’s still gone, like I’ve told you before.”
“I know, don’t I?” Barnum asked. As Lettie came over to refill their mugs, she caught a whiff of very strong tea emitting from them. Not drunk, then. “I’ve had my eye out ever since the gal disappeared, and Westcliff is just flourishing. Traders are coming in more and more, and guess what? They elected me Mayor to boot!”
The old man’s face went stony, and he blinked just once. “Oh, wonderful. So what do you want? Congratulations?”
“That would be nice,” Barnum said.
“Congratulations. Have fun being Mayor of Westcliff.”
“My thanks, good man, my thanks.” He didn’t even seem to notice the sarcasm, and Lettie exchanged another significant glance with Sarah, who hid a smile as she began to resume her cleaning. “But I’ve not come here to gloat, you see. Sparrow and I were good friends, and I want to know if she’s in any... erm, special circumstances.”
“Oooo Sparrow?” Sarah asked loudly. “I adore her, she ‘elped me out of a tight spot she did.”
Sparrow, Sparrow, Sparrow... Where had Lettie heard that name before? Abruptly, it hit her like a brick wall. Lionheart, she was called now, but not that anybody had forgotten her first name. That little orphan girl... disappeared for years and turns up, fully grown and helping out a blacksmith! She’s done a-many things since then, too...
Sparrow–or Lionheart–was a big name around the Cow & Corset lately, a charlatan if there was one. She’d only come in a few times as far as she could remember, but her image stayed firmly fixed in her mind like a bright light. She was a thin woman with an obvious muscular structure and just gorgeous mahogany hair that had a nice wave to it when she took out the braids. She’d never spoken to Sparrow, but to lay eyes on her was to lay eyes on the center of town gossip.
A charming, seclusive woman with a giant sword... yes, that would be bound to draw anybody’s attention all right.
The old man coughed politely at Eddie, who rounded on Sarah. “Your work ‘ere is done, ladies, go on ‘ome now.”
At the end they couldn’t refuse them. Barnum gave a considerate tip of five gold each for his rum as they left, and Eddie fixed them with a you-do-as-you’re-told-and-ask-no-questions look. As the doors closed behind them, Lettie and Sarah looked at each other. “Don’t even think about it,” Lettie said in an undertone. “You don’t want to get fired, do you?”
“Oh, it’ll only be a quick peek,” Sarah said excitedly, pocketing her tip. She gestured for Lettie to follow her behind the Inn, and after a bit of consternation she followed. “I know it’s being nosy, but it’ll be important!”
“Important ‘ow, Sarah?” Lettie said, an edge to her voice. “Nothing life-altering.”
“Just because you’re all stuck in your own little dramas doesn’t mean there’s a world going on outside the one that revolves around you,” Sarah snapped, brown eyes flashing. She leaned down and carefully pried open the cellar door, which made a squeaking sound as the metal slid on its hinges. They froze for a moment, waiting to be called out, and then Sarah descended into it first.
The cellar room was on the far end of the Inn’s bedrooms, which would be perfect for Sarah’s plan. They made their way through the casks of beer and up the stairs, Lettie’s heart all of a flutter. This isn’t a good idea! the prudish part of her mind exclaimed. It would be just her luck for everybody not only to know she was pregnant with her husband’s child but that she was an eavesdropper. Even if she was, to be publically known would be a nightmare.
They crept past the doors of the Inn’s residents–sleeping or close to it–and they managed to get close enough to the sitting room to hear the voices nearest the door. Sarah tried her luck nearly too far in Lettie’s opinion by poking her head around the corner a little bit to check out the scene, then pressed a finger to her lips.
“Let’s sneak upstairs,” she whispered, eyes alight with this new adventure.
“Sa-rah...” Lettie whispered, nearly begging. “Let’s just go ‘ome, where we belong.”
“They’re talking about Lionheart,” Sarah admonished, as if she couldn’t believe that somebody wouldn’t not want to listen to more fabricated tales about that tree-hugging philanthropist that supposedly went around punching balverines in the mouth for ‘entertainment.’ “Come on, I think they’ve moved...”
They were in the process of moving when the two stole upstairs, clutching their skirts around their ankles and trying not to make a sound. Eddie saw them out of the corner of his eye and glared, but he couldn’t do anything in his present condition. Before they hid behind one of the larger tables on the balcony, Lettie shot him an apologetic look.
“”Now this is nice,” Barnum said, settling in. “D’you ‘ave a light on you, barman? Yah, thanks.”
There was the unmistakable sound of a match being struck, and to Lettie’s attuned senses she could pick out a whiff of outer-land tobacco–Westcliff if she thought about it, or at least in that near region. There was a grunt from the older man complaining of the smell and a sudden scraping of chair legs against the wooden floor, then there was an answering cough from Barnum she recognized as a classic smoker’s cough that happened when too many fumes entered the throat. Not much of a smoker herself, Lettie wondered what drew people to the weed more than the ale. At least getting drunk she could understand.
“Now, back to me original point of this ‘ole trip,” the stranger, Barnum, said boisterously. “Sparrow. Or Lionheart as they call ‘er now, ever since she beat that darned Crucible. Nobody’s beaten ‘er time yet, and it’s been a year an’ all...”
“So? It took years for them to beat the angry mutt’s scores, didn’t it?” the older man retorted.
Lettie and Sarah exchanged a look and grinned; Sarah’s earlier obsession had been with Mad-Dog when he’d passed through, but if Lettie’s attention span was that of a gnat then her friend’s was virtually nonexistent. She was forever stuck in an annoying stage of puberty.
“But by the margin she beat them!” Barnum exclaimed. “Beat that one with the ‘obbes nearly two minutes before the limit was called, remember? And the troll–“
“What is the point of this meeting, Barnum?”
“I’m glad I never talked to ‘im, ‘e never seemed too nice,” Lettie whispered. Sarah shot her a reproachful look for her noise and began to crawl foreword a little bit until her heard peered out of the bars.
Lettie felt a headache coming on. Oh, why am I that woman’s friend? But she pricked her ears and tried to listen to the voices below even harder, because as much of an anarchist she was, Lettie was genuinely interested in Sparrow and her exploits. She’d only heard a bit of an overview about what happened in the Crucible, but Barnum was there reliving it for her!
“...and we’re really interested in learning ‘oo the gal’s teacher was, eh?” Barnum was saying in what was supposedly a winning voice. “There’d be a ton of gold in it for them...”
The old man was affronted. “You want me to train Crucible recruits? What game are you playing at? A new tourism spot?”
“My good man, come on. I’m absolutely confussled about who else to choose from, ‘onestly.” Lettie, despite her earlier sentiments, edged up next to Sarah until she was peering down at the table furthest from the rooms. The old man had his jaw clenched, facing them, but the others were turned with their back to them. Eddie was over by the bar, finishing Sarah’s job, but obviously listening in by the way his body was leaning towards the conversation. “But you’re the best man for the job! No, no, just ‘ear me out–“
The old man had risen from his seat in a sudden burst of passion. “I will not train those thugs, whores, and murderers to kill even more people. It’s not right–it’s not morally right.”
“Now don’t worry, don’t worry,” Barnum fluttered, trying to calm him. “Please, just sit down. I’m not done yet.”
The man continued to stand, seething, until Eddie coughed discreetly. “Don’t raise your voice,” he said in an even tone, “or gold or no gold I’m kicking you out of ‘ere. Sit down.”
When Eddie used that voice, you knew you couldn’t go arguing with him. Not even the strict man seemed to want to test it, though Lettie had been hoping for a moment he would get angry just so she had something to tell her friends. “Oooh, this is getting good,” Sarah whispered her way. It was Lettie’s turn to shush her.
The older man sat down, looking as if he regretted his loss of temper. “I’m not going to be your little mercenary contractor,” he whispered roughly, so low she almost couldn’t catch it. “Go find somebody else.”
“We want to find your Lionheart,” Barnum said, “but she’s not ‘ere, bless ‘er ‘eart.”
One of the two men next to Barnum–two men who hadn’t spoken yet as far as Lettie knew–said in a low, deep rumbling bass voice, “Where is the Hero at?”
The man’s face went rigid, and his voice was awfully cold when he answered, “I’m afraid that’s none of your business.”
“So you do not deny it, then,” the man whispered. “She went to the Spire, didn’t–“
“Barnum!” the old man roared. “You insufferable lout!”
“They were a’scaring me,” Barnum cried, all pretense of normalcy forgotten. “They were goin’ to–“
Before Lettie could even gasp their table seemed to lift up of its own accord, falling on Barnum and the soft-spoken male. The old man was on his feet, clutching the journals he’d been writing with bloodless hands. He made for the door, but the other man tackled him from behind, bringing him to the ground. Eddie let out a howl and took out his firearm, but he couldn’t seem to figure out who to aim at. “Stop, stop!” he yelled.
“Oh dear, should we ‘elp them?!” Sarah cried, attempting to get up and banging her head on the table above them in the process.
Inexplicably, the older man managed to gain the upper hand on the much younger, faster generation. There was a sharp snip of a blade coming out of its sheath, Lettie saw a flash of silver–and then there was blood, crimson against the floorboards. It was hard to tell whose was whose, and Lettie found herself transfixed as she watched their fight with wide eyes.
The second man had gotten the table off of him and leveled a firearm at the older male’s head, but either his thrashing about saved him or else he just knew the bolt missed and hit his accomplice in the shoulder. There was no cry of pain, and Lettie soon knew why.
The man was already dead.
The old man’s large, jewel-encrusted knife whipped through the air and, with the skill of a master, plunged straight into the second attacker’s chest, right over his heart. Lettie, Barnum, Eddie, and Sarah let out similar cries of astonishment, and Lettie felt a scream building up in her throat.
With an irritated groan, the older man lifted the body of his first assailant off of his and limped over to the second. With a hand on the hilt protruding from his chest, he said in a loud, clear voice, “Does Lucien know yet?”
“Oh, no,” Sarah whispered, hands over her mouth. The man was still breathing in sharp, jerking gasps. The entire world seemed to hold its breath as he stuttered a few times, then whispered, “Not... yet.... We just... ung... guessed.”
“Is he close? Does he suspect?”
What in God’s name was he talking about? But the attacker seemed to know, because he shook his head. “Background... check. He fears you...”
“And he’ll fear the monster I created,” the old man whispered. With a sharp motion he took the knife out of the man’s chest with many a squelching sound and cut his throat.
Why was the room shaking? Was the ground moving? Only when she touched another piece of flooring did she realize that it wasn’t the world moving–it was her. She was shaking head to foot, immersed as she was in adrenaline. Oh my... oh my GOD! HE KILLED HIM! JUST LIKE THAT!
Lettie was hyperventilating, too terrified to scream in case this mad killer came upstairs to finish her next. Silent tears of horror were running down Sarah’s face, and they glanced at each other just once–it wasn’t a pretty sight for either of them, because Lettie was sure she was looking into a mirror.
Oh, no. The older man was cleaning off the blade on the nearest available cloth–the assailant’s shirt–and looked almost casually at Eddie. “Sorry,” he apologized. Then he turned to Barnum, and Lettie thought there was about to be another murder. “You knew those were Lucien’s men,” he accused. “You might want to start talking.”
Barnum’s apologies were quick and seemingly unsuccessful against his rough exterior. There was blood from a cut on his cheek, running oddly on his older-looking face, and it made Lettie nauseous just to look at it. Her heart was in her throat, it felt, and she waited for the man’s verdict–for he had become the prosecutor, judge, and executioner in that one, short fight.
“Explain! I’ve got no time for the blathering of idiots.”
“Don’t go kill me!” Barnum begged. “They just wanted to come see you, they said they wouldn’t ‘urt nothing if they I introductoried you! I’m telling the truth!”
“Oh, cut the whining, you’re giving me a headache,” the gentleman said scathingly. “Eddie, two of your finest beers. You know how it is.”
Lettie expected Eddie to refuse or at least look shaken, but after that first indecisive look during the fight he seemed to have regained some of his composure. “They’ve found you,” he noted, bringing the two foaming pints his way. “This isn’t good. I can’t ‘ide you anymore if you’re bringing in people like this racket.”
“Lord Lucien is going to eat his words one day, let me tell you,” the old man muttered. “He owes me a few lives, but I can settle for his.”
“This ‘as something to do with...” Eddie hesitated, a frown on his face, before continuing, “Ilandere and Sparrow?”
“Yes,” the old man breathed. Lettie noticed the small jump he’d given at the names, and she hoped for Eddie’s sake that he was in a tolerable mood. She was still shaking, her breathing ragged, and she moved her hand to her mouth to stifle the sound. “Sparrow is like a daughter to me, Eddie, and I’ll wait as long as it takes to get her out of the Spire... but what if they know she’s in there? What if they connect the dots and realize...?”
“Nonsense,” Eddie said reassuringly. “Unless... Barnum, are you up to talking now or what?”
“I... I can talk...” Barnum spared one last glance at the bodies before stumbling away from the damage. “They just wanted to meet you when I told them where I was going. They were nice enough chaps, but a bit quiet-like. I... I never thought they’d...”
“Did they mention anything about Heros on your travels?” the old man asked harshly.
Barnum cringed, then nodded. “I thought they were joking when they said, you know, that Lionheart was one. But they were scary to be sure... always talking about Lucien...”
“What about them saying they wouldn’t ‘urt anything?” Eddie asked.
This is not happening, this is not happening... Lettie could feel her mind going black, her body going limp in shock. She scooted back a little so her head couldn’t be seen and dropped her face into her arms. Sarah was still shaking. Lettie didn’t hear the rest of their conversation, preferring instead to sit there and being deaf to anything incriminating.
She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew Eddie was poking her in the back, a look that could have murdered on his face. “Didn’t I tell you to go home?” he hissed.
“You know him,” she accused in a low voice, her face flushed red. Sarah was crying softly next to her. “You.. You’re with him...”
“Of course I am, haven’t you listened to any of my stories?” he snapped. “Get up, I’m taking you home. Drink these.” And he handed her the two beers that the gentleman had ordered earlier. “Drink it, it’s not poison.”
She found the beer was nice on her stomach, so she finished off the pint herself. Sarah flat-out refused to drink until she realized it wasn’t poison, then finished it off with a greedy air. It was obviously a very potent alcohol, because Lettie soon found her mind going funny like it always did once she’d let nature take its course. She stumbled over the freshly-clean floorboards and past Barnum, who was taking a room on the second floor. The older man was nowhere in sight.
“I’m not a-liking this, Eddie,” Sarah whispered quietly, stumbling on after them. “You takin’ bribes like that. They can go to bed with everybody else.”
Lettie nodded, suddenly woozy on her feet. “Whew, what was in that beer there, Ed? I feel so drunk.” She began to giggle, and Sarah joined in.
“Wipe your face, Sarah, snot’s running down your nose,” Eddie said sternly. “I’m going to take you both ‘ome and you’re going to go to sleep. It’s a great idea.”
“I want to go to sleep now, though, Ed,” Lettie said, offering him an impish grin of her own. Eddie just mumbled something under his breath and walked them back to their stone houses near the bar. He fumbled in Lettie’s handbag for her key and turned the lock. “In you go,” Eddie said. “Go to sleep and take tomorrow off.”
Sarah made to follow Lettie, but Eddie stopped her. “Not now, ‘on, this isn’t your ‘ouse.”
“Looks damn well like my ‘ouse,” Sarah muttered. She and Lettie caught each other’s eyes and giggled again. The door closed behind them and there was a sudden click of a lock–Eddie still had her house key. “Good night, Lettie!” Sarah yelled.
“Good night, Sarah!”
And, still giggling, Lettie fell into her bed next to a pillow she took to be her absent husband and muttered, “Nighty-night.”
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λren
Level 04
member is offline
Chief Handwaving Officer
Joined: Feb 2009
Gender: Female
Posts: 45
Location: Not in Florida!
Karma: 0 | | Re: Fable2 project
« Reply #1 on Nov 1, 2009, 7:52am » | |
CHAPTER 2
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“The greatest stories are those that resonate our beginnings and intuit our endings, our mysterious origins and our numinous destinies, and dissolve them both into one.”
–Ben Okri
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The bar was finally quiet, and having finally locked Barnum in his rented room (with the sole proviso that he wasn’t going to be a resident for more than his allotted time) the old gentleman and the barman sat across from each other at the bar and shared a drink that was long overdue.
“You may be old and dotty, but you can still make a great beer,” the gentleman joked, clacking his pewter mug against Eddie’s. The contrast between his mood then and now was nearly comical.
“Just ‘cos I don’t travel with your freakshow doesn’t mean I’ve lost it,” Eddie growled. He glanced upstairs as if checking for more eavesdroppers, then said, “Ilandere is in trouble, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” the gentleman said seriously. “Lucien doesn’t know that she survived that first night yet, but I’ll tell you this–when he does, he won’t make a speech or apologize. He’ll finish the job he started and nobody will be the wiser.”
“You haven’t gotten word back from ‘er? Nothing?”
“Nothing. The Spire does not give away its innards so easily.” He looked distraught for a brief, disarming moment, and then his face hardened. He took a large gulp of his beer, fingering the blood-stained journal he’d been writing for the past week in the solitude of his own private corner at the Cow & Corset. “And what about you? You didn’t recognize me at first.”
“Not until tonight,” Eddie muttered, “and only because I put together the pieces. You’ve changed a lot. The hair, the eyes... all different.”
“Maybe it’s just your eyes, Eddie,” the gentleman joked. He placed the thick journal on the counter and began to flick through the pages. “I’ve cleaned up the blood as much as I could–the damn bastard bled all over it. Can you believe it?”
“You did stab ‘im in the neck...”
“Ah, well...” He wasn’t embarrassed about it at all, nor nervous about guards that might have heard the commotion. He might have looked like an older man with a greying beard, but anybody who was looking could have seen the taut, tight muscle beneath that might as well have been armor. “They’re going to be a problem if there are more than them. I trust you can be discreet?”
“Bah, you forget who you’re talking to, you ol’ fool.” Eddie ducked behind the counter to rearrange a few items, then reappeared again. “Do I get to know the particulars, Owen?”
Owen took another large sip, as if debating, and then nodded to himself as he swallowed. “You’ve done so much for me tonight... Yes, you need to know. I don’t need that fortune-teller telling me otherwise.”
“Start at the beginnin’,” Eddie told him, taking a seat. “Just so I understan’ better. You found Ilandere and Rose...?”
Owen, one of the deadliest men in the world and looked as though he’d spent his youth knocking down doors, felt as if he were reduced to mere sentimental mush at the sound of the names. He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to have others on the outside who knew, and he felt grateful to Eddie for staying at the Cow & Corset for all these years.
“Aye, I found them,” he said, “nearly fourteen years ago I reckon. Ilandere was just eight, her sister was only a little older than that. No parents, stuck out there and starving in the cold. They didn’t strike me as the begger sort, oh, no. They were smart, mature beyond their years if you didn’t take into account their wild fantasies.
“Rose always wanted to live in Castle Fairfax. She wanted to be royalty without the snobbiness, to be a beautiful princess among the people.” He gestured grandly, looking a bit happier than he before. “She wanted to help. She was such a sweet girl, Edward, you should have met her... Dressed in skirts she’d bought from the gypsies miles away from here, always she was. But not even her love of castles, finery, and Lord Lucien could give way to the love she gave her younger sister.
“Rose was sick with a fever when I found them. The poor little girl was trying to take care of herself and Ilandere at the same time, I knew, but when I saw her I couldn’t have felt more pity. They were not putting on a show–in fact, they seemed eager to hide the weakness in their family. If anybody knew, they would have preyed on the two, left them for dead or worse.”
“So you took them in,” Eddie said.
“I’d rented out a small caravan for my stay. I never could stomach much of the Inns, no offense, unless I had reason to come. I let them stay with me, and I nursed the girl back to health.” He paused, remembering with a tiny smile on his face. “And things began to fall into place.”
Eddie was leaning foreword, frowning. “‘ow so?”
“Did I know that once I met the girls that they’d twist me around their little fingers so tight that I couldn’t unfold even if I wanted to? No, I didn’t. I came to care for the two as if they were my own daughters. I punished Higgins for laying a hand on their arses, making sure he would never bother them again. I tried to set them up, give them gold–but it never seemed to work out. It was if fate itself was conspiring against me, determined to give the girls the worst lives possible.
“Their gold was stolen within a week when we left Ilandere alone at the caravan to get food. They bashed her head open and took everything. I couldn’t have been angrier. So I tracked them down using a big stick and a soft voice, but they decided to shoot at me instead of hand over what wasn’t theirs. I killed them, and retrieved only a quarter of what they had stolen from their corpses. To say I was upset would have been an understatement–they’d both worked hard for that money.
“There’s not to say there’s no available jobs in Bowerstone,” he said, “but they were young. They were beggars as much as I despise the term. I tried to help as much as I could, but... I had to leave. For reasons you already know.”
Eddie’s face was solemn. “Ah, yes. What... What did they want this time around?”
“My services–again.” Eddie’s voice was slightly harder than normal, his eyes just two pieces of glacial blue ice set deep within his tanned face. “They say they’re not evil, but oh... they are. They are. I had to go all the way to Samarkand on their errand. I didn’t arrive again until years later, and not by my free will even though I would have anyway.
“So here I am, in a room of crazed barbarian ghosts determined to rip me asunder like you’ve never seen. And their ‘exotic pets’ were balverines, and I’d already walked for days on end, stranded in that confounded desert with no water. I was near dying, but I was still fighting. I remember how my sword flashed once, twice, and beheaded the chieftan. I never saw his head topple from his neck, because suddenly, just like that... I was gone.”
“Gone?” repeated Eddie.
“Gone. No longer there. The last thing I remember, interestingly enough, was a hand reaching down to help me up, adorned with rings of power... it was my first meeting with the fortune-teller.”
“‘oo is the fortune-teller?” Eddie asked in a voice more suited to a deathbed setting. “‘ow did she rescue you, or know ‘ow?”
Owen began to flick through the journal he’d been writing until he found the correct blood-stained page. “‘And Theresa held us all together, as if instruments of her will. A tall, willow-thin woman wearing a simple robe of purple and white was not uncommon here, but the hood that obscures her sightless eyes is disturbing, almost frighteningly so. For she knows where to walk and sees worlds not of our own. We are all drawn like strings of a puppet under her power, and I strongly doubt They know how to overthrow her. I have not found her part in all of this as of yet, for her motives remain unclear. For now we have become allies, joined by this need to reunite the Heros and bring down Lucien and his Spire.’”
Eddie was silent for a long time, drinking in these words with a stony face. His beer sat forgotten next to him, and Owen stood and walked around to refill his own cup. When he sat back down, Eddie was finally looking at him. “You’re afraid of ‘er, then?”
“There is a power behind her fortunetelling I haven’t seen yet,” Owen said carefully, measuring his words with a micrometer. “I’ve made inquiries of a sort, but all I’ve made out are rumors. She’s very old if half of them are to be believed. Part of me wonders...”
He trailed off, leaving it at that, and Eddie shook his head. “No, only one person in history has done that, and I doubt she ‘as.”
“Still, though, she intrigues me. I don’t like being under another’s use.”
Eddie made a face. “You’re telling me. Just last week I had the Mayor’s assistant try and tell me how to run my Inn better! Like I can’t do that! I fed him one of my finest beers after that I did.”
“How dreadfully awful,” Owen intoned. “Why, just twenty years ago you were worrying about that woman in Bloodstone...”
“A ‘uge mistake,” Eddie grumbled. “I’m glad I got away from ‘er, too. ‘Course, that accident... you need to tell me how you even survived that, ‘cos I left thinking you were dead! Now, with you ‘ere and all... Well, I feel like I want to go find a balverine or two.”
Owen found himself laughing again, and they hit their mugs together again. “I thought you didn’t drink anymore?” Eddie said after another companionable pause.
Owen snorted. “Not when I’m around any but the best of my friends,” he told him. “And even after all these years, you haven’t changed a bit, Eddie. Just as unobservant as when I’d first met you. Why didn’t you ever come to talk to me before today?”
Eddie shrugged. “I wanted to. Ol’ Lettie was in such a fuss about you ‘taking up perfectly good breathin’ room,’” he said, pulling a perfect imitation of the waitress’s lofty, holier-than-thou voice. “But I ‘ad my suspicions, and I said, ‘Now Lettie, you don’t go botherin’ that man. He’s workin’ on somethin’ important, mind you.’ And then she wanted to know what you were a-working on. It was like Double-Questions all over again! If you stayed ‘ere any longer I would ‘ave come and talked to you, sure, and ask your name and all, but you weren’t ‘urting anything. But I seem to have been mistaken...”
And he glanced over at the clean floorboards where the struggle had taken place only an hour previously.
Owen followed his gaze, frowning visibly. “I shouldn’t be here... I need to go tip off the freakshow that we might have a leak.”
Eddie nodded seriously. “Need to leave now?”
Owen popped his lips, taking another large sip before slamming the mug on the table and standing. “Yes, yes, I better. Maybe Hammer knows about it, the amount of time she spends in pubs...” He groaned, rolling his neck, and began to finger through the pages once again. “Useless, utterly useless... He bled all over the beginning, the words are barely legible. I’d kill him, but...”
Eddie laughed. “It’s nice seein’ you alive again,” he said. “And make sure you drop by again and finish that story.”
“Maybe in a few days,” Owen assured him. “I have a long walk ahead of me...”
“That fortune-teller, she lives all far away?”
Owen shot him a look that was clearly intended to deter him from that line of questioning. “I won’t leave you out to dry without a word again, Eddie, I promise. Thanks for the beer.”
Eddie circled around the bar and bestowed on him a friendly hug. “Don’t go drinkin’ one without me. I’ll keep an eye on Barnum.”
“Goobye, Edward.” There was always a certain amount of pain at a farewell where they broke eye contact and left, and Own never found it any easier. He looked into Eddie’s eyes one last time, nodding to himself, and departed without a backward glance.
The air was icy and moist on his skin, cooling his tanned face, and he glanced around the deserted square before taking off at a smart pace in the shadow of the moon. There was a sudden pattering of feet on the stone ground, and Owen turned to regard the large, beast-like dog that had come up to him, panting happily. Owen laid a hand on the dog’s head. “Time for a long walk, doggy,” he whispered in his ear, then kissed his ear. “Hope you had enough sleep, because I haven’t...”
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λren
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Chief Handwaving Officer
Joined: Feb 2009
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Karma: 0 | | Re: Fable2 project
« Reply #2 on Nov 1, 2009, 7:53am » | |
CHAPTER 3
~~~~
“Childhood has no forebodings; but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow”
–George Eliot
~~~~
Bowerstone Old Town
Twelve Years Ago
Rose’s shoulders were tensed, awaiting the blow. “Sod off,” she whispered in a fierce tone. The older boy’s sneer only deepened, and Rose felt a flutter of fear in her chest. “You don’t want anything to do with us,” she said, clenching her fists in a gesture she hoped was intimidating.
“An’ you wanna know what I say to that, girlie?” Higgins growled, his freckles darkening not in rage, but in excitement. There was a sudden muffled sound of flesh on flesh, and Rose was on the ground trying to fight the darkness threatening to claim her. Startled tears came to her eyes, but they passed quickly. She could hear them laughing above her, and she realized he’d kicked her skirt up further than was decent. “Oh nice,” the fifteen-year-old boy guffawed.
“Rosie, Rosie, are you alright?” Through the black spots in her vision Rose could see the familiar sky-blue eyes of her little sister. There was a sudden movement–Sparrow was pulling her skirts back down.
“Oi, you’re screwing mah view!” Higgins snarled, and she heard his friends chuckle in anticipation. Sparrow suddenly squealed and landed next to Rose in a huff, groaning. It was that sound of pain that brought her back with a sudden sharpness of mind that quickly gave way to red.
She got to her feet, glaring, scarlet-faced, at the bully. “Looks like she’s gonna beat yah up, Higgins,” one of the boys crowed.
“She could try.” Higgins was laughing openly now, and it fired Rose up like nothing she’d ever felt.
“Don’t. Hit. Her!” Each word was punctuated by a step foreword, until she was uncomfortably close to his onion-smelling skin. “Go AWAY or I swear to God I will...”
“You will what?” Higgins countered.
Sparrow got to her feet with agonizing slowness, clutching her stomach. She was breathing in quick, shallow gasps Rose didn’t like, and she backed up to place her arms around her. “Come on, guys, we’ll visit ‘em later,” he said, chuckling. The group moved off, and as soon as they had rounded the corner Sparrow let out a long, shuddering breath.
“You’re bleedin’, Rosie,” she whispered, staring up at her sister with wide eyes that somehow contained no hint of tears. Still bent over slightly, she reached up to touch Rose’s temple. The hand she withdrew was stained red.
“You always bleed more on your head,” Rose assured her, though it was beginning to sting in the cold. The snow fell in a soft blanket around them, penetrating the heavy clothing she wore as if it were thin silk robes. Sparrow was still grimacing, and Rose was automatically concerned. “That pig, he’s going to get killed one day, mark my words. Come on, let’s bring you home.”
Sparrow nodded, leaning against Rose for support as they made the long, slow slog through the snow-covered alley. “Are you alright, little Sparrow?” she asked, concerned. “How hard did he kick you?”
“Hard enough,” she muttered. “I think... I think he just bruised me up really bad. Nothing’s broke.”
“When we get back I’m going to take a look at that,” Rose said determinedly, her jaw set. I’m only twelve, though... what if he hurt her bad? “I can’t believe he’d hit two girls! Where are his parents? Where were the guards?” She descended into fuming silence, her eyes shooting daggers at any boy that happened to be down their way. When they reached their small, modest wooden shelter built near the edge of the cliff Bowerstone Old Town sat on, Sparrow laid down on her tiny roll-out mat.
“That’s better,” she said, staring up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”
“It might just be a bad bruise, you never know,” Rose said, though she didn’t believe her words until she lifted up her jacket and shirt to take a look. She kept her face carefully under control when she saw the motley assortment of blue and purple marks centered around the spot where he’d hit her. “Yes, I think you’ll be perfectly fine.” It was an effort to keep her voice from shaking with suppressed anger.
“Told you,” Sparrow sung, and lowered her shirt. “It’s colder today, isn’t it? The snow’s fallin’ even more.”
“Yeah, I know,” Rose muttered. “I don’t like it. If it gets any colder, I don’t think we can stay here much longer.”
“You worry too much, Rosie,” Sparrow told her, her high voice a contrast with her tall, lean frame. “If we move out of here Higgins will get it, and I don’t want him gloating. Can’t we try and stay here through the winter?”
I wish Mister Owen was back, Rose thought depressingly, remembering the nice warm fire in the caravan, the stories, and the food. It was nice having somebody looking over us for a change... But Mister Owen had to leave on a long journey, and Rose was sure he’d forgotten all about them. She made Sparrow lay down for a while and made a small fire out front with her two lucky rocks, then brought out two worn, cracked cups.
“Yum, tea,” Sparrow said happily when Rose pressed the warm cup into her hand minutes later. She’d used one of the last teabags she had and steeped it nice and long in Sparrow’s before giving it to her. “Mhmmm.”
Rose laughed at Sparrow’s exaggerated expression of delight. “Don’t try to make me feel better,” she told her, smiling. “I’m all right.”
Sparrow just shrugged and took another hesitant sip and glanced out of their shelter, down at the sun setting behind Castle Fairfax. “Don’t be mad, Rosie,” she said finally. “We can take them, can’t we?”
Rose just pursed her lips, and, lost deep in thought, she stayed that way until nightfall.
~~~~
Sparrow’s bruises looked worse the next morning, and Rose didn’t miss the flash of pain in her eyes when she walked around. She refused to lay down, so Rose made a fire near the edge of the cliff and made her sit next to it. Rose had a throbbing headache and the blood had crusted down the side of her neck as she slept, and it was proving a pain to get off. Sparrow was helping her heat some water to wash it off.
Squeezing out their worn-out, dirty rag back into their small metal bucket, Rose scrubbed at the dried trail on her neck, wincing when it pulled on her hair. “It doesn’t look that bad, does it?” she asked her sister anxiously, glancing down at the rag.
“Do you really care what you look like that much?” Sparrow asked curiously, without any venom in her voice.
“No, it’s just...” Rose sighed, giving up. She stared longingly over the snowy landscape, over towards Castle Fairfax miles upon miles away. She sighed dreamily, dabbing at her neck halfheartidly. “It looks so pretty in the snow, doesn’t it?” she sighed.
Sparrow took a breath, as if she was going to answer, then jerked so violently that Rose jumped. Without regard to her ribs, she ran her fingers through her thick, mahogany brown hair, shaking something white and gooey out of it. “Ugh, gross,” she complained.
Rose looked upwards, catching sight of a handsome-looking sparrow flying away, and began to laugh despite herself. “Well, I hear that’s lucky!” she said, giggling. “But I think I’d rather take the four-leaf clover.”
Sparrow growled something unintelligble in her throat and stole Rose’s rag. She began to wipe her hair with it, her face a study of revulsion. “I don’t want poo in my hair. It stinks.”
“Only for you,” Rose said gently. She took the rag from her hand and finished the job for her. Sparrow endured it stoically, and Rose felt a smile grace her lips again when she realized that she was objecting to be mollycoddled. Oh, but if nobody does then you won’t have lived, wouldn’t you? Rose kept at it longer than she needed to, until Sparrow shifted her weight and said, “I’m not taking a bath, Rosie.”
“Wash your hands where you touched it and I won’t hold you to it, then,” she said good-naturedly. She sat back down, looking back at the huge castle that dominated the scenery. “I wonder what the grand dining hall is like right now... I bet Lord Lucien is having roast duck by this time of year.”
“He’s probably really lonely,” Sparrow said emphatically, washing her hands in the warm water over the fire. “Ever since his wife and his little girl died... I’d be really sad if you died, Rosie.”
“He’s probably really lonely,” Rose whispered, “all up there in that castle, all alone. If only we could live there...” Sparrow took a quick, long look at something over her shoulder, and Rose mimicked her. Down at the end of the alley, a crowd had amassed, talking eagerly to each other. “I wonder what’s going on. D’you think...?”
Sparrow picked up on her train of thought and stood unsteadily. Rosie took her hand and they made their way towards the crowd. Rose spared one more glance at Castle Fairfax as they walked, but she soon became so focused on the crowd that all thought of the castle flew out of her mind. It can’t be a fight. Is somebody dead? They sound excited, though... It proved nothing–most people in their part of the neighborhood were happy if a kitten was cut in half by an ax.
The people on the edge of the crowd were peering up greedily at what she soon deemed to be a traveling merchant’s stall. The crowd was so thick that Rose couldn’t squeeze through, but Sparrow let go of her hand and slipped through a few cracks in the bodies until she was standing next to a purple-robed woman. With one glance up her hood Rose confirmed she was blind–those sightless white orbs were hidden underneath her cowl.
“Sparrow, what do you see?” Rose asked curiously.
Sparrow peered around the rear end of a pompous lady neither of them liked, then shrugged. “They look like junk. Can we stay, Rosie? Please?”
Rose sighed, rolling her eyes. Her sister’s appetite for new and foreign things was insatiable. “Only for a little bit, okay?”
Sparrow smiled brightly and turned back around, peering through cracks to take a look at the merchant. Rose was left trying to stand up even higher on her heels, trying to find the man’s face among the people. “A-ladies and a-gentlemen!” he boomed, his deep voice capturing the attention of those even on the other side of the road. Rose glanced around quickly, hoping Higgins wouldn’t show up, and refocused her attention.
“I have acquired mystical and mysterious artifacts, which I now offer to you for the modest price of five gold!” Oh please, Rose muttered under her breath. A swindler if she’d ever seen one. There was movement, and then, “Consider this! This is truly a magical mirror. For as long as you look into it, it shall make you beautiful!”
Almost immediately: “I’ll take it!”
The merchant laughed. “Charming, charming. Now remember, the magic only works in complete darkness!” Now more movement–when Rose looked over at Sparrow, she had disappeared to the front of the crowd. Rose could just pick her out by those ridiculous patchy boots she wore sticking out among the ladies’ high heels. “Now this is truly a marvel. This small, unassuming music box is actually a device created by the Ancients, as used by the Old Kingdom rulers themselves. Just twist the handle three times and it will grant you a single wish!”
“Oh God, not this,” Rose muttered, rolling her eyes. “There’s no such thing as magic.”
An unfamiliar voice spoke next to her, in the guise of the purple-and-white-robed woman: “We live in grim times indeed,” she mused, “if the young are too world-weary to believe in magic.” Rose looked up at her, surprised to see that the blind woman had turned her way. Her robes were heavier than they looked, she suddenly noticed. “Most children your age believe eagerly.”
“Rosie! Rosie, can we get the box?” Sparrow was suddenly at her shoulder, grinning widely up at her. She didn’t even look at the purple woman.
“I don’t think we can afford it, Sparrow,” Rose said gently. Then she turned to the woman. “Look, I can see your eyes are bad, but that music box is rubbish.”
“That’s what the seller thinks,” she said in a voice so low that Rose had to strain to hear it. “But he has no idea on what it is he’s stumbled upon. But you have an inkling, don’t you?” Sparrow was frowning, listening intently, when the woman turned to her. “Some part of you wants to believe it’s magic.”
“What...?” For the first time, Rose felt the first beginnings of doubt. “Do... d’you really think it could be?”
Behind them, the merchant was going on about a pair of magic socks (“Keeps your feet clean for weeks, eliminating most foot fungus!”) and she wondered if that only settled her point. But the woman was so sure, so... positive. A small smile flittered across her mouth, and she turned around to walk away. “For five gold coins, you could have your answer...”
“For five gold coins, we could eat for a week,” Rose muttered.
“Listen to me Rose, at the end of that week you and your little Sparrow would be no closer to that dream, no closer to the inside of that beautiful castle.”
Rose watched her walk away, hardly aware of the crowd behind her breaking up as the merchant finished his speech. “What is if is real?” she whispered, her mind filled with spinning visions of the grand dining hall, the roast duck... A warm fire every night, a bed, not being pushed around by Higgins... “Five gold coins really isn’t that much, is it? I have two already...”
“I have two, too,” Sparrow said, gripping her hand. “Please, Rosie. I can get a pie off of Miss Shaw for discounts, she told me so yesterday. It’ll be fine.”
“But we’re really tight on gold,” Rose muttered. She glanced at the departing woman, then looked down at Sparrow’s pleading face. “Okay, okay, fine.. We just need one more, then. That should be easy enough, right? We’ll just do an errand or so... What’s the harm in that?”
~~~~
“Yeah, m’warrents blew off all the way down that alley. Think you can take care of them for me? There’s five in all, and I can pay you a gold piece for each you find.”
Sparrow and Rose exchanged an excited look. “You have a deal!” Rose told Derrik, looking up at the guard with a smile on her face. “We’ll find them, sir!”
“Good girls, you are,” Derrik said, smiling brightly. “I’ll be right here then.”
Rose and Sparrow left, feeling more bouyant than ever. “We need to find them all,” Rose told Sparrow sternly, “or we can’t pay the merchant. Okay?”
Sparrow opened her mouth to answer, then stopped dead in her tracks, frowning. “Is that... is that a dog?” She took off without another word, sprinting for the alley.
“Wait! Wait, Sparrow!” Rose struggled to catch up with her, suddenly glad that most of the snow had evaporated by now on the cobblestones. Sparrow disappeared around a corner, and Rose heard shouting. “Sparrow! Wait UP!”
A circle of younger boys were gathered around Higgins, recognizable by his vibrant red hair and freckles. He was bent over, holding a club in his hand, and for a moment Rose thought he was being sick–and then she noticed that dog cowed in fear in front of him, whining through its’ muzzle. Sparrow pushed her way to the center of the crowd. “You STOP that right NOW!” she yelled, her tiny voice sounding even smaller as she shouted–which was no mean feat.
Rose picked up her pace. You idiot! Don’t provoke him! For the first time since they left, Rose noticed a stick Sparrow had threaded through her belt, sharpened to a point. The realization hit very suddenly for Rose, and she shouted, “No!” to no avail.
“And what’re you gonna do about it?” Higgins laughed, and his club connected with the dog’s left leg with enough force to bring him to the ground.
Rose had never seen Sparrow lose her temper before–she looked quite demented. She took out the large stick she’d brought with her and swung at him with all the weight her tiny body could put into it. The wood connected with Higgins’ head with a solid thump that even Rose could hear. The boy stumbled for a moment, but Sparrow hit him again and again and again, sparing no mercy for their tormenter.
Their former tormenter
“Oi! Oi! Leave me alone, you nutter!” Higgins yelled, falling to the ground. She hit him once again for good measure, and (Rose couldn’t believe her nerve) spit on his face. As one, the smaller boys cheered and Higgins began to crawl away as fast as he could.
“And you don’t bother us again!” Rose shouted after him, before turning to her little sister. “I could have taken him, you know...” Sparrow didn’t look at her, and Rose noticed the slight tremor in her hands. She was clutching the stick with bloodless knuckles, and she could see the unfamiliar tint of fear in her eyes. “That was really, really very good Sparrow,” Rose whispered, trying to cheer her up. “I’m glad you did that, honest. He deserved it.”
Sparrow shook her head, refusing to talk to the group of boys, and Rose guided her gently over to the dog. “Oh, you poor thing,” she whispered. “He was really mean to you, wasn’t he?” Rose held out her hand hopefully, palm up, and felt the dog’s nose brush her fingers. He came foreword slowly, as if surprised by this display of kindness, and Rose pat him on the head. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? That’s a good boy. Come on and pet him, Ilandere.”
Rose barely used Sparrow’s real name, and the shock of it must have broken through her fear. She held out her hand as Rose had done, then joined in petting. She buried her head in the dog’s fur, to her dismay, and kissed him. “I like dogs a lot,” she said. “This one is really pretty.”
“I’m glad you heard him, or else the poor thing would probably be dead,” Rose said sadly. “I hope you really scared him off, but it’s too bad I didn’t get a chance at him...”
“I got really mad,” Sparrow whispered. “Nobody should pick on animals like that. It’s mean, Rosie. And then what he did to you yesterday, and pulling up your skirts...”
Rose’s face glowed crimson at the thought. “I’m proud of you, I really am,” she said, hugging her close. “That was a really brave thing you did. Really.”
“But you always say not to lose my temper,” Sparrow protested weakly. She seemed to be determined to find a fault in her actions, but Rose couldn’t find one. In truth, the older girl was just as stunned as Sparrow. How could I miss that? I knew she had an edge, but he’s fifteen. Five years older than her...
The dog whined a little bit through his nose, and then he licked the blood off of Rose’s cheek. She laughed, petting him more vigorously. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good doggie?” she asked, grinning. “Hey, Sparrow–“
“Can we keep him? Please.” Sparrow looked frantic, as if she didn’t expect the dog to survive the night... which he probably wouldn’t, considering Higgins’ temper. “He can have some of my food, and he won’t cause too much trouble. We gotta protect him.”
“Sparrow, we can’t protect every stray in the world,” Rose said gently. “We barely have enough food for ourselves.”
“I’ll get a job,” Sparrow promised. “But... I just don’t... I don’t want...”
She was having a hard time finding the words, and Rose knew how she felt. She pursed her lips, wondering at this new complex addition to their day. The dog whined a little bit, as if he knew what they were talking about, and finally Rose said, “Okay. We’ll keep him for the winter.”
“Thank you!” Sparrow looked radiant, and she hugged the dog closer to her. “What should we name him? There’s no collar.”
“He looks like a Bear,” Rose said, looking into his milk-chocolate eyes. It was true–the dog, obviously still young, was enormous. She could barely imagine what a beast he’d be as he got older, and she hoped he’d already stopped teething.
“How about Lucien?” Sparrow asked breathlessly. “He’s a nice guy, and then we can be with him whenever we want...”
Rose was about to answer, but there was a movement out of the corner of her eye. “A warrant!” she cried, standing up. She trotted over to the other side of the alley, holding up the heavy paper writing. She scanned it and rolled it up, placing it in her inside pocket. “We have to find the rest, c’mon.”
“Come on, Lucien!” Sparrow said happily, and after a split second of hesitation the dog followed, panting wildly. “Show him the paper, Rosie, maybe he can track down others.”
“No way,” she cried, affronted. “He might start chewing on it!”
They questioned a man by the name of Barnum if he’d seen any more warrants, but he seemed more interested in taking a ‘picture’ of them with his new invention. It resembled a box with four supports keeping it aloft. In the middle, a glass orb stared at those on the stage in front of them like a large fisheye. “Oh, come on, kids! I’ll give you a gold piece!”
Rose and Sparrow couldn’t get on the stage fast enough. “Now smile!” they heard him say. “One, two, three!”
On three, there was a sudden blinding flash of light and a click. It took all of her willpower not to bring, but Rose felt her smile slip down a little bit. Sparrow’s eyes were screwed tight seconds after the light, blinking furiously. “I see green spots,” she said, wide-eyed. She followed the invisible spots around with her eye until they disappeared. Rose knew what she meant–it wasn’t quite unlike the feeling she got when she stared at the sun too long.
“Now we just wait three months for the pictures to develiphy and I’ll ‘ang them up as my first official testers! ‘ere’s your gold, ladies...”
“Three months?” a woman in a revealing outfit asked suspiciously. “I always knew ‘e was all weird, that Barnum...”
But Rose and Sparrow didn’t care. They had their one gold piece, now enough to buy the music box and still having more left over, but Rose still wanted to find the remaining warrants. The rest of the day went with surprising ease. There was no trouble from Higgins and they managed to do a few more errands for gold. Rose was feeling extremely pleased with herself, seeing as they never really had a lot of money to their name anyway.
“Here are your warrants!” Rose said happily, placing all five into the guard’s hand.
Derrik looked very pleased with events, and placed five gold pieces into Sparrow’s hand. “That’s a very good job, girls, a bloody good job. Now maybe I can get these guys once in for all...”
“Always a pleasure, sir,” Rose said, curtsying. “Come on, Sparrow, let’s get that music box!”
Despite herself, Rose was feeling excited for once. They bought the delicate silver box off of the trader, Murgo, and took it back to their home. The fire was still burning, amazingly, and Rose felt the entire day had gone extremely well. Even Sparrow beating up Higgins was only icing to the cake, as some foreigners put it.
“The trader said only three turns would do it,” Rose breathed, and grasped the handle. She looked up at Castle Fairfax and felt a resolve she’d never known burst forth. With agonizing slowness, she twisted the handle around one, two, three times. “I wish, I wish...” I wish that Sparrow and I lived in Castle Fairfax and were treated like royalty.
The top of the box opened at the end of her third turn, and a sweet music began to fill both of their ears. Sparrow, who was clutching the dog with both hands around its neck, closed her eyes dreamily.
La, la, la, la, la la, la-la-la-la, la la la la la la...
Then, to Rose’s amazement, the music box began to rise by mere inches off of the stump they’d set it on. The music went faster, a brilliant light erupted from the top, and the music drew a crescendo–
and then nothing.
The music box was gone.
Rose stared at the empty space, uncomprehending, and felt hot tears slide down her face. Sparrow buried her face into the dog’s fur, giving her time enough to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. “Wh-what happened, where did it go?” Rose whispered to herself, not expecting an answer. A piece of old rubbish, that lady was playing us, she thought bitterly.
“For a moment there... for a moment there, I thought we’d be leaving this place behind,” Rose whispered, struggling not to cry again. “What a load of dung.” She rested her head against her knees, deep in thought.
“Let’s just go to bed, Rosie,” Sparrow said sullenly. “We still have some gold left, after all...”
“I’m sorry, Sparrow,” Rose muttered, but stood up. Castle Fairfax stayed there, continuing to mock her from a distance, and suddenly she hated that building with every damnable fiber of her body. She walked away towards their shelter, shaking with disappointment.
“It’s not your fault, Rosie,” Sparrow whispered from behind her, glancing over at the Castle, too. “Come on, Lucien, let’s go see your new home.”
At least Sparrow had something to look foreword to, Rose thought bleakly. As she lay down on the sack-cloth cot to go to bed, she turned away from Sparrow and let the tears run anew on her face.
I wish, I wish...
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Quote:| "You're alive, you're breathing, so be grateful." - Me |
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λren
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Chief Handwaving Officer
Joined: Feb 2009
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Karma: 0 | | Re: Fable2 project
« Reply #3 on Nov 1, 2009, 7:55am » | |
CHAPTER 4
~~~~
“Seeing death as the end of life is like seeing the horizon as the end of the ocean.”
–David Searls
~~~~
Rose jerked awake, her eyes snapping open in unison with her mental jolt. What...? Heart beating, she squinted through the darkness, aware of a sound she’d never heard this close to her before. The sound of a dog growling.
Her first thought was for Sparrow, and her eyes automatically went to the small figure staring wide-eyed at her from her cot. Their dog, their loveable stray, stood guard at the door, haunches raised, ears flattened, and looking like he was in a genuine bad mood. But he wasn’t growling at them, which had been her first thought, and she was relieved by that, only to suffer a crushing dread.
If the dog wasn’t growling at them...
“Oi, oi, good doggy. Nice doggy,” came an older voice, and Rose could almost picture Derrik the Guard raising his hands in a placatory gesture. “Don’t eat me, doggy.” There was a slight movement, as if he were shifting around to get out of the dog’s threatening range. “Rose, are you in there? Rose, Sparrow?”
“Good Lucien,” Sparrow whispered, threading her fingers through the dog’s lower coat. “Come on, it’s alright, we know him.”
The dog whined a little and pressed itself against Sparrow’s side in what was obviously a defensive gesture. Rose, touched and a bit confused, staggered out into the moonlight. “Derrik? What’re you doing up this late?”
“Urgent request from Lord Lucien,” Derrik said, eyeing the dog out of the corner of his eye. He growled in reply. “You’re to go up to the castle immediately, at his request. That’s all they told me, and I dun’ know why. Does that ‘un bite?” He pointed to the stray with a look of slight revulsion on his face.
Rose looked up at Derrik with wide eyes, hardly daring to hope. Had the box actually worked? I’m dreaming, she rationalized. I’m dreaming, aren’t I? I’m going to wake up and Sparrow will still be hurt and that dog’s going to have pooped in the shelter...
Rose gave herself a hard pinch on the arm, as hard as she dared, and felt the pain all too clearly. “Sparrow, get up!” she hissed, smiling so wide that it hurt. She rushed over, pulling her sister up. She barely noticed her small squeak of protest. “We’re going to Lord Lucien’s castle! It worked!”
Her excitement was infectious; Sparrow’s eyes widened comically, and she bent down to retrieve her jacket, which she’d been using as a blanket. “I knew it’d work!” Rose squealed, dragging Sparrow out of their home. The stray began to follow, looking hopeful, but Rose stopped it with a forceful motion of her hand. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to stay here for a while. Okay?”
There was a small whine from behind his muzzle, and he bumped his nose against Sparrow’s butt. “No, no, you can’t, doggy,” Rose said, her regret defeated by pure bliss. Sparrow’s face crumpled just by a fraction, and she knelt down next to the dog’s head, whispering in his ear. Rose, impatient, tugged her sister free. “Come on! We’re going to the castle!”
“‘Bye, Lucien!” Sparrow called, waving her free hand as they rounded the corner. Rose was shaking, actually shaking, at their luck, at the magic music box that had granted their wish. It was really worth it after all... I can’t believe it! Castle Fairfax!
Derrik wasn’t alone, Rose soon found out. Standing at the end of the street corner, dressed in navy-blues, were guards she’d never seen before. Judging by the fine weapons on their belt, though, they had to be–
“Lucien’s guards,” Sparrow whispered, awed.
“Are you ready to go to the castle, madam?” one of the guards asked, smiling at her enthusiasm.
“Yes, please,” Rose said, grinning that wide smile of hers.
Lucien’s castle! I’m going to live in a castle!
She took one more look at the horizon, looking up at the large, bulbous moon shining behind the turrets of their destination. It was really, really late at night, she noted, but maybe it just took a while for Lucien to send people to take them to their new home. With her hand vice-like upon her sister’s wrist, it was impossible to miss the longing look Sparrow threw back in the general direction of their shelter or the way her feet seemed to hesitate when the stray dog she’d named Lucien let out a long, lonely howl.
~~~~
Two hours later
“Oh my... oh my goodness, it’s bigger than I’d ever dreamed,” Rose breathed, her eyes brimming with tears.
Castle Fairfax was surrounded by a large, ever-encompassing garden the spread miles out in either direction and filled to the brim with the most beautiful flowers Rose had ever seen. Pinpricks of purples, pinks, red, oranges, whites, greens, and blues filled her vision with a riot of color that was not in the least overwhelming. Their poignant smell filled her nostrils with a pleasant scent she’d never experienced before, sweeter than she’d ever smelled before. She took deep breaths, feeling lightheaded as she did so.
The moonlight shining upon the flowers gave them an eerie, light blue effect that made it all the more beautiful. “It is so lovely here, isn’t it little Sparrow?” Rose asked, wrapping an arm around her little sister’s shoulder. “Imagine living here, being in the gardens every day! I could paint the flowers!”
Sparrow nodded vigorously, staring wide-eyed at the landscape around her. It was truly a beautiful sight at night, the flowers almost leeched colorless by the moon, which seemed to be shining so brightly this night. “Oh, I could lay here for hours,” Rose whispered to herself.
The castle loomed up ahead of them, so tall that she had to crane her neck to see the top. It was a masterpiece of architecture, built in stone so strong and beautiful that it was nearly impossible to think that it hadn’t been on this world since the beginning of time. The stone steps leading to the Grand Entrance were many and definitely not for the faint-hearted. Sparrow, despite her enthusiasm, lagged behind their guard and panting. When Rose reached the first out of two landings and looked back for her a pang of great concern filled her heart. Sparrow was clutching at her chest.
“Oh, are you sure he didn’t break anything?” Rose whispered when the girl had finally caught up, breathing heavily. “You’ve been downplaying it again, haven’t you?”
Sparrow had a hint of downplaying any type of hurt she’d come by, and Rose hadn’t even bothered to check the bruise to see how it developing before they went to bed because she had been so sad and angry at herself. Now that she thought of it, she realized she’d never even felt her chest for broken bones and had gone on sight–and Sparrow’s word–alone.
“Maybe a little bit,” Sparrow whispered, her face contorted in pain. “It hurts a little bit when I breath, is all. Don’t have a hissy fit.”
Rose was perfectly within her rights to have a hissy fit but chose to stay quiet, overwhelmed as she was by the castle’s magnificence. She just placed an arm under her sister’s and helped her along the last flight of stairs, glancing around as she did so.
“Look at those doors!” Rose whispered, almost screaming with delight. The doors were large and painstakingly carved, made of a resilient wood she’d never seen before. “I bet nobody has a front door like that in Old Town!”
Derrik opened the door, beckoning the two inside. Lucien’s guard waited outside and didn’t come in before the door closed. Derrik was saying something, but Rose barely noticed–she was trying not to cry in pleasure. God help me, is this for real?
Instead of going all the way through the ornate, red-carpented hallway and to what Rose believed would be the throne room Derrik took them through a side passage no less ornate that eventually gave way to a long, spiral set of stone stairs that put every second-story house owner to shame. “Nice, aren’t they?” Derrik asked, his first words since they’d left. He got awful sick on carriage rides and hadn’t risked opening his mouth on their entire trip. “A bit too gran’, though, if you’re askin’ me.”
“I think they’re just lovely,” Rose whispered, and began her ascent.
When the reached the top landing (also dominated by a huge door that looked like it had taken two giant oaks to build) the two doors seemed to open of their own accord. Standing in the middle of an ornately-furnished hallway boasting fragile wooden bureaus and priceless paintings was a man Rose could only describe as dapper.
“Ah, Jeeves. We’ve brought the gals, as promised,” Derrik said, nodding.
“Lucien’s butler,” Sparrow muttered low enough so only Rose could hear, and Rose’s smile possibly grew larger at the mention of it. We’re about to see him! I’m going to meet Lord Lucien!
“Ah, yes, the children,” Jeeves said, and Rose couldn’t help but notice how his white walrus mustache wiggled as he spoke. “Thank you, Derrik, Lucien conveys his gratitude.”
Rose was shaking with excitement, and took deep, discreet breaths to calm down her heart. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” she said breathlessly, smiling. “This is the biggest place I’ve ever been in, but it’s probably hard not to believe that, since we came from Old Town...”
“It must be a shock,” Jeeves said dryly. He seemed to err on the edge of indifference and warm hospitality, and Sparrow made a face when he turned around to lead them through the hallway. “Lord Lucien is in his study working, which is right at the end of this hall... oh, Garth, hello.”
Rose struggled to control her expression. Sparrow took a hesitant step in the new arrival’s direction, her hand half-raised as if she wanted to call the male over to her, but dropped the hand and began to swing it back and forth like a metronome. Garth was tall and mocha-skinned, his white hair braided tightly to the top of his head. A monocle hung over his left eye, hiding it from view, and he walked with his head down and hands clasped in front of him. Scrolls were tightly-bound to his leather jerkin, symbols of obvious learning, but it was the glowing blue tattoos that took her eye. They followed his biceps, extending over his entire body and spidering up to his face.
Time seemed to slow as they passed each other, and Rose felt a surge of fear in her chest as he raised his head ever so slightly to look into their eyes. As their eyes met, Rose felt a deep chill in her chest that felt both hot and cool, feeling as though all her pain, all her feelings and thoughts, were open to this man beside them–
and then he looked away and continued to walk on without breaking stride. Rose was too scared to check behind her shoulder to watch him go, only feeling safe enough to do so when the doors slid shut behind him. Rose envied her sister’s nerve: Sparrow had turned almost all the way around to watch him go, her mouth hanging open. “Who was that?” she breathed.
“Lord Lucien’s advisor,” Jeeves the Butler explained, though he sounded a lot less aloof than when he’d greeted them. “He and our Lord have been working on a very important project... but I have to admit, his presence... it’s formidable.”
Rose whistled to herself. “No kidding... We used to look up and stare at this castle every night, you know, but the inside is even more breathtaking than I imagined.”
“Yes, it is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Where is the Grand Dining Hall?” Rose asked curiously.
“Oh, in the North Wing, but Lord Lucien doesn’t eat in there anymore... not since the tragic deaths of Lady Fairfax and little Amelia.”
Rose’s face was downcast as she said sympathetically, “Oh, I heard. It was so terrible... if he doesn’t eat there, then where does he eat?”
“Oh, here in his study, mostly,” Jeeves said offhandidly. “He’s been in there all the time lately, doing research.”
“Oh?” Rose asked. “What does he research?”
“Old Kingdom artifacts, mostly.” They reached the study door, and Jeeves coughed politely before saying, “Now, there are a few rules you must acknowledge when you talk to Lord Lucien. Show respect at all times, touch nothing, and above all do not mention Lady Fairfax or Amelia.”
“I understand, sir,” Rose said, and the doors opened.
Lucien’s circular study was a dream come true for Rose, who hadn’t imagined anything that could have been grander that the Entrance Hall below them. Large and spacious, bookshelves had somehow taken up the majority of the right side wall. The left was dominated by a large workbench covered in scrolls and tomes, and in the middle of it all a great stained glass window looked over Bowerstone Old Town.
And right there, bent over a tome, looking up at this new arrival with his black hair carelessly disheveled, handsome face inviting... was Lord Lucien.
“Here we are,” Jeeves said, making a grand gesture towards the inside. “Lord Lucien, the children are here.”
The doors closed behind them as soon as they stepped in, cutting them off from the hall and from Jeeves. Lucien was dressed in a handsome white tunic and black vest, the first couple of buttons undone, and Rose felt her face heat up. “Ah, children,” he said, inviting them inside. Rose took a few steps, trying not to fall and look like an idiot in front of this gorgeous man. Oh, my Lord Lucien. “Come on in, don’t be shy. Is something wrong with your sister?”
Rose noticed she was still supporting Sparrow’s weight with her arm, and explained in a meek voice, “Bullies were picking on us, sir. I think she’s broken a rib, but I can’t be certain. She’s always downplaying it, Lord Lucien, and I didn’t notice she was hurting until we came up your stairs outside the garden.”
Lucien walked over, unerringly tall and even handsomer than that. Her heart skipped a beat. “We’ll have to get that looked at,” he said, his face frowning in concern. He bent down and touched Sparrow’s side, and Rose heard her gasp. “Ah, yes, I think so, too.”
“Please, sir,” Rose said, bowing as low as she could with her sister’s weight.
“I was under the impression that you have some sort of magic box... may I see it?”
Rose was crestfallen. “I wish we still had it, Lord Lucien, honest, but we already made our wish. It started to glow and it just... disappeared.”
Lucien had gone a bit paler, but perhaps it was just the moon. He certainly didn’t look angry. “After you used it?” he asked, as if it were just a minor concern.
“Yes, m’lord... the man who sold it said it was magic.”
Lucien smiled grimly. “The box means nothing to me, nothing at all, do not worry... what’s most remarkable about this is that you managed to use it. Incidentally... what was your wish?”
Rose, despite his warm, inviting tone, felt as though she were treading on dangerous ground. “To live in a castle, like this one,” Sparrow piped up, her tiny voice surprising him.
Rose was appalled at her sister’s nerve–yet again–but Lucien didn’t look upset in the slightest. In fact, he took a long step towards a raised, circular stone pedestal that took up most of the area surrounding the large stained-glass window. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “that could be arranged.” Rose’s heart was in her throat when he turned to them again. “I am working on something that... well, something wonderful, which I need individuals of particular talents. Let us see if you possess them.”
He gestured at the stone behind him. “Would you kindly stand in the circle, please?”
Rose looked up at him, visions of that tall dark-skinned man running through her mind’s eye. “Erm...”
“I promise,” he said sincerely, “it won’t hurt you at all. Please, for me?”
Rose pursed her lips, but nodded carefully. “Come on, little Sparrow,” she said in a low voice. Sparrow was staring at the circle with a strange expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”
Sparrow stole some courage and shook her head. “Nothing,” she whispered, and allowed her sister to help her up that one last step.
As soon as they stepped on to the center stone, Rose knew something bad was about to happen. It was the strongest precognition she ever had, and terror leapt up in her throat. She stood in the center, shaking, when there was a sudden noise. Runes she hadn’t noticed before suddenly lit up a bright, bright blue. “What?” she squealed. “What’s that?”
At the edges of the circle glowing blue dust motes swirled up and barred them from leaving, and Rose almost didn’t hear Lucien’s reassurance. He was turned away from them, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Nothing to worry about,” he said in a low, tightly controlled voice.
Slowly, he turned around and regarded Rose with shock. His hands unclasped themselves, and he began to reach for the blue motes. She saw his mouth form words too quiet for her to catch, and there was a sudden jolt as his hand connected with the blue.
He held his hand close to his body, and the blue light suddenly turned red. “M’lord, what’s happening?” Rose squealed. Sparrow seemed too scared beyond words.
“What are you?” Lucien asked, though not to them. He seemed to be talking to himself, making calculations in his head. He crossed over to his desk and began to rifle through the scrolls. “Wait, wait, there was something here... something...”
“M’lord, please,” Rose whispered, tears beginning to fall. “Please, what’s wrong? What’s that light?”
“Quiet!” Lucien snapped, suddenly not the nice man he’d been only minutes ago. He pored over the scrolls with a fever like a madman, looking somewhere, anywhere for that one particular scroll that would explain it all, make it all right. “You’re Heroes, but not one of the Three... one of you is the Fourth...”
“My lord!” Rose yelled.
Lucien took out a revolver and aimed it in her direction. He approached her slowly, his eyes wild and intense. “It’s not what I wanted,” he whispered fiercely.
“W-wait,” Rose screamed, stumbling backwards. “NO! DON’T! NO!”
There was a sudden crack that split the air like her scream, and then there was the most horrific pain in her stomach. She folded over, her momentum carrying her over backwards. She felt herself hit the floor of the circle, clutching her stomach.
It didn’t hurt, not really... it didn’t even felt like she’d been shot at all, except that she could feel the blood pouring out of the wound. There was a blackness around her vision that refused to go away, and she tilted her head just a little bit to look at the patchy boots of the one she loved most.
Run, little Sparrow, she whispered.
And, as if through a great tunnel, she heard a voice. “I can’t allow you to live, either... I am so sorry.”
The boots backed up at the very edge of the circle, and she heard something that didn’t belong to this scene–sobs. There was a great bang, and a sound of breaking glass...
The scene never finished for Rose. She stared at a small point in the wall, not really seeing it, and then she was gone.
~~~~
A dark figure fell from the sky, limp and motionless against the air currents that buffeted her body. The figure, the smallest of the two that had entered the castle just a while ago, slammed into the edge of a stone overhang and flipped. She hit the stone pavement face-first and lay there, motionless.
There was a sudden panting beside the figure, and a wet nose nudged the figure’s hand. A finger twitched.
“Death is not your destiny today, little Sparrow...”
The voice spoke through the ages, a voice that neither reassured nor scared those who listened. The dog whined a little bit, licking her face, and the purple-robed figure knelt down beside the body.
“And some grief is so great that even Death may keep its distance,” Theresa whispered, touching two fingers to the neck of the small, broken child.
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