= (IRP) The Sword and the Shield

It rarely happened that Pagan MacKenzie - a colonel in the New Munster Army - allowed herself to think about her future and the years she had still left. While it was true that she owned the uniform that gave her permission to kill for the county, in her core she was but a warrior, a drunkard and a rogue. She had belonged to the Imleach 2nd regiment for about seven or eight months and her career there had been like a shooting star. And now she had a regiment of her own. But Pagan hadn't achieved the rank for free. The Laighean war and about half a dozen dangerous missions after it had lifted her to the top. She had never cared to count how many people she had killed during her time in the army, possibly because she instinctively knew that the number would be terribly high - too high, and the attempt to lower that number might cost her her life. In her profession life often depended on who made the first strike so that the opponent couldn't get any chance at all. A soldier couldn't always follow the dueling rules of the arena, even though the desire to give her opponent a fair chance had often nearly cost her her life.

But on that night Pagan had to think. She thought about that fraction of a second that decided who lives and who dies. It was not about anything as stupid as who deserved to die, nor who would benefit the society more if they lived. No, it was all about time, and time is neutral.

Only eight minutes ago she had killed a man.

Pagan had encountered her as planned - in a dark alley that lead to the back door of the hostel. She had stood there in the dark waiting for the sound of footsteps. And they came... closer and closer. When Pagan saw the silhouette she stepped in the middle of the street and said one single word. She saw how the dark figure startled and his elbow swung. By then Pagan had already drawn her own sword, a present from Kadie she carried sheathed on her belt. There was a short but heated exchange of blows before her sword impaled the man and the figure in front of her fell down without making a sound.
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Eight minutes later Pagan was standing in front of a tavern entrance. She knew that the Field Marshall and the colonel of the Corcaigh regiment would know that it was her who had killed Uilliam Thompson. The authorities of An Mumhain had been hunting Thompson for two years already, and just recently the task of ending his career had been handed out to the army due to his elusiveness. But it was important that nobody outside of the NMA Council knew how Thompson had died. In this line of work the namelessness, the deniability was necessity. If she had been caught doing it, the army would have denied they had anything to do with it.

Pagan sensed the quaint smell of blood on her clothes. She had cleaned the blade and rubbed carefully her right hand. She didn't get in right away so the cool night air could fan the crisp smell from her clothes. As she stood there she was thinking about what had happened. How easily it could have been the other way around! A hint to Thompson, and he would have been the one stalking Pagan in a dark alley and possibly shot an arrow on her back without giving her any kind of chance to defend herself. And Thompson had been so nervous, he had walked the alley with a sword in hand; he had reacted in a fraction of a second after Pagan had uttered the only word she had time to! It was balancing on a razor's edge - maybe even harder because she couldn't always trust her ability to be better in swordsmanship than her opponent. In this game of hide and seek chances and coincidences often defined the victor - and who could protect themselves from fate!

Pagan knew she could not survive in a life without danger, suspense and violence. The action and adventure were like food and drink to her. Otherwise she would have just drank whiskey until her healt and understanding were all gone and waited for death in a long state of hibernation. Death had been a constant in her life since childhood. Pagan was sure she wouldn't grow old. Nobody in the ranks of the NMA never did. She would face her destiny like so many of her colleagues or enemies - by the sword, a knife on her back or mutilated and out of her mind in torture. This certainty always haunted Pagan, but she always took it in account when she was planning a mission, she took it on account like a concrete opponent and played her cards so she had emerged the victor so far. Pagan knew it wasn't just luck that she was still alive; she had honed the skill to live into perfection - to live and kill to live if necessary.
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But Pagan had never become so callous that the killing would have turned into routine. Something inside her was always rebelling. In spite of whether the opponent deserved to die or not, it always made her feel somewhat nauseated, anxious and remorseful afterwards. And in that state of mind these thoughts kept surfacing - when will be your turn, Pagan? When the sword will get stuck in the scabbard? When the blade will brake? When somebody talks too much and gives you away? All it takes is one blow from a sword or an arrow - just one blow to the right place! Don't forget that death is blind, it won't pass you by just because you belong to the NMA!

Gathering her strenght Pagan pushed these thoughts back into her subconscious and focused on the lit main door of the MacKenzie Knot. The grey and gloomy facade didn't reveal anything to a random spectator, but the tavern had held unforgettable parties to both MacKenzie's and other groups of An Mumhain since it's creation. Pagan smiled as she stood there. It had been a while since she had been to Corcaigh before and she had never seen the capital as lively as it was now. The gods sure were smiling upon the county of An Mumhain, but it had required an enormous effort from number of people to make it happen.

Pagan fumbled assuringly at her purse and put her hipflask back to her pocket. Slowly she passed by two loud drunks and climbed three steps at the heavy, dark oak door. She knocked it with a brass knocker. The hatch opened.
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"Just a moment, ma'am..."

The bolt clanked, the door opened and a tall, thin, white-haired bouncer emerged. Pagan nodded at him and walked along the red carpet towards open double doors to the poker room. She could hear cards splashing and pounds chinking from the tables. A shiver of anticipation went through her spine as she stopped at the door, sucking in the noises, smells and colors. Thet peculiar atmosphere was part of her personality. She loved the suspense and the condensed ambiance of fortune and adventure. She dug up her hipflask again and pulled a deep swig of the whiskey. Her grey eyes were twinkling under her brown eyebrows, and the mild smile that was rippling on the corners of her mouth made her appear very charming and pretty for anyone that might have been looking.

The room was full of women. And almost all of them were beautiful.

The men were mostly dressed in black and had white, fluffy lace frills on their brests and sleeves. The women wore night gowns, most of them with very deep necklines.

She couldn't see anybody familiar so she waved to a waitress. The girl curtsied and looked at her with a joyous smile.

"Ma'am?" Her voice was deep and pleasant.

"Do ye know if any MacK's will be coming over tonight?"

"Oh yes ma'am. But not before nine." She flashed Pagan a sunny smile, Pagan returned it to the lass and gave her a pound. The lass curtsied deep.

"Thank's a million, ma'am. If there's anything I can do fer ye just ask."

She disappeared between the tables.

Pagan looked out the window at the moon. About twenty minutes to nine. Enough to have a proper drink. She stepped into the tavern side and sat on a velvet couch next to the wall. The walls were paneled with mahogany and lit with heavy brass candelabrums. She ordered a large whiskey from a waiter and had another drink from her hipflask as she waited for it to arrive. The bar was almost full. The men were talking about gambling - in loud and heated tone. The women were mostly talking about men.

She managed to hold the whiskey up until it was over nine, then she paid and left to check the place out. Feeling a strange anticipation she walked along the tavern and the poker room.

Her eyes catched a glimpse of a girl she had never seen before. It was a tall and slender lass with a white dress and a red hair that seemed to absorb all the light in the room. The lass had been looking at Pagan but as their eyes met she turned half away from her and pretended like she hadn't noticed her at all. Her copper red hair was at shoulder length, ascending from her head in heavy waves. On her neck she had a pearl neckless (way too expensive for her to have purchased it herself, Pagan though) and on her right wrist she had a narrow golden bracelet. Her eyebrows were long, narrow and elegant. The mouth was as red as blood and slightly too full. She couldn't reach her eyes. Her dress was white silk, very tight on her waist and hips and Pagan couldn't understand how she could move at all.
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The white fabric heightened her close to perfect figure almost indecently - the slight roundness of the belly, tall, slender thighs and soft curves on her hips. Her bosom was high and pointed under the silk, and Pagan didn't realize she was staring before the lass yelled out:

Pagan's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Hadn't the lass just looked at her, then turned away for a second before she had started to scream? But there was no time to think about it now. Something was wrong, and as there were no other authorities present in the tavern, Pagan had to do something about it. She walked straight across the floor to the girl and grabbed her hand lighty:

"All right, lass, all right! Calm down, let's go have a look, eh?"

The girl led her outside of the tavern and a little down the street with hasty steps. She was taller than Pagan who had some difficulties in keeping up the pace.

They turned to an alley, and instinctively Pagan knew that she had made a mistake.
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Patiently Sajjhe awaited for the girls arrival at the meeting point. He knew the colonel to be taken down was no apprentice when it came down to ambushes. Surely this was not her first one, but would be her last. Up in the roof of the house, Sajjhe glanced very attentive to his surroundings, pricking up his ears to catch a uncommon sound.
No sound of more than two person walking straight inside the alley. The wind didn't carry any out of ordinary aroma, putting Sajjhe at ease at the threat of him maybe fighting off a few soldiers along with the process to actually murder the girl.

His eyes were accustomed by the scarce overshadowed light coming from a window few steps bellow where he was standing. The light wasn't sufficient to get him notorious since he was clad with very dark clothes, making him "invisible" when his background was dark as well.
He alighted, feeling the texture and rigid materials composing the roof against his body. Quietly, he took a few arrows and thoroughly placed on his besta.

Its mechanisms were quite impressive. They launched the arrows at great speed and very difficultly the wind shifted their path. He locked the arrow with the security pin and silently waited for his prey.
Not much longer he had to wait. The two could be seen from where he was. His target was already finding this oddly suspecting by the reading from her facial expressions. Soon enough this all would be over, and Sajjhe could get the rest of the payment. Some new weapon toys would be good for torture purposes. The hidden informations would flow more naturally alongside with excruciating pain.

He carefully aims it for the girls head, following her with the tip of his arrow.
The other girl manages to get free from the grasp once they reach the spot Sajjhe had chosen to perform his murdering. Quickly he shoots the arrow, leaving just a faded whistling behind as the point of the arrow cuts through the wind towards to the girl's throat...
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I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine! Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Sajjhe cursed heavily at the sight of his arrow not killing the girl immediately. Who would have thought the girl had lightning speed reflexes? He quickly took another arrow, trying not to cause too much noise when closing the security pin. The click of his best was muffed by a man whom had decided to watch from his window what on earth was going on at this time.
The assassin lifted raised from the tiles of the roof and remained crouched, bringing his besta close to his face for a better aim. Alas she had successfully hidden herself from his vision area.
Where could she be, Sajjhe wondered as he continued to search for her figure in the engulfing shadows of the night. Determining his vision is now useless, he began to listen very quietly to the sounds of the street. The wind had ceased, the street became more quiet at the same time the wind stopped invading the place him and his target was.
Sajjhe detected a snap at a corner near the door of the building where he was at.

She had stepped on a branch and broken it, and hastily Sajjhe brought himself a tad more closer to the roof edge, pointing the arrow to the figure. But she was too fast to arrive at the door of the building. He had lost sight of her once more.
He sighed frustratingly, since his mission was getting longer than he had anticipated.
Sajjhe strapped his besta again on his back and retreated himself to the building's inside through an open window few steps away from him.
With a quick wrist move, Sajjhe had unsheathed his hidden wrist blade, hiding himself behind a building column, on the opposite side from the stairs.
He would have to be cautious with this woman. She was very experienced and definitely knew some of the tricks he would pull on her...Or maybe not.
He peeked over the column, just the necessary inches for him to have a glance over his surroundings.

Acutely, she climbed all the stairs with an enormous noise, giving again away her presence and coordinates.
Sajjhe closed his hand for a better wrist blade fight, letting him have even more strength in the up coming fight.
He had plotted another plan to take her down. Sajjhe would throw a pebble some inches away of the column to the right, and he would go around the column and strike her from behind sneakily.
Feeling her getting farther from his position, he took the pebble in his hand and threw it to the desirable area, preparing himself to go around and take her by surprise...
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I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine! Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Once again, Sajjhe cursed deeply in his mind. The lass had not fallen into his trap. Instead she had chosen to take another rout, by going inside a room where only one door was the way in and out.
For a few moments Sajjhe thought wisely how to surprise her and finish off his mission.
From the gathered experience throughout the years, he knew the moment he stepped in that room, a sharp blade would pierce his flesh. Maybe...If somehow could make her attack without being him, he would counter strike her and surprise her with this sneaky attack.

Carefully, Sajjhe disposed himself from the warmth of his cloak. The color of it would be a brilliant distraction and due to his length, in the darkness this could pass by a real person.
He scanned the area around again, and found a tall shaft that belonged to a broom.
Sajjhe placed the cloak around the shaft, making it appear it was an actual person figure. If this somehow failed, he would have no other choice but try a close combat with the lass and finish once and for all this mission.

He adjusted his shoulder pads by tightening the leather chains on his back. With his wrist blade unsheathed, Sajjhe commenced walking towards the door, by making some sounds with his boats to let her know he was in fact going to the room.
The assassin leans his back right beside the door and quickly he launches the cloaked shaft inside the room to taunt her. When she swings her sword Sajjhe would waste any minute to plunge his wrist thirsty blade deeply in her flesh, watching with amusement the warm blood trickling down her pale skin...
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I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine! Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

Sajjhe invades the room with the cloaked shaft and in a instant he feels her sword swing, chopping off a bit of wood. He knew instinctively she wouldn't be quick enough to swing yet again her sword when he barged in the room with the thirst of a killer.
With his temporary weapon, Sajjhe pressures the shaft against her sword brining it upwards and block any possible attack coming from that sword. He steps in the room fiercely and with determination, dropping the shaft after once he is in the room.
For the first time, he his close to his prey. Sensing her aroma, feeling the warmth emanating from her fragile body. His blue cold eyes were highly accustomed to the low presence of any source of light. She was in his field. Since very young, he dominated places with not much light, making them his strong point whenever he fought in such places.

He unsheathes his sword, resting idly on his leather belt. His sword and wrist blade demanded blood and he gladly would satisfy those twisted desires.
His eyes scan quickly herself, unlocking what are the visible weakness and strong points. One of them is her being a woman. Her physical power can't be compared to his. Being himself a man, he possesses more strength when it comes down to wrestle and clashing the sword against hers. However she has a strong point. She is short which means she has more dexterity to dodge attacks that require great strength.
This would be a fun fight. Maybe worthy to remember the moment as on his favorites murdering he had the pleasure and delight to perform.

He parts his legs a bit, positioning himself in an attacking position. He breathes in and out, preparing his body and mind for the upcoming fight. His mind his blank his muscles relaxed. No thought to make him lose his concentration or to snap him out the strange trance. His eyes do profound, serious than ever, turning the blue pale color into a dark grey one. He is now synced 100% with his assassin instincts. To hunt down his prey and perish her forever from this world, limb by limb.
Without any words or delays, Sajjhe strikes, launching his piercing sword in a diagonal way, attempting to slice her chest in every possible way.
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I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine! Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

The job was clear. Terminate her life. The only thing he could think of was to finish her life. The more he concentrated on that, the more dangerous he got and violent. Dangerous and violent never loosing his temper or getting impatient to when this would soon be finished.
She shifted to a defense position. An agile one, being able to dodge his brute attacks.
Sajjhe's breathing started to get heavier and heavier, till he suddenly hold as much oxygen he could gather and run to her with his sword a bit above his shoulder. The attack he was about to launch was a potent one. Would slice every inch from head to lower chest without mercy.
She could easily block his attack but the short blade he unsheathed would work as a counter attack for any upcoming defensive moves from her part.
The time of her end was close. And she was about to find out.
In a way he was curious to see her fighting skills... Would she a worth target to dispose off?
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I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine! Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

It would be such a clean cut. Painful and fatal. However she jumped over avoiding the strong hit plus his dagger counter-attack passing just mere inches from her stomach.
Frustratingly, Sajjhe turned quickly to face her again to try again another surprising attack.
The only way to get her hit is only to get her by surprise or unleash a dozen of sword swing attacks, alongside with the sharp short blade of his on the other hand.
He parted his legs a bit again, positioning himself in an attack form. By the time he thought about plunging his sword straight in her heart and the other to slice her throat, a shadow from the window above them caught Sajjhe's attention. Was the first time he ever saw a raven standing so very still watching a combat or even listening to the swords impact.
Sajjhe turned back his attention to the lass in front of him raising his sword and preparing physically his body for another impact. This time a bit more brutal.

Pushing her to a column was a possibility. The sudden impact would make her off guard. Maybe droop her sword for an instant and he would take the chance to apply the fatal blow on her.
But...The unexpected had occur. A sudden arrow came straight from the window, smashing the glass into tiny pieces, falling hard from the high spot to the floor right beside them.
The arrow pierced the column next to the assassin and shortly after a fire glow illuminated whole the room.
Torches, Sajjhe figured and not from the population but from the town militia.
Angry shouts came from outside. His cover was blown up and now was in no condition to go through all the process.
Another arrow came through the window, this time landing inches away from Sajjhe's feet.
Now the problem was on how to get away from the building without going through the main gate or getting killed by the girl as he was distracted to not get any arrow stuck in his back.

The only plausible escape was from the same shattered window next to them. There was another building in the other end, and the gap between the both buildings weren't that great. With a little impulse from him, he would manage to reach safe and soundly the other end and make a run as fast as he could from the rooftops and avoid the mass without being discovered.
He glanced back at the girl furious for not being able to do his job today, but soon enough, without her expecting he would be lurking in the shadows, watching her breath while sleeping and then, end her miserable life with a fatal blow, leaving no clues of his passage. Nothing.
He sheathed with a promise to come back and finish his job.Sajjhe took balance from afar and launched himself out of the window, grasping the edge of the other building's roof and pulling himself back upwards.
He disappeared in the night, being unseen by the local troops and inhabitants.
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I stole a wife, I burned a church, I am a De La Irvine! Prut's my guru! Whiners are gunna whine

"Any news on Zan? Good or bad?" asked Pagan as she was needling her shirt.

Dirk shook his head. "There's no change in the King's condition as far as I know."

Pagan frowned. The night had had an unexpected turn. "Whoever put the assassin on me must have known I was coming to get Thompson. It couldn't have been a retaliation - the attempt happened a mere hour after I killed him and I honestly don't think they have even found the corpse yet. Who was he? Why was he so important? And who in the NMA is the mole? There was a select few people who even knew of this operation."

"I know very little about Thompson", said Regan. "Just that he used to be a lieutenant in the NMA a few years back until he got dishonorably discharged. After that he turned to crime full time and his name has been popping up here and there since. Never enough evidence to get him charged in court though."

Dirk filled their glasses again. They were sitting in a sleezy hostel room in the docks.

Pagan chugged down half of her glass. "The girl, the assassin - this operation was planned very good. The sniper was a professional - high profile. Whoever hired him must have been willing to pay a dungload of money. Just to get me killed. Why?"

"Why don't we find the girl and squeeze it out of her."

Pagan shook her head. "No. I doubt she knows anything at all about the whole thing. Best keep a low profile fer a while and see what happens next."

There was a knock on the door. Knock - knock knock - knock! The NMA code, but Pagan and Dirk pulled out their swords just in case before opening the door.

It was a messenger. "This came to the HQ. It's addressed to Colonel Pagan MacKenzie."

"Who's it from?"

"It doesn't say. But there are words 'it ends' written on the envelope. I... I think it might be written with blood."

Pagan snatched the envelope, opened it and pulled out the letter. And sure enough, the whole message had been written with blood.



Pagan's heart skipped a pound or two as she read the letter. As a soldier and a politician she had gotten accustomed to threatening letters but the attempt on her life that had just occurred proved that this was to be taken seriously. Kadie! She was home in Imleach. She would have to travel back home immediately and have Oddman hide her the way she could never be found. Oddman could take care of Kadie and his own family, Pagan was sure of that much. Home in the MacKenzie Circus she could be prepared for any kinds of attempts on her life, if only she could take care of Kadie's safety first.

"I will have to travel back to Imleach tomorrow. General Connie is moving to Lios Mor, me and Oddman can hitch a ride that far and continue back to Imleach next day."

"Does that mean I have to come too?" An expression of pure horror spread on Dirk's face as he thought about his wife and fifteen weens back home in Imly. Pagan decided to save him.

"Nah, the Corcaigh regiment needs reinforcements now that the King has been poisoned and the poisoners are still out there. Ye stay here."

"As ye wish, colonel." Dirk attempted to fake disappointment.

The messenger left. Pagan and Dirk emptied the whiskey bottle in silence. Neither of them felt like talking.
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The next day Pagan went over to the headquarters of the Royal Corcaigh Regimet of Guards to give colonel Surfred her report. After she was done she returned to the hostel to pack. She and Dirk farewelled each other in front of the hostel and Pagan walked out of town where the army was getting the men rallied in. They would all get horses at their disposal on this trip. Pagan found Oddman there and explained the situation to him. Getting an army ready to march was not an easy task and would take a couple more hours, so Pagan went back to town and stopped by in a couple of taverns to chug down a few drinks. Pagan wasn't a fan of horses, and she needed to be properly drunk to have the courage to mount one of them. When she had accomplished this task she returned to the army that was now ready to head out. After she had been helped on her horse they were finally ready to leave towards Lios Mor.
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Pagan flashed a sideways grin at Jerro. "I don't know, I guess it's me animal magnetism! And here I thought I would make a Dutchess one day - judging by me popularity it's not likely to happen anytime soon!"

Jerro was one of the few people in the NMA Pagan had trusted with the details of Operation Uilliam Thompson. After what had happened in Imleach a couple months back she had learned to trust the young soldier. Jerro was able to keep secrets and he knew some very unusual people too - and that could always come handy.

Pagan got serious. "I have a favour to ask of ye, Jerro. There has already been one attempt on me life, and something tells me it's not gonna be the last. And now they have threatened me family too. When we get back home Oddman will take Kadie and put her somewhere safe. No doubt I would be safe in Oddman's mansion too, but that would not be an answer, I can't hide indefinitely. And I can't put a whole army in the Circus either - we need them to act to find out who and what's behind it all. But I could certainly do with some sort of bodyguard until it's all over. So what do ye say? Unfortunately I can't promise all will be all right in the end, it might as well pan out like the Skunk Kid case. But at least we both have experience on those kinds of situations."
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Jerro looked at Pagan with a surprised expression. "That bad, huh? Well I suppose I could always submit myself to helpin a friend. And I know it's not much, but I could get Shamus to watch over yer family, ye said they'd be at Col. Oddmans, right?" Jerro waited for her answer, then said, "Do ye want me to get as much info on the assassin as I can? I'm sure somethin will turn up. Just tell me all ye know on the fellow." Jerro rode in silence as he waited to hear her answer.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro tried to protest in between Pagan's words, but couldn't get a word in edgewise. After Pagan disappeared, Jerro chuckled and shook his head, a fine bodyguard he was. Not even a couple hours into the job and she had already ditched him. Well chances are the unknown assassin wouldn't fight an entire army. Jerro decided to head to the stables to check up on his horse. There were stablehands, but most of them were unmotivated lads who were just waiting for a better break. Besides, he really liked horses. Riding them was exhilarating and caring for them gave him time to think.

The horse Jerro recieved was a small stallion, just over 14 hands tall. He was a blue roan with an almost pure white muzzle. He was small, but spirited, sort of like Jerro himself. Jerro snuck a few carrots out from the kitchen and went to the stall where his horse was. The horse looked like it had just been moved there and left. Jerro came up slowly. "Hey boy, how are ye?" Jerro asked the stallion. Jerro opened the stall and went in. The horse whinnied when Jerro approached him. Jerro patted his muzzle and said, "Time for a check-up." The horse snorted indignantly which caused Jerro to laugh.

After he had finished checking for any damage, Jerro treated the horse to a carrot, leaving the other for later. Jerro grabbed the brush and began to groom him when a thought occurred to him. "I don't even know yer name. I'll have to ask someone later." Jerro began to get lost in thought, by the time he had finished grooming the horse, inspect and clean his tack, and give the horse his treat, a bit of time would have passed. Jerro would probably have time for a couple drinks before he turned in.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan washed up quickly, changed her shirt and cleaned her black, much worn boots. Then she put on her scabbard belt, adjusted it well and checked her sword before sliding it in the scabbard. She blew off the light from the lantern, went outside and locked the door behind her. The corridor was empty, dark and quiet. She could hear laughter from the tavern downstairs. Pagan took a nip of whiskey from her hipflask and thought gloomily about the assassin and the death threat in the letter. Well, who gives a damn about those! The letter had said three days, and she had only used one so far.

The noices from downstairs pulled her like a magnet. Cursing softly she started striding towards the stairs. Life's so fun when ye don't have a spine, she thought merrily - and then she bumped hard into a dark, heavy figure who had opened a door and was staggering out to the corridor just as she was going past it.

"Bloody hell!" growled a husky voice, she could smell the scent of whiskey, then a grey movement that warned Pagan of danger. She didn't have the time to pull her head all the way from the punch. A hard fist struck her temple with a bang. Pagan swayed, bumped into a door and regained her balance.

"Look where ye're going, floozy!"

Pagan hit as hard as she could, right in the middle of the growling voice, and a stern pain on her knuckles told her she had hit hard. The man twirled around and fell crashing to the floor.

Appalled shouts echoed in Pagan's ears. She slipped aside to hide in a niche in the wall, breathing heavily. A group of people stood around the figure that was lying on the floor.

"That's Callaghan", a voice said. "Drunk as a monkey."

"What do we do with him?"

"Kick the jerk out of the window?"

"Don't tempt me! Let's help him to his room instead."

Pagan watched as they helped the unconscious man back to his room and left. She licked the injured knuckles on her right hand, swiped her shirt clean automatically and went downstairs.

The tavern was small and full of people. Pagan squinted her eyes at the bright light. The customers laid investigative looks at her before they turned back to their drinks and conversations. Pagan scanned the room for familiar faces.
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Pagan looked aroung but couldn't see a sign of Jerro. Disappointed, she went over to the bar and ordered a glass and a whole bottle of whiskey to go with her since she had no intention to run between the table and the bar. When she turned around she spotted Jerro, in a group of lads, talking about whatever lads talked about when there was no female company present. No doubt something indecent and offensive. Pagan didn't want to join their fun in that and instead looked around in the room. She spotted a lonely lass sitting in a corner and approached her:

"Mind if I joined ye? I'm just traveling through town, I don't know many people here."

The lass seemed happy to have someone to chat with, so Pagan sat next to her.

The lass drank beer the same pace as Pagan chugged down her whiskey, and about an hour or so later there was only a quarter of whiskey left in the bottle and Pagan was hopelessly drunk.

Pagan was just explaining the lass: "*hips* Ye know, what I wash shaying wash—and there’sh plenty *hips* of timesh when I think *hips* thish *hips* ish true—that if everyone got behind thish, the whole world would be that much shmarter becaushe, shee, the *hips* problem ish, people *hips* don’t undershtand nothing and that’sh why I’m right about thish thing", when she saw the lass' eyes widen. Almost without moving her lips she said while sipping her beer:

"Please be quiet and don't turn around, Pagan. A gentleman called Callaghan just arrived in the room. He's drunk and dangerous."

Pagan attempted to fix her eyes on the lass and said in a loud voice:

"Why can't eye turn around *hips* and shpeak up! I'm practically WHISHPERING ALREADY!"

"Because the bruise in his jaw matches the on yer knuckles like a twin. He's circling the room and looking fer someone. Please put yer hand away from the table."

Pagan swayed to and fro on her chair for a moment before exclaiming so that the whole tavern fixed their eyes on them, mostly amused: "DANGSHEROUSH!!? Pfffftttt!!!!" Pagan waved her indes finger in front of the lass' face. "*hips* I wash in the war! Did I tell ye about that time when the 300 poundsh trooper *hips* got... I caught eyeballing me?! I did thish", Pagan said, seized the lass by the lapels, pulled her close and breathed whiskey fumes on her face.

The poor lass didn't know which made her more nervous, Callaghan approaching their table with a mean look on his face or Pagan's belligerent reenactment, so she just said: "I'm sorry but I must leave now. Gotta wake up early in the morning", pulled herself off of Pagan's grasp and hurried out of the tavern.

Pagan looked after her, trying to figure out what she had done wrong this time, when a low and growling voice said from somewhere above her:

"Have ye injured yerself, little lady?"
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Callaghan was a big man - he had to weigh at least seventy pounds more than Jerro and about twice as much as Pagan. That fact and the whiskey made him very confident in his ability to beat the living Christos out of any man or woman presently in the tavern. Unfortunately the whiskey had similar effect on Pagan. She threw a sarcastic smirk at Callaghan.

"Aye, I think I bumped into something."

"Yuh", said Callaghan, "something." The tone of his voice silenced the tavern. A bunch of men by the bar leaned in closer to each other, perhaps planning a joint action against that belligerent bully that everyone hated. Pagan felt a cold rage filling her up, as it sometimes did when she had had a few too many, especially when she met people who reminded her of her father, and Callaghan was like a replication of him.

"What are ye, a *hips* parrot? Go home and lose some pounds, fat boy!" she shouted loud and clear so that the whole tavern could hear.

Callaghan's lips distorted, revealing his white, strong teeth. His arms bent with brute strength. He took a short step forward and pulled his fist back, getting ready to smash Pagan's face in.
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Callaghan tried desperately to get back on his feet. The spectators stood without making a sound, then a woman's voice said something in a hysterical tone, but nobody reacted.

Callaghan stood up and furiously kicked the remnants of the table out of his way. There was a maniacal glee in his eyes. He came on to Jerro like a raging bull, aiming his punches at his torso.

Callaghan pulled himself up from the floor, already breathing heavily. He mustered all his strenght into another crushing attack. He pressed Jerro against the wall and pounded heavy hits on him with both hands.

When Jerro had sent Callaghan crashing the table Pagan had managed to save the whiskey bottle that still had a quarter of the stuff left and, not wanting to risk the precious liquid, had raised the bottle to her lips and emptied it in one long swig as Jerro and Callaghan continued fighting.

She probably shouldn't have done it.

That amount of raw indiluted whiskey consumed in such speed and efficiency hit Pagan's brain like a missile, sending her straight to the moon. It sent her weaving, bobbing, swaying, pitching, yawing and finally to the full-tilt reel and the grand stagger through the floor. The whiskey guided her way, Pagan was the ship, alcohol was her sail and the whole damn world her sea - or at least the eight-feet safety zone respectful spectators afforded her.

In the middle of he sailing she managed to momentarily regain her balance and stood swaying behind Callaghan and Jerro in the middle of their wrestle against the wall. Her eyes rolled wildly on their sockets as she struggled to comprehend the sight before her - two, four, six, many combatants twirling wildly round and round. Without even thinking about it, she smashed the empty bottle onto Callaghan's head, making him loose his grip of Jerro once and for all.

Then the momentum took her again, she lost her balance and was reversing with accelerating speed until she crashed on a table sending glasses flying through the air, somersaulted over it, fell to the other side hitting a chair, tripping it over and finally landing on the floor where she passed out cold.
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Jerro stared at Pagan for a moment, resisting the urge to tear her head off while keeping his own face carefully blank. He wondered how she could be so chipper, she had drank enough to poison a small whale and knocked herself a good one falling down last night, from what Jerro saw. Hesitantly, he said, "Well, I don't, but I know someone who might. Now what ye told me, ye know nothing except that he has strange armor and piercing blue eyes. Nothing else ye may remember, like strange weapons or tics? Even an accent could help if he talked. I need to know everything!" He concentrated on moving his horse in a straight line as he listened to Pagan's answer.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro looked at the letter curiously. He read it several times, even using some tricks to find hidden meanings. Finally, he said, "Clever use of your name, for one. And I think that it's odd how he left a space in between the last two lines, have ye tried holding it up to a candle yet? I heard if ye write in lemon juice, or some fruit anyway, the writing becomes invisible until put up to flame. Otherwise, I can't see anything other than he hates ye. I've tried lookin at the first word, every other word, every third word, even every last word, but I can't get any hidden meanin. Try the candle thing, then if ye still find nothin give it to me. I'm sure Lucky'll know someone who can make more sense of this."

He handed the letter back and continued, "As for the other thing, I think I have an idea. Have ye heard of wrist blades? Usually, there's one blade cut in half from tip down the blade. Instead of a handle, there's usually a bracelet or gauntlets or somethin. This let's the blade fold into itself, and keeps ye from lookin suspicious holdin a knife. Unless they cut the harness, ye can't drop it like ye can a dagger. Now, what I've heard, there is somethin holdin the blades open so the points run down yer arm. Then, once ye loose whatever's holdin it, they spring shut like shears."

He paused for a second to let the thoughts re-organize themselves and make sure he didn't miss anything. "That's how ye can tell someone uses them, the sleeves are usually cut when the blades appear. Unless they buy new shirts daily. They'll have stitches or slits running up the arm. But if ye say it looks like the blade "grew" from his arms, that's another problem. It means his blade pops out instead of shears shut. That means that, not only are his sleeves probably firmly intact, yer dealin with someone with weapons far beyond what we are Used to dealing with."

He walked in silence as his words solemly hung in the air. Then he said, "It also means he can probably use both hands equally well."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"Thank ye Pagan, ye really didn't need to do this." Before anyone could say anything, he continued, "But since ye ask, could I have a glass of water? I just want somethin quick. I need to call on a few people soon."

He sat around for a minute as Grunt got him some water. He said his thanks, to which Grunt grunted something which Jerro would try to figure out later. He waved goodbye to Pagan and walked walked out of the tavern.

He walked towards the part of town where he would find Lucky. Once they argued agreed on a price, Jerro moved on to find Shamus. He explained the situation, and Shamus quickly agreed to help. Jerro walked back to the tavern, considering asking for more help, but decided against it. The kind of help he could find was too expensive for him at the moment. He figured that by this time, Pagan should have made some leeway on the note. He walked back into the tavern, not entirely sure what to expect.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Grunt came back from the storage room and shook his head. They were all out of candles. Pagan sighed. "Well go buy some!" she commanded. "I'll cover fer ye while ye're gone."

Pagan went over behind the bar to wait for Jerro to come back from whereever he had went. As he returned before Grunt Pagan said to him: "All right then. Grunt is out buying the candles, and knowing Grunt it might take him the whole damn week. So let's go over to the NMA headquarters to see if we can get any more information about Uilliam Thompson while we can. Let's go see captain Heber Kelly - Thompson used to serve under him."

Pagan circled around the bar and noticed how there was still a lot of customers around, drinking their ales like they had no worries in the world. Pagan pulled her lungs full of air and said: "All right, this tavern is going to close in a matter of minutes so drink up and get the hell out of here! Get out, get out, GET OUT!!!"

And then some people wondered why the MacKenzie Circus wasn't the most favourite joint in Imleach these days. But the tavern emptied in a matter of minutes.
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Pagan and Jerro walked across the town square towards the administrative barrack. The stairs were cracked by heavy boots and the hallway smelled of oil, weapons, food and sweat - a common smell to all military barracks in the world. She found a door that said "Adjutant - lieutenant Liam Daly" and knocked.

"Come in!"

Pagan opened the door. The room was elongated and split in two with a desk. The walls were covered with bookshelves and file cabinets, and a corporal and three crew office assistants were sweating over crew rosters and subscriptions.

A short, bald-headed man looked at them grumpily before he recognized Pagan and perked up.

"Is captain Kelly available?"

The lieutenant turned around on his chair. "Hey, Lynch, show colonel MacKenzie and her companion to captain Kelly's office."

One of the privates put the pen away and emerged from behind the desk. Pagan nodded to the lieutenant and followed the soldier down the corridor, around the corner and along another corridor. Finally he stopped and pointed at a door.

The sign on the door said "Company A - Captain H. Kelly".

The soldier left them, and Pagan turned towards Jerro and asked mysteriously: "Ready?" Then she knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence, then it came:

"COME IN!!!"

The roar trembled the door, and Pagan grinned and winked at Jerro. She opened the door and looked at the man that was sitting behind the desk. One look at his square, stone-hard face, narrow crack of a mouth and black, lightning eyes told them that captain Kelly was not a man anyone wanted to mess around with.

Kelly stood up and stretched out a big, hairy hand. They shook hands and Pagan said: "This is private Jerro O'Connor - I've assigned him to my... umm... security consultant."

Kelly and Pagan knew each other a bit and Kelly knew that Pagan wasn't too uptight about military ranks and generally appreciated a more laid-back approach so he dug up a bottle of whiskey from his drawer, handed it over to Pagan and nodded towards two uncomfortable wooden chairs. Pagan sat down, removed the cork with her teeth and scanned the room for glasses.

"I only break them", Kelly said.

Pagan lifted the bottle in her mouth and chugged down a long swig before offering the bottle to Jerro.
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Pagan's throat felt sore and irritated as it had been for two days now. It had started in Corcaigh that night after the assassination attempt when she had opened the envelope containing the threat letter. When she had broken the seal there had been a sudden puff of red powder and an irritation in the back of her throat, and it hadn't gotten any better since then. She had't taken any notice to it when it happened and quickly forgot it afterwards, but now it all came back to her. Pagan felt thirsty all the time (even thirstier than normally) but no amount of whiskey or ale seemed to subdue that thirst at all. Maybe she was coming down with a cold? Pagan hadn't been sick a day in her life, and she reckoned it was because she drank lots and lots of whiskey every day - the key to long, healthy and happy life as her da had taught her. But aging takes a toll out of everyone, she figured and took another swig before handing the bottle back to Kelly, who grabbed it, wiped the mouth clean and followed Pagan's example. Then he fixed his big eyes on her and grunted:

"Well, what can I do fer ye today, colonel?"

"What can ye tell me about a former lieutenant called Uilliam Thompson?"

Kelly frowned. He was one of the people who knew what had happened in Corcaigh, so he had been prepared for this question:

"Uilliam Thompson was an officer in this company no more than two years ago. He was ranked a lieutenant and he also worked as an assistant under the cashier of NMA Imleach HQ. Two years ago the Field Master had our accounts audited and some... illegibilities came into light." Kelly rolled the word in his mouth and literally spat it out. "Changes had been made into the payrolls and a total of 13 000 pounds was missing. Charges were made against Thompson, but he walked away with dishonorable discharge from the NMA because of the lousy supervision of the cashier. He was a captain, nowadays a sergeant in An Caiseal regiment."

Pagan's eyes were fixed on the whiskey bottle. Kelly noticed it and handed the bottle back to her. Pagan took an appreciative swill as the captain continued:

"I knew Thompson. He was a total scumbag and a bastard and I hated him from the bottom of me heart. He cheated with cards in the mess and got beat up by another officer because of it. Two weeks later that officer was found dead under his horse two miles south of Imleach. The horse had broken it's leg and it had apparently fallen on him breaking his neck, but I'm sure it was Thompson's revenge. Of course we couldn't find any evidence against him and the whole case had to be dismissed as an accident."

Kelly aimed at a brass spittoon and squirted.

Ping! said the spittoon.

"I'm only telling ye this to show what kind of character Thompson was", he continued, "and to congratulate ye on what ye did to him in Corcaigh! But unfortunately I have no knowledge whatsoever about what he has been up to after his discharge."

Pagan took another swill and looked at Jerro. Jerro was a smart lad and could possibly think of something she couldn't. "Well, Jerro? Do ye have anything to ask the captain?"
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Kelly glared at Jerro. "I don't know anyone like that as far as I know, but as far as questionable people go... perhaps. As ye no doubt know, Imleach is a wonderful town fer soldiers on vacation. But recently it has become a little bit too wonderful! Whole fleets of big wagons have started to camp on the road between Imleach and Lios Mor, taverns and cathouses on wheels! They are foreigners, mostly from Holland as far as I can tell, and there is nothing we can do about them. They put the girls on display and slosh the bottles and the whole horny and thisty crew runs to them! All right - I'm no prude and I have no problems allowing the soldiers to have a drink now and a then, but I don't bloody hell want to hear that they have been skinned down to their underwear the next morning! And I like even less about the fact that when the barracks have recovered from the hangover, there's nothing left about the caravans except a big pile of empty bottles! Well, weeks go by and everyone forgets the whole deal. And when the girls show up again, the soldiers stream in the camp again and get skimmed all over again! All right, this might not sound like a big deal to ye two but I can assure ye that it's a hell of a bother to me. Those entrepeneurs are on a free land and nobody seems to have any authority to drive them the hell out of the county! And if they had, what could be done about it? Nothing can ever be proved! I've personally visited one such camp in an attempt to reveal something, but the cards were real, the whiskey strong and everything was perfectly all right, but it's clear to me that the soldiers were drunk as monkeys, marked cards were hidden and so was the watered-down whiskey! This has evolved into a disciplinary problem. Fer the last year we've had more disciplinary breaches than the five year period before. And to top it off we've had three court martial cases. I wish somebody would do something to catch the scoundrels and drive them the hell out of An Mumhain!"

Pagan took another swig of whiskey. Kelly stared at Jerro for a few seconds. "I don't think they are gypsies, at least not the ordinary kind", he said with a heavy voice. "We have our own gypsies here in Eire and while they can sometimes cause problems too, we are used to them and can deal with them. This group sailed in to Lios Mor a couple of months ago, and me sources say the core group came from Holland. They've been recruiting some locals too to their ranks after that. But I'm afraid that's not all. Those people are selling weapons to bandits and highwaymen and encouraging them to rob and revolt."

"Are ye sure about that?" Pagan asked.

"I am sure, but I can't prove anything. But I got my sources and I know when something is going on. I've heard rumors that some people and organizations that have remained dormant fer a while have now activated to 'avenge old enemies'. And there is a new group based in An Caiseal that calls itself the 'Infinity' - set to wreak havoc and cause harm in An Mumhain. And all those people are getting financial help from somewhere. And the poisoning of the king - it is all connected."

"So ye think it's just because of the money, Captain?"

"Just call me Heber."

"All right. I'm Pagan."

"No, I don't think so at all. There are some kind of political motivations behind it all, I'm sure of it. I just can't imagine what. But it's something big. Huge even."

"About the women", Pagan pondered, "what are they like?"

"There are all kinds from old half-pound wenches to stunning twenty-pound courtisans."

"Do ye have any idea where they are recruited from?"

"No."

"Is there several groups or just one big?"

"One big I think."

"Do they have armed guards?"

"At least half a dozen."

"How many wagons?"

"Three or four."

Pagan took another swig of whiskey and hiccuped. Outside sun was starting to set. Pagan realized that she had drunk more than was customary for her by this time of day - because of that blasted irritation on the back of her throat that just wouldn't go away. She explained Heber the assassination attempt that had been made against her in Corcaigh and asked him to keep his eyes and ears open for any information about the assassin and let her her know immediately he heard something. Heber promised to do so.

Pagan stood up on her slightly unsteady feet. "See ya, Heber."

As they walked out to the dimming evening she asked Jerro: "Well, what do ye think?"
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Jerro frowned as he took the letter. "Well, so that proves that there was no secret message, would have been queer to send one to someone ye were gonna kill. But see how that darkened anyway? Unless ye held it too close to the flame, there had to be somethin there. But if not words then what? Surely he didn't blank out an entire line for no reason." He gingerly he flipped it over, and checked the back, which was blank.

He gently folded it and asked, "So what is our next move? Should we check out those camps? Or is there somethin else ye want to check?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

When Pagan climbed down the stairs she was not feeling well. A general feeling of nausea and dizziness had taken over her and she’d rather just lie down but stubbornly didn’t allow herself that luxury. It was her turn to be the bartender and by Jah she would do it! But she was definitely going down with something, there was no denying it now. Should she perhaps see a healer or a doctor? She heard her father’s stern voice many years from the past answering: Nonsense! If whiskey won’t cure it, the disease will kill ye fer sure and there ain’t nuttin’ any doctor or healer on this earth can do fer ye then! Daddy Seamus was probably right. She would just need to drink more whiskey to beat this thing, whatever it was.

She couldn’t see the sight of Jerro when she entered the dining room and frowned. What good was a bodyguard that was never around? He would have to eat his stew cold when he’d show up.

Pagan sat on the table and let Grunt cater for her but soon found out she didn’t have any appetite. Just the thought of food made her want to throw up, and when she finally pushed the plate away she had barely touched the food, merely poking it around. Oh well, at least the whiskey still went down so she wasn’t in a mortal danger yet.

Pagan enjoyed being the bartender. To her a bartender had always been a godlike figure, more powerful than any Duke or King. A bartender held the keys to Paradise on earth, and all too often excercised that power too, regulating or even heartlessly denying Pagan her well-earned access there. But as a bartender Pagan could enforce that unlimited power herself, all the while having unlimited access to the Paradise at the same time. To her it was the ultimate power trip. She would choose being bartender over being Queen of any country in the world anytime.

But not only did Pagan enjoy her job behind the bar, she was also very popular among the drunkards who frequented the place for several reasons. One of those reasons was that Pagan never threw anyone out unless they were being belligerent. Sleeping on or under the table or throwing up on the bar were understandable sins in Pagan’s eyes and she didn’t have the heart to throw out a fellow drunkard into the cold night who only wanted was a warm place to sleep for a while. All too often Pagan herself had been thrown out of taverns for the same reason and she knew how cruel and unusual punishment it could be for another human being.

Another reason was that Pagan drank from her own stock and was regularly more drunk than her customers, which meant she couldn’t or wasn’t bothered count the change very well. And it was not unheard of that Pagan would pass out behind the bar, in which case all the drinks were free if Kadie or Grunt weren’t around.

Incidentally the MacKenzie Circus was a place that attracted some of the heaviest drinkers in town and didn’t make very much money either. The Circus was also popular among the NMA soldiers who knew and liked Colonel Pagan and also didn’t have much money. Pagan hoped that during the night she would hear more about the camps on a grassroot level than she could ever find out from the other officers in the NMA.
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"Yeah, I'm all right", said Pagan with a green face. "Just not hungry today so ye can have my bowl too. I'd best get behind the bar and start serving the customers." Pagan pushed the bowl of stew across the table towards Jerro, stood up and took her position behind the bar as more and more customers started to wander in.

By midnight Pagan was fully sloshed and having an incoherent conversation with a few NMA soldiers who were sitting by the bar, also drunk.

"We don't get to have a lot of fun anymore", said a skinny corporal. "In the old days we could raise hell in town whenever on vacation, but now there's bloody militia everywhere as far as the eye can see. And when simple and graceful souls feel pity fer us and put taverns and cathouses on wheels, the bloody officers start chasing them!"

"W-why?" Pagan mumbled in her glass.

"Well that's bloody obvious", said another soldier. "The girls and the booze are not part of the paycheck."

"Nonsense!" growled the corporal. "Of course we have to pay fer it, and pay heavily, but hell, if we didn't want to pay fer it, we wouldn't, would we? Of course they are playing a scam on us! We know it, and that's the whole point! Hell yeah we prefer it that way! What business is it to others how we spend our own money anyway?"
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"Well, old chap, can you *hips* tell me ish there shuch *hips* a camp shomewhere right now?" asked Pagan, adopting a comical English accent for some incomprehensible reason.

"Not that I know of, no", said the corporal. "Why are ye talking funny?"

Pagan lifted a finger to her lips and winked. "SHHH! That in-finformation ish fer need to *hips* know bashish only! Where do theshe people come from *hips* anyway?"

The corporal shrugged. "They are foreigners mostly, based on the language they talk to each other with - it's French or Italian or Spanish or something - I don't know. And anyway - they come out less and less these days anymore. Been weeks since there was one last time." The corporal frowned suspiciously, suddenly remembering Pagan was a colonel. "Why do ye wanna know?"

"No reashon", Pagan mumbled and opened another bottle. She didn't have much time anymore - soon she would have to close the place and run the customers home - those that still could walk - while she still could.

"I re-hemember Neasha", spluttered one especially intoxicated soldier. "She had yellow hair and fancy clothesh and she shang sho pretty too..."

The conversation deteriorated to incomprehensible incoherent drunk talk from there. The only real bit of information that had been gathered here tonight was that the camps were out there less and less often, so there was no easy way to find the conspirators.

It was time to close the tavern. Pagan drove the people out. There was already a group of militia waiting outside armed with shillelaghs, because the outside of the Circus was infamous of it's drunken brawls this time of night.

Pagan sucked on her hipflask as she staggered towards the stairs. It was empty. Time to get to bed - if she could reach that far. "G'night, Jerro. D-hont drink too mussh, we have to wake up early!" she slurred as she was approaching the stairs. The stairs were always a challenge this time of night.
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The next morning was bad for Pagan.

She woke up feeling terribly ill. The first thing that came up to her mind was the hangover! It finally caught me! But after fumling after and finally finding her reserve flask from under her pillow and raising it to her lips... it all came straight back up. And violently too. She was hugging the slop bucket good and well. She had heard that this sometimes happened to amateur drunks, but never to Pagan. She tried to have more whiskey, but it all just kept coming back up, over and over again, until the 18-oz. flask was empty. She couldn't keep anything in.

And as if that wasn't enough, then hit the diarrhea, and just as violently as the vomiting. Pagan barely had the time to lower her pants and get on the bucket.

When she was done, she walked to the mirror with faint feet. What she saw in it gave her a shock. Her face was all grey and swollen, with large black bags hanging from under her eyes. She was pouring sweat. She looked like a corpse already.

The room stenched of human secretions. She would have to go outside to empty the slop bucket - or at least have Grunt do it for her - and she would, but she had to lie down for five minutes first. Just five minutes, she would be up and about in...

Pagan fell into a raving nightmare.
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Pagan was dreaming of Kadie tending her wound when she had been almost cut in half during the Laighean war down in Lios Mor. But the voice she heard belonged to another one - could it be... no, it was Kadie after all!

Then the dream brutally ended and she woke up in terrible pain and violent shaking. Jerro was standing above her, shaking her and trying to make her wake up. He didn't have to shake her - Pagan was shaking all over as it was.

"Good mornin', Jerro", she croaked. "Sorry about the smell, but I'm not feeling well this morning. Could ye please ask Grunt to empty the bucket fer me, I will be down in a second. I just need to... lie down fer... five more minutes."
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"No! No doctors!" said Pagan stubbornly and raised halfway up on her bed. "I think I've just eaten something unsuitable, or perhaps drank water by mistake. I don't have a recollection of doing so, but it's possible if someone dared me and I was really really drunk. I will be up in a moment, I just need to lie down fer a few minutes more."

Pagan sunk back on her bed groaning feebly.
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Pagan fell back into a restless slumber, filled with hazy nightmares and short periods of delirious consciousness. Later she remembered glimpses of people coming and going, like Grunt and Jerro, maybe others too. She didn't remember what she had said to them but she sent them off each time.

When Pagan finally came to the darkness had started to fall outside already. She was feeling better, if only just a little bit. She took a bath in her room and changed her clothes. She stared her reflection in the mirror with horror. Her looks hadn't improved since morning, it was still like a walking dead staring back at her. Then she checked her sword, adjusted the scabbard on her belt and locked the door behind her. Downstairs the tavern was already half filled, and she had two large glasses of whiskey by the bar. She could hold on to them this time.

Pagan kept her eye on two freshly bathed, freshly shaved traders who were pouring down whiskey as if their life depended on getting drunk as fast as they could. They pressed their heads against each other, talked quietly and laughed anticipatingly. Pagan kept an eye on them discreetly. Once they had both emptied half a bottle they stood up. Pagan followed them and gave Jerro a sign to come with her.
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"These guys are definitely looking fer some forbidden fun, and the fun they are looking fer just might give us another lead on the conspirators", Pagan explained. "I know ye know some people from the underworld too, but still no point in passing this opportunity to gain extra information."

The traders entered the 'amusement block' of Imleach. A few hundred yards ahead the town was dark and dead, but in these three or four streets there was life, light and noise. Pagan and Jerro followed those two traders like their shadows. They were staggering uncontrollably yet determinedly until they reached a dark facade that had a dense garden in front of it. Pagan could smell the flowers.

The traders looked up and down the street and Pagan retreated with lightning speed into the shadows, pulling Jerro with her. She heard the men knocking. She peeked at the house. A golden triangle of light fell upon the street and vanished again.

Pagan considered her options. That would be as good a place to start as any. She grabbed Jerro's arm and started walking back towards the Circus.

"Jerro", she said. "I have an idea, but I would need yer help. It's up to ye if ye wanna do it or not, but at least hear me out. That is a house that some men visit fer... well, entertainment. As a woman I couldn't visit a place like that without drawing too much attention to meself, but ye could. Ye could be fer example a lad looking fer his fiancee that has vanished and ye have heard she's been seen working in that house, or something. Make up a better story if ye want, and try to fish some additional information. What do ye say?"
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"Sure I will, Jerro. But first, I have something fer ye - please come with me."

Pagan led Jerro to her room in the MacKenzie Circus and opened a chest in the corner. She reached inside the chest and dug up five large pouches, folded shut with strings, and layed them on the bed.

"There's 200 pounds - fifty in each pouch. That's fer the expenses, like paying fer information or stuff like that. I don't want ye to use yer own money on this one. I think 200 should be more than enough - bring back what ye don't need." Pagan smiled at Jerro and added: "I trust ye, so no need to ask fer receits or anything."

OOC: From this point forward Pagan's segment of the story will take a little diversion to (ORP) A Toast to Endings thread as Pagan gets a visit from a courier pigeon while Jerro continues his investigations in this thread (I can play the part of all kinds of NPC's here if needed).
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Síle was sitting at the table by herself, painting her fingernails with bright red colour. All her other lasses were upstairs, entertaining the customers, and mammy was sleeping in her room at the back of the house. Síle didn’t mind having a little break from the work, but she would have preferred if she’d had one or two of her lasses to keep her company. Síle got bored easily and didn’t like being alone.

A knock on the door woke her up from her daydreaming. Another customer? Síle sighed – she had a long working night behind her and had hoped that nobody would come anymore. Síle’s shift would end in one hour and she didn’t feel inspired anymore. At least let it be somebody young and reasonably clean and sober, she thought as she walked to the door and opened it.

The golden triangle of light illuminated the man standing at the door. By the way he was carrying himself and clothed Síle categorized the man to be an intolerable jerk, but at least he was young, clean and seemed reasonably sober too. Síle just hoped he wouldn’t be the violent type – based on his attitude he just might be.

”Yes?” Síle said. ”Would ye like to come in, sir?”

Síle retreated from the doorway and moved out of the way as the young man entered the little salon. The lightning was dim and neither the dark tapestries, plush coatings over the sofa and couches nor heavy curtains at doors lightened up the mood.

Síle suppressed a smile as she listened the young man talking. Obviously this was his first time in a place like this and he was feeling shy and uncertain of what would happen next. But Síle knew better not to show her amusement.

"Well I don't know, what did ye have in mind, hun?"

Síle relaxed the moment the young man uttered the last words. A talker! Seems she had misjudged him at first, the lad wasn't a jerk at all but a shy and lonely guy who just wanted to act tough, coming to a place like this. Síle was relieved, she had a long shift behind her and she was kinda tired. She hadn't had a talker in a long while, that would be a nice change and a good way to end the night. After all, hadn't she hoped for some company only a minute ago?

Síle smiled at the lad and batted her eyelids. "I'm afraid I don't know any card games, but I'm a very good listener fer anything ye have in yer heart. Come, let's go to me room upstairs. Don't worry, I don't bite... unless ye want me to, that is."

Halfway towards the stairs Síle stopped and turned her head. "Ye still have to pay fer me time", she warned. Síle climbed the stairs and led the lad to her small but tidy room.

"Would ye like some herbal tea... ummm... what's yer name?"

"Ye can call me Síle, Roderick", Síle said as she set the table for two and went to light the fire under the teapot. "And it is 20 pounds per hour, but me shift ends after an hour. I'm not gonna chase ye out if ye wanna stay but after that it will be double as much."

The tea boiled and Síle filled the cups and looked at Roderick intently. "Well, Roderick", she said, "anything specific on yer mind ye wish to talk to me about?"

By golly, he was a nice lad! And so innocent! The way he so casually mentioned that he had 'enough money fer a couple more hours' made Síle think that he had to be rich too. Perhaps he would be the type that she could make fall for her, marry her and take her out of this life? It was rare, but sometimes it happened and some of the girls shared this same dream with Síle.

"Hold on, Roderick", Síle said, getting up from her seat. "I can rub yer feet fer ye, I'm very good at it." Without waiting to hear any complaints Síle knelt before Roderick and started working on his feet firmly and skillfully. "Aye, I know what ye mean about finding a new line of work, Rod. Ye know I was gonna be a singer." Síle sighed softly and shrugged it off. "But that's how it goes in life I guess - ye can't always get what ye want."

Síle listened to Roderick's story and sighed again. "Ye know, Rod, with some minor key differences yer story could as well be mine. Some guy I met in a tavern, told me how beautifully I could sing, said that I could make a fortune with me voice if I went with him. A real rich guy he was, a gentleman type, some kind of nobleman even. A foreigner. So I went with him. But instead of the fortunes I got..." Síle waved her hand about the room, "this!"

The talk about killings, assassinations and death threats made Síle suddenly withdraw. She was afraid she had already said too much. She thought about the caravan camps, the rough times she had had to endure before she accepted her fate and everything had changed easier for her, the ruthless men behind it all and... she was almost too scared to even think about him!

"Best if we talk about something nicer, Rod. It is too dangerous to even be talking about that movement... fer the both of us!"

Síle bit her lip, desperation and horror flickering in her eyes.

"I would so love to help ye and yer friend, Rod, ye know that! But... but it could cost me me life!"

Síle bit her lip harder, tears streaming on her cheeks. She so would have wanted to help this young man and his friend, but how could she? She was a coward, coward, coward!

"Y-yes, Rod? W-what is it?"

Síle threw a quick glance at the window. "All I can give ye is a name", she said quietly and suddenly. "Viscomte d'Argent. He's the one who collects the girls. d'Argent - he..." a shiver went through Síle, "d'Argent is... is... a murderer."

Síle took the dirk and held on to Jerro's embrace tight. More than ever she now looked like the lost country girl she had once been.

"Ye know ye can stay if ye like. Fer tonight. Fer free."

"Nah, I have a little shack to call me own not too far from here", said Síle. "The bosses rewarded me fer playing nicely so far, so I can have some privacy and stuff of me own. That's how they operate - play nicely and they reward ye, cause trouble and ye find yerself in a trouble deep." Síle gave Jerro the instructions to her house. "I'll be waiting up fer ye there, Jerro."

Pagan awoke from a nightmare as Jerro arrived. She realized she had been napping at the table, and she had no idea how much time had passed. All she knew was she was feeling worse. Way worse. She suffered from enormous abnominal pain and fought against the urge to throw up on the table.

"Jerro, I..."

Pagan was sliding down on her chair, scrabbling powerlessly for something to hold on - then she dropped on the floor with a thump and just lied there still, without making a sound.
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Jerro looked into the back of the cart, he thought that he had heard Pagan, but that could have been an illusion. They were already well on the way to Corcaigh, but it had taken them two days traveling to reach Imleach from Cork, but they weren't in a hurry then. He figured that, with plenty of rough riding, they might be able to get there in a day, maybe less if they were lucky.

He looked around the cart, along with the drover, they had two escorts riding alongside them. He didn't know either of them, but they both knew Pagan well enough to volunteer. Jerro realized that he had been left out in the dark too long, the first thing he would do once he knew that Pagan was safe was demand some answers.

"Hang in there." He muttered to Pagan. Then he turned back to the front and proceeded to pester the drover to go faster.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro looked back again, Pagan wasn't looking good. Earlier she had at least moved. Now, other than the occasional groan, she didn't move or make a sound. It seemed like she wasn't even fighting anymore.

"How's she doing back there?" Asked the lad in front and to the left of the cart.

"Not well at all." Jerro answered back. The young soldier looked about to say something else, but turned away with a distressed look. Do ye think she'll live? the unasked question echoed around them anyway, as if he had shouted the question into a vast cavern. Jerro found a rag back in the cart, soaked it with slighty cool water from a canteen they had brought, and placed it on Pagan's forehead. He wasn't sure if it would do anything for her, but at least it was something.

Jerro felt guilty for letting this happen to her, she had trusted her protection to him. He should have seen it coming, but never thought that they would pay for an assassin if they were gonna poison her anyway. He doubted that it was the same person, while he may be skilled with poisons, he doubted he would have gone from public assault to secretive poisoning. Jerro tried to tell himself that it was impossible to protect her from poison short of eating everything she ate, and that she could have been poisoned before they met on the road. These thoughts didn't help though, he still felt guilty.

"Ye've got to live, if not for me, if not for these lads risking their lives for ye, then think of yer friends, yer family, think of Kadie. Where would they be without ye?" Jerro wasn't even sure if Pagan could hear him. "Everythin will be fine, ye'll be cured and then we can get the bastard who did this to ye." He wasn't sure whether he was trying to reassure Pagan or himself. He wasn't sure of a lot of things.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

The walls of Corcaigh were within sight. Pagan had stirred once during the ride, which worried Jerro. She was still breathing, but he didn't know how long it would last. He cared for her to the best of his ability, which basically boiled down to changing the rag when it got too warm and making sure she was still breathing. He was amazed, had it only been a few days since he had been here for the fair?

He urged the drover to speed up again, and looked around. The ride to Cork had been surprisingly uneventful, they had not needed to stop and were not attacked, both of these being minor blessings in themselves even if the circumstances weren't pressing. He felt himself fidgeting as they neared the gates, he hoped they weren't too late.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"Private Jerro O'Connor of the NMA reporting." He said in a harried voice, snapping off a smart salute. They might be in a hurry, but bypassing procedure could get them into deeper trouble. "Col. Pagan Mckenzie here has been poisoned, and I have reason to believe the antidote is at the palace. I also have information that the king or anyone close to the king must hear." Jerro began to fidget again, remembering the letter say that there was a point when the antidote would stop working.

Just then, one of the escorts spoke up, "Please hurry sir, can't ye see she's dying?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro sat there in shocked silence as he was herded towards the palace. The king was dead? He never knew him personally, but it was still a shock to hear that. That meant that they were too late. Another person that Jerro couldn't save. The ride to the palace passed by as a blur, he vaguely remembered Dirk shouting out to get everyone out of the way. Jerro stared blankly ahead the whole way there.

Once at the palace, though, he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he turned to look, nobody was there. He knew who it was, though. He realized that it would do nobody any good to sit here in a fog, so he pulled himself together. He gently picked up Pagan, and asked for directions to where he needed to go. Then, he ran to where they told him to go.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"No, ye owe me nothin." Jerro said. "How could I sit there when someone needed me? I'm sure ye would've done the same for me an mine." Jerro reached to grab the letter when he realized that, in his haste, he had left it on the table at the Mackenzie Circus. "But while we wait, I have some information that ye need to know." All he really wanted was to take a quick rest, but he couldn't do that in good conscience when there were things that still needed to be done.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Oddman was greatly relieved when Pagan opened her eyes and recognized him. But the expression on his changed quickly reflecting the grief he was still feeling from Zanditin's so recent death.

"Zan is dead! He refused to take the antidote and earlier he had made Alys promise not to let anyone force a treatment on him against his will. It was his choice. For my own part, my vows and commitments would not let me go against that."

He hugged Pagan and and held her for a while then said.

" The Cowards that Poisoned you and and took Zan from us will be hunted down, and they will feel the full wrath of Jah."

When she heard the news about Zan's passing away Pagan released herself from Oddman's embrace and stood up from the bed, but her feet were still weak and usteady so she slumped sitting into a sofa. She felt uncontrollable craving for whiskey. The news had shocked her deeply.

"Zan... dead?" She had a hard time understanding the meaning of those words. Zan, the man who had imported the axe program in Ireland, the man who had fought side by side in the war and, most importantly, the man who had had the habbit of pulling his kilt on the flagpole of Imleach on numerous occasions, the man who had joked and laughed and drank with her all those times in the taverns... dead.

Then Jerro spoke and Pagan forced herself to concentrate on his words. "No, never heard of him. Who is he?"
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"It's all right, Jerro, ye did good", Pagan said. "We have a name now, and that is a lead."

Pagan had hard time keeping her eyes open. She desperately needed a drink, she was starving and she was dead tired, and she knew she wouldn't be strong enough to make it back to Imleach in a couple of days. At the moment she was too weak to even stand on her two feet. Besides, there would be a funeral for Zan, and she would have to attend to that.

"Anything else?"
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Pagan yawned. "Well I don't know about ye guys, but I'm just about to fall asleep here. And I'm pretty sure I'm not fit to travel fer a couple of days, and then there will of course be the funeral of the King. Do ye want to go back to Imleach without me, Jerro? Because ye can if ye like. I think I will be safe here, or as safe as I can be anywhere at the moment."
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Jerro nodded his head wearily. "Yeah, that sounds good right about now. I think I'll do that." He was pointed to a nearby room with a bed and went there. He quickly fell into a deep sleep... And into a nightmare.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan was on her feet on the second day and dragging herself around the Palace. Her slender, hardened body was recuperating with amazing speed, her strenght was coming back and the swolling on her face was coming down as she was regaining her normal colour.
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The next day was uneventful, but Jerro was to shaken to even notice if the pope had been caught gambling in Corcaigh. Jerro was still haunted by his dream, he could still remember it vividly...

It was that fateful night years ago, the night that had brought Jerro clean. He was making the deal again, when things went wrong. A fight ensued, which Jerro could remember down to the last droplet of blood that painted the streets. Then, as if time had slowed, he saw the crossbow bolt fly across the street and land in his friend's gut. The crossbow bolt that had ended his life. The rest passed by in a blur of speed until several hours later when they had hidden in the woods. Jerro had held Barabbas, both comforting him in his final hour and pleading with him to find a healer. But it wasn't Barabbas anymore, instead he had found Síle in his arms, eyes glazed over and breath void in the eternal slumber. Jerro began to cry out...

And woke up, sweating and breathing heavily. He was sure what his dream meant, he had unwittingly killed Síle in his quest for information. He sat in bed for several minutes, shocked at what had happened. Then, he stood up, got dressed, and started his day anew.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro walked around the town in the hours before the funeral. He was all too aware of the change in mood since his last visit. Before, the city was bright, colorful and exuberant in the joyous displays of the fair. Now, the whole city was in mourning over the loss of the king; a grey, somber atmosphere. Many shops were even closed for the day. Jerro felt his already low spirits drop a few notches as he browsed through the few shops that were still open. After killing several hours, he walked back to his temporary room with new formal clothes for the funeral.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro planned to leave after the funeral. He still planned to, even if he hadn't been able to get much sleep. He wanted to check on Síle, even though he knew she was dead. There was also Lucky and Shamus to deal with back home. Jerro shuddered when he thought of what might happen should they try to meet with Jerro at the same. First, he had to check with Pagan to see if she wanted to leave too. He waited until he was sure that she was awake, then found her in one of the hallways.

"Hey Pagan. Are ye feelin any better? I was goin to ride out for home today. Are ye comin, or do ye still have business here?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"No, I got everything I need. I just need to tell the lads who escorted us that we're leavin. I'm sure they want to get back home too. In fact, I'm pretty sure that they'll need to bring the cart back too, so ye could ride in the back there again if ye want, save ye the trouble of findin a horse." He paused to think for a second. "Or if ye have enough stuff we could stick it in the cart and borrow one horse. One of us can sit with the drover."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"Well, ye can certainly make a man feel underdressed!" Jerro joked. He had only brought his staff, it suited his purposes well enough. Besides, he was broke after everything that had happened and couldn't afford anything else. "What was that ye said about not bringin the whole armory?" Jerro could understand her concern though, having an assassin breathing down your neck couldn't be fun. Realistically speaking, though, Jerro figured that she wouldn't even use half of the stuff. Unless she started throwing her weapons. Jerro remembered Callaghan from the inn that they had stopped at last time they made the trip home. He smiled at his own private thoughts of Pagan throwing her sword at him, and it striking his head hilt-first. His smile quickly faded when he realized that they would probably have to stop at that inn on this trip.

"All joking aside, are we ready to go?" He said, driving the thought from his mind. "Would ye prefer the drover seat or the cart?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro didn't argue about the cart, but he didn't think protection was the first thing on Pagan's mind when she had chosen.

After returning home, and returning the cart and horses, they said goodbye to their escorts and made a beeline to the Mackenzie Circus. There, Jerro's worst fear came true. Both Lucky and Shamus were sitting at tables as far apart as possible, shooting daggers at each other. They both knew each other from reputation, although Shamus had messed up one of Lucky's larger operations. From the looks of things, they had both been here for a while. Once Jerro and Pagan entered, they shifted their glares at Jerro.

"Um... could ye excuse me for a second, I think I have some business that needs to be taken care of, and it could take a while." He motioned for both Shamus and Lucky to meet him at a separate table. They both stood up quickly, raced each other to the table, got there at the same time, then hesitantly sat down on opposite sides of the table.

"Ok, so I know that ye two don't get along, but I need ye to work together on this. Can ye handle that?" They both glared at each other again before muttering their consent. "Good, now that we got that settled, Shamus, ye go first." Lucky opened his mouth to complain, but Jerro silenced him with a Look.

"Fine by me." Shamus said, "It shouldn't take take too long. I just needed to ask how I can look after people I can't find." Lucky scoffed at this, but Jerro shot him another Look. "I still haven't found this Kadie person, I'm beginning to doubt she exists, and Pagan disappears within several hours of ye askin me to watch her."

"Kadie does exist, or at least Pagan assures me she does." Jerro answered him, "And as for Pagan's disappearance, she was poisoned and the only cure was in Cork, so we had to rush her there."

"But why didn't ye ask me? I could have gone in yer stead."

"And in that time she could have died, it was that serious. I would have told ye if I could, but I had no time to."

Shamus mulled this over for a second, before nodding and saying, "Alright, I'm satisfied. That was it." He stood up to leave but Jerro stopped him.

"No, if yer gonna be workin together, ye gotta learn to at least stand each other." He waved Lucky to start talking.

Shamus grumbled a little, but otherwise sat down without a fight. "First off, I don't have any information on yer assassin, ye didn't give me enough to work with. Second, word is that yer bein hunted too. I don't know by who, but aparrently someone has been tryin to get to ye. The strange thing is, I don't know how he's lookin, I don't know where he's lookin, I don't even know the guy who gave me the information. Some guy came up to me and said, "Jerro's bein hunted" and ran off before I could even see his face. Strangest thing."

Jerro took all this in. This meant that Viscomte was looking for him, and that there was someone who knew this. The only question was, who was this person, and how much more did he know? "Thank ye, I didn't know someone was after me, but I might know his name... look up Viscomte d'Argente for me, will ye?" Lucky agreed without asking for a price, a sign that worried Jerro. "Is that everythin? ... Good! Ye can both leave now if ye want, thank ye for the help, just stay safe." He watched as Lucky and Shamus both ran for the door, neither wanting to have his back to the other. Once they left, Jerro laid his head down on the table and thought about everything.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro brought his head up when Grunt brought them the food.  He ate slowly, still thinking about everything that he had learned so far.  He was still eating when Pagam had asked her question.  He waited until she finished talking before speaking up himself.  "I've given it some thought, and I figure the best way to learn something new would be to try and lure this guy into a trap.  I'm sure ye've heard what we were talkin about a little while ago, he wants both of us now.  I'm sure both of us walkin the street would be too tempting an offer to pass up.  Besides, I have a promise to keep."  He kept quiet on how he was sure that the person who had made him promise was dead.

"So I'll be goin out with or without ye in a minute anyway, I just think that; one, it'd be safer and two, we might be able to catch this gut while we're out there.  If ye do come though, then ye can tell me just what is goin on.  I want..."  He stopped, for at that moment he noticed something that he probably should have noticed a while ago.  A carrier pigeon had flown in.

He wasn't sure how long it had been in there for, but it had to have been here for a while.  He crossed the room and carefully took the letter from its leg.  He took a cursory glance at the letter as he went back to the table, but handed it to Pagan still unrolled.  "I believe this is for ye?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

We're going to Síles house. Síle is the lass who I got the name out of. She was frightened for her life after telling me. She gave me her address So that I could protect her. What with ye gettin poisoned, I couldn't meet with her. I... Uh... I actually think that she's... dead." Jerro felt uncomfortable saying the words out loud. He hoped she wouldn't ask any further into it. "But I could be wrong, and I hope I am, so I'm goin to check on her, make sure she's safe. Anyway, like I was sayin before the letter caught my attention, I know there is a lot ye haven't been telling me, and I wanna know just what's goin on!"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"No, I don't think he's the assassin. Why poison ye and then try to kill ye? Then again, why poison ye and hire an assassin to kill ye? It doesn't make any sense." He knocked on the door and continued to talk as he waited for an answer. "Who is this 'Destini' person ye've been messaging, where is she? Surely ye wouldn't use a carrier pigeon if she were only a few towns over."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro followed Pagan a half second behind her, and saw the body several seconds afterwards. At first, his eyes slid right over the body, refusing to look at it, at her. Then the smell hit him. As soon as the smell of petrification hit him, his eyes landed right on Síles body. He began to reel, catching himself on the wall. He began to heave, but after a minute, he was able to catch control of himself.

He had met death many times before, death defined his life. He wouldn't be the man he was today if it weren't for death, but this one really bothered him. Not only was it someone he had known, and begun to care for, and not only was she counting on him to stay safe, but whoever had killed her had left her body to rot out in her own home. That just wasn't right.

After he mostly regained his composure, he said a little shakily, "It looks like d'Argente found out she had told me his name, but how did he find out, we were alone." he went to move Síle's body, but stopped midway. The state the body was in, it would probably fall apart if he touched it. This set off another round of gagging.

"We... We have to... Tell someone about... This." He said in between rounds of gagging.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Immediately after Pagan had set foot inside the tavern she got the feeling that something was not quite right about the place. There was a lot of staff, the bartender and several waiters, all men, and something about their eyes and the way they carried themselves fitted poorly behind the bar.

Pagan marched to the bardesk and ordered a whiskey. The bartender, like the waiters, had that same coldness in his eyes and the same rugged and hard look in his features Pagan associated with men who lived outside the lawful society. The bartender poured her the whiskey and said: "Here you are, ma'am..."

He definitely had a thick foreign accent, but since Pagan wasn't educated nor well-travelled she couldn't place it. Was it French? Italian? ... Dutch?

The main door opened behind her. Pagan turned her head to see the customer who had just walked in...
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Jerro was beginning to feel truly creeped out. He had seen livelier cemeteries than this place. In taverns, there was always something, animated conversation, boisterous laughter, unsubtle bar songs, even fights, that proved that people were enjoying themselves. Here, there were shifty eyes, muttered conversations and untrusting glances at the other patrons. Jerro thought from Pagan's optimism, it might have been... not as reeking of underworld activity.

Another person came in behind Jerro and Pagan, and the uncomfortable feeling Jerro had increased. When he sat down and began talking, Jerro tried to listen in, but couldn't here a what was being said. He returned to his drink, sitting quietly in the disquieting gloom. one time, a chill ran down his spine as the man looked over at them, but otherwise nothing happened. He watched as the man walked into the back rooms, maybe he worked here? Jerro wanted to ask Pagan what she thought of him, but the waiters were too close and showing an unhealthy amount of interest in them. Instead, he sat there, growing more and more edgy, nursing his drink.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro listened in as Pagan interrogated the bartender. From his reaction, that man probably was Viscomte d'Argente. Jerro couldn't help but remember the fear in Síles eyes when she had said that name. Jerro loomed towards the other patrons in the bar, they seemed to be growing more hostile. Much longer and they may have to fight there way out.

"Pagan, I think it's time we leave." Jerro said. "I'm sure this gentleman would have nothing to do with D'Argente even if he knew who that was." The bartender looked slightly relieved, but that expression was quickly replaced by something else. Jerro pulled Pagan aside. "D'Argente is a murderer." He whispered to Pagan, "Remember Síle, the person who gave me the name." He strained to make his voice calm as he continued in a hushed voice. "Look what happened to her. D'Argente instills fear in those who work under him, and will kill of any loose threads that he may see. The threat of death does wonders to keep a man's mouth shut. We won't get anything else out of him unless ye torture it out of him, and that's not something ye should do, no matter for what. His reaction was plain enough to me, that was our man. That means he's followin us, waitin to kill us too."

He looked around at the hostile glares surrounding them, he wasn't sure how many of them were working under d'Argente. "Now, we can stay here and press the man for more information, and probably find ourselves on the wrong end od a mob, or we can walk out of here while we still can and find a spot to confront d'Argente under our own terms. The choice is yers, I'll do whatever ye think we should do." He grabbed his drink and poured the rest down his throat as he waited for Pagan's answer.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"None of this is necessary, had ye said we'd meet him, we'd have gladly walked ourselves." Jerro said with a sardonic smile. Why was everyone like this? Put a knife in their hands and tell them to bring someone somewhere, the first thing he'll do is threaten them. Jerro's staff was still on his back, but with the knife there, he couldn't reach for it fast enough. He could probably disarm the waiter fast enough to avoid getting stabbed, but there was Pagan to think about, and the other waiters too. By now, all the customers had left, leaving only d'Argente's men.

"I can't help but notice the knives are still there. Oh well, if ye still think they're necessary, then lead the way." He quietly followed as he and Pagan were guided into the back room.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

The door opened, and three men were standing behind it - the bartender and two waiters.

"What is the meaning of this?" Pagan snapped. "I demand that ye release us immediately! Don't ye realize who I am?"

The bartender smiled. "Must we knock you unconscious before we frisk you, MacKenzie? The decision is yours."

Pagan had no choice. She was on the verge of breaking of shame and humiliation by the fact she had allowed herself to be lead into a trap like this. She aimed a massive kick towards the bartender and threw herself at one of the waiters. At that moment she didn't think about even the scary knife.

The boot hit the bartender to his thigh. The man dodged with unfathomable speed, and Pagan saw a dagger shining in his hand, so fast she completely froze. One of the waiters - the one that was now standing next to her - hit her behind the ear. There was a sparkling flash and Pagan rammed sideways. She mustered her strength and hit the waiter holding a dagger to his face with her elbow. She heard a half- repressed groan, then a dagger moved on the bartender's hand. Pagan could see the hilt coming. It hit her right above her right eye with a thudding sound. She felt a slack spreading to her body and fought desperately to keep her consciousness. Then it was like like some restraint would have snapped, and a gentle darkness took her in it's bosom.
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A few minutes later Pagan moaned, blinked her eyes and slowly managed to focus her eyes. She had been stripped down to her underskirt. A flow of curse words fell through her lips. She turned her head and saw Jerro sitting on a crate.

"Hello Jerro... did I miss anything important?"

Pagan checked herself out.

"They found the letter - no doubt d'Argent now knows Desti and that Allan character are on their way back to Eire."

Pagan's eyes widened as she realized something.

"They missed one of the knives! One that I've strapped on me thigh, high up. Fortunately the guy who frisked me is either very shy, morbidly chivalrous or not into girls at all."
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"Nah, ye didn't miss much, they searched us and I lost my money and picks." Jerro said. "That's good, Now we have one knife against at least four knives, a sword, a staff, and who knows what else." Jerro said. He shrugged, "It's a start I suppose." Jerro sat patiently. If there was one thing he knew, it was patience. Ususally, he could sit so long that it became uncomfortable for other people.

Jerro thought about what he knew. Someone was out to get the people in power in Ireland. Pagan's clanmate was on her way from England, so that meant that this was a more far reaching problem than he had originally thought. Now someone was out to get (and got) Pagan and himself, was it because they were in the way, somehow? Apparently they were using a rare poison of some sort, with an equally rare cure. Was this person trying to revolt against leaders across the world? Were they planning to replace the monarchs with Viscomte or were there more people waiting to take charge? There were too many questions that Jerro had and too few answers.

In the middle of Jerro's musings, he heard the bolt come free again. He waited in anticipation, unsure of what might come through this time, and what they might do.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Callaghan came in and stared at those two people in front of him. Where had he seen them before?

Now he remembered!

And Pagan - when she turned her head she was staring straight at a face she would never forget - it was the face of a bully they had beaten in Lios Mor - Callaghan!

Callaghan threw his head backwards and rumbled in laughter. His thick, shapeless lips grimaced so that drool was bubbling in the corners of his mouth.

"I'll be damned, it looks like the destiny has decided to give me a rematch!" he laughed viciously. "And this time I am sober - very sober! Right on, lads, tie them up. Let's have a little interrogation here."

"Are ye sure, Callaghan?" asked the bartender nervously. "d'Argent said..."

"Who cares what he said", growled Callaghan. He was jealous and bummed to d'Argent by the fact he instilled more fear in people than Callaghan - even though Callaghan in his mind was way more frightening d'Argent ever could. It was time to show that to the lads right now! "I'm in charge here at least as much as he is - if not more! Now tie them up!"

The gob of spit flew through the air and landed with a wet sound on d'Argent's face. A shocked silence fell as everything stopped. It was almost like Jah himself was holding his breath to see the outcome. Then a noise broke through, one Jerro couldn't place at first. Them he realized what it was. He was laughing. He was laughing loudly and hard. After all, he couldn't have said it any better himself.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro's laughter abruptly stopped. D'Argente was on to watch out for. While Callaghan was a bull, charging the opposition with shear brute force, d'Argente was a snake. He would slither into power, and putting fear into anyone who may oppose, meaning everyone. Then he would poison or torture those who stood in his way. Jerro could see that, although Callaghan boasted equal power, Viscomte was the true master here. Jerro was interested in what he had to say though, Red Duke? Was that Viscomte, or was there someone that he bowed to? Jerro would be surprised, but he could believe that. D'Argente's color would be black as death.

"I suppose that since my friend has already answered in her way, it's my turn. Why would we ever join ye? What possible bit of information would we have that would suit yer purposes when we're still trying to find all the pieces to this puzzle ourselves." Jerro stared deeply into Viscomtes dark, souless eyes. "No, it's obvious to me that ye already find us less appealing than somethin ye may find ground under yer boot. Ye have no need of us. Ye treat yer own men like dirt, why would we expect any better?" Jerro found his tone becoming more vehement as the deaths this man had caused became fresh in his mind. "No, yer way is to kill anyone who may stand in yer way. Ye would not spare us, ye would slit our throats as we spilled our own guts to ye. Ye have nothin we would ever want, and we have nothin ye would need. Why don't ye slither on back to whatever hellpit ye were spawned from! I'm sure ye could find plenty to do there!"

Jerro held d'Argente's gaze, daring him to speak differently.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

When Pagan and Jerro had been left alone in the storage room Pagan got up and dressed. When she was ready she walked to the racks, untapped one of the casks and let the stream of refreshing liquid flow in her mouth for a while before closing it again.

"Well the good news is there's plenty of ale here so we won't die of dehydration or starve to death if we have to stay here fer a longer stretch. We might even have a little party here if we wish. Fer yer sake I hope there is conserving food on those crates - and that we can get them open. While it is possible to survive on beer alone, beer diet is a pretty harcore thing, ye might not like that", Pagan grinned at Jerro.

Pagan walked at one of the crates and took the knife out of it's hiding place. She slipped it under the lid and wringed the crate open. "Ye're in luck, Jerro - there seems to a crate full of dried meat here. I hope ye like the stuff - personally the idea of a beer diet starts to sound more and more appealing by the minute. Like eating a bottom of a shoe."
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"Well, if that's the case, then it's back to the beer fast", Pagan shrugged. "Me da did it once - he figured he could save some money if he didn't spend it on food. Two gallons a day is all a person needs to survive, and it will go straight to yer head because ye're always hungry. After two months he had to call it quits though because he had turned all grey and his teeth had started to loosen and waggle. Although", Pagan let her eyes scan the room, "I don't think they are going to give us two months here. I'd say we're lucky if we get a whole week. So if ye have a plan, let's hear it out."
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Pagan put the knife back to it's hiding place and walked to the casks to have another chug of the magnificently invigorating barley shake. It was really a good quality beer, so she might as well take an advantage of it while she still could. When she was finished, she tapped the cask, belched vocally and said:

"All right, I get the plan. Wait fer Callaghan, overpower him, run like devil. Are ye sure it will work though? I mean, what if he's not alone? Or..."

Pagan got interrupted by the bolt clicking again. Was it Callaghan already? Or had d'Argent changed his mind about letting them rot here - were they coming to kill them? Pagan threw a puzzled look at Jerro.
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Callaghan looked at his companions before opening the door. The bartender was holding his dagger, the two waiters had only ropes on their hands. Callaghan didn't carry any weapon - he relied on his massive fists and stature would put enough fear of Jah on the prisoners to convince them about the futility of all resistance.

"So is the plan clear?" Callaghan confirmed. "Ye two tie up the prisoners, both hands and legs, while me and Dirk", Callaghan nodded towards the bartender, "make sure they don't get any stupid ideas. Then we... interrogate a bit, before we drag them out the back door and put them in the cart there. Questions?"

Everyone shook their heads, so Callaghan opened the door.

Pagan turned towards the door and saw the four thugs standing behind it. It was time to act! But she felt funny, weak - like all strength had been sucked out of her muscles, her reactions considerably slowed...
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Callaghan turned to look at Dirk the bartender with a puzzled look as Pagan and Jerro slumped on the floor. "What's this then? Have they been drinking too much of the house beer or what?"

Dirk shook his head. "No, this is something I put in their drinks when they first came in. The original plan was to wait and let them enjoy their night until the stuff started kicking in, but that was not to be. This is a bit different cocktail than what we gave to the King. If I would have given them a lethal dose, they would be dead by now for not being able to breath, but I gave them just a little bit. Even though it may cause drowsiness and disorientation in some individuals, the main symptom is losing their ability to control their muscles. They will still remain conscious and able to talk, know and feel anything that's happening or what's being done to them. The effect of this poison will wear off in 6-10 hours, but in the meantime they will be as helpless as little babies..."

Callaghan threw his head back and roared in laughter. "Excellent! Seems like we won't be needing those ropes after all then!"

Callaghan took his belt off, rolled it around his fist and came closer. Pagan's slender body was trembling and waving as Callaghan's fist pounded her, sometimes in her face, sometimes in her gut. Repressed moans were falling through her lips, and purple bruises appeared on the surface of her trembling muscles.

Callaghan breathed heavily when he had finished. She looked at Pagan's face with interested expression. "Well, Mrs. MacKenzie. Would ye like me to stop?"

"Get sodded...!" Pagan croaked.

This time Callaghan continued until Pagan's head was laying helplessly on the side. Her eyes had sunk deep in their sockets.

"Amazing!" Callaghan mumbled. "I've never met anyone quite as tough before. Dirk, get some life on to her. But be careful, I don't want her to die. Not yet."

It took a few minutes before Pagan regained her consciousness. Her eyes were blurry. Her nervous system was so stagnated that the pain was now monotonous pounding, unmelodious, lifeless echo of her heartbeats.

"Do ye hear me, MacKenzie?" said Callaghan.

A flash of life appeared in Pagan's bloodshot eyes. She managed to nod.

"Say that ye are a worthless tramp and a floozy. Say it, or I will beat ye to death!"

Pagan's lips were moving. Callaghan leaned in closer to hear what she had to say. "Come... closer... Callaghan... come... closer... so I can... bite... yer ear off!"

So merciless was Pagan's basic nature, even towards herself.

Callaghan looked up, surprised, almost afraid. "All right lads, take them to the carts! But don't ye think I've done with ye just yet, McKenzie... I will break ye in the end. I can break anyone."

Callaghan stared at the sword, swallowed hard and grinned nervously. "Sure, sure, m'sjieu Argente, I hear ye. Loud and clear. Don't sweat it, is all right. We all friends here. We cool. Put the butterknife away now, please."

Twit, he thought. When Anto is done with this loser, I'll feed that blade to him... handle first!

As Pagan slowly regained her consciousness the first thing she sensed was a rhythmic, jerking movement that got pain waving through her mangled body. She couldn't open her eyes. She let the minutes pass by as she slowly concentrated in studying her own body. Especially her chest and stomach were hurting. Was that because of broken ribs? She breathed in slowly and probingly couple of times. It hurt, but she couldn't feel the characteristic stinging of broken ribs. Internal injuries? Possibly. Time would tell.

Her head felt numb, cold and as if it had been torn off from the rest of her body. A concussion? She opened her eyes. The light stung her brain like a blade. She closed her eyes again and waited until a sudden attack of nausea went away.

Light!

Her brain cleared. She squinted her eyes and looked at it cautiously. It was moonlight, coming from a window above her. Then the rest of her senses woke up. She could hear hoofs knocking.

She was in a cart.

The heavy fog that had filled her brain started to clear away, and she started perceiving her surroundings. She was lying in a small, covered wagon - on the floor curled up like a cat. She could sense somebody else lying there too, but couldn't see who it was. She was lying in a position where she could only see one of the windows. Her neck hurt too much to turn around at the moment. From the window she could see clouds drifting by and some treetops. She lay in that position a while and looked at the clouds. From the position of the moon she deduced that sun would start to come up soon, and that they were heading south. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. That turned her thoughts on new rails. Why hadn't Callaghan killed them? Where were they going to take them?

She knew the answer, and there was no alternative but to accept it as a fact: They were going to take them to a secure location where they would torture them to death.

Pagan clenched her teeth. Her jaw was aching and her eyes flooded with tears of pain. Bitterness was stuck in her throat like a ball as she imagined what was coming to them. Did they have any hope?

She pushed aside the panic and the fear. Her fists were numb, but she tried to move them until the pain forced her to clench her teeth. It took her excruciating five minutes to realize she was unable to move her hands or legs.

Pagan sunk in dull hopelessness. Every now and then she watched the clouds passing by. She started to imagine. A few minutes later she was mumbling random words in a fever slumber - meaningless sentences.

She was sure she was going to die.
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Callaghan was much too thick-headed to feel any fear of consequences apart from immediate threat, like someone holding a sword on his throat. And too stubborn to back off when he had gotten something in his mind. As soon as d'Argent had released him he was as self-confident as ever. After all, he was with the NNGO, and nobody messes with the NNGO! Herr Viscompte Argente could huff and gruff as much as he liked, but he wouldn't dare making Anto mad!

Callaghan fetched his horse from the staples and went after the cart. He reached it just as they were arriving at the gates of that old abandoned prison few miles south of Imleach.

The prison wasn't abandoned anymore. Now it was Callaghan's domain. This is where the new girls were 'broken in', this is where Callaghan did his 'bending' and 'turning', as he liked to call it. He drove his horse next to the two men right as they had stopped the cart and jumped off their seat, pulled the reins and descended from the back of the animal. "Well hello there. A small change of plans. The pit can wait a bit later. Take them to the Chamber."

"But d'Argent said..."

Callaghan smiled, winked and patted the man on the cheek condescendingly: "Well, Mr. Viscompte Argente ain't here, and what Mr. Viscompte Argento doesn't know, can't hurt him either, eh? Take them to the Chamber."

Reluctantly those two miserable thugs grabbed Pagan and Jerro and carried them inside the facility. They walked through several corridors before finally arriving to a chamber which led little doubt about it's purpose based on the numerous torture devices on it's walls. A fire was burning in a large oven. Callaghan grabbed a branding iron and put it in the oven. Pagan and Jerro were placed on two large stone beds in the middle of the chamber.

"I guess ye are a tough nut to crack, MacKenzie. It will be interesting to see just how tough. I have a reputation as a man who tames people comparatively efficiently. I have a lot of experience and good tools here."

Callaghan got quiet and hesitated a bit. "Puck", he said, "bring in our newest employee."

Callaghan's eyes were wide open and they focused straight at Pagan. "I showed ye that woman so ye would understand what we mean by 'turning' or 'bending'. To spare our time and ye from unnecessary suffering, I suggest ye start cooperating with me. Let's start by a simple 'yes, sir'. I want to hear those words from yer lips."

"And I want ye to kiss me fat bum!" Pagan answered with a husky voice.

Callaghan's boot swung. It hit Pagan on her head with a bang. If she wouldn't have managed to turn her head aside in the last minute and thus partially dodge the kick she would have injured badly. Even now her neck almost snapped, and she was lying and gasping her breath with eyes splaying.

"Watch yer tongue", said Callaghan. He was visibly reliefed he hadn't killed Pagan. It would have been a defeat for him.

Pagan managed to focus her gaze again. Deep within her rage condensed. That she was being beaten and kicked while she was helpless didn't demoralize her spirit, it just injured her body. It was as if each kick and each punch would have added to her charge of hatred that was shouting for an opportunity to break out - to get even tenfold. She examined the other thug. He was young - about her age, a skinny and vigilant man. Pagan noticed that the other man - Puck - hadn't returned yet. Was this abandoned prison the nexus of the traffic? Was it here where the wagons got supplied? Pagan forced herself to think ahead. They must be somewhere halfway between Imleach and Lios Mor. It fitted! From this place they could reach both towns in just a few hours time.
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Shamus had seen enough. He stepped out his hiding spot and flourished his tonfa. "Oi! Tall and ugly! Is this how ye get yer kicks? Torturing a defenseless woman? Why don't ye pick on someone who can fight back?" He was confident that he could take them both, but he silently cursed himself for taking so long to react.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"Puck? Was that his name? He's kinda unconscious right now. Ye'll have to deal with me." He edged closer into the room put up his weapons, ready if one of them charged.

Shamus looked over at Pim for a moment, then dismissed him. Pim would probably join in later, but for now he seemed to be in shock. Shamus still had several throwing knives hidden away if he needed to use them. "Come on then. Do yer worse!" Shamus ran straight at Callaghan and swung his left tonfa straight for Callaghan's ribs.

Seeing how efficiently that unknown attacker used his weird stick (what was that thing anyway?) Pim decided it was time for him to make a hasty retreat. He ran through the labyrinth of corridors until he reached the exit and could breathe the cool night air again. He jumped in the wagon and started whipping the horse as if the Nameless One himself was after him.

After a mile or two Pim started to get worried again. Speaking of the Nameless One, he was driving his cart back to Luvafair - back to where Viscomte was. Viscomte would want to know why Puck wasn't with him, and had everything gone according to the plan. Viscomte would kill him, most likely painfully, if he wasn't pleased with his answers. What could he say to save his skin?

Pim decided to resort to the half-truth. He would say that Callaghan came and insisted them to take the prisoners to the Chamber instead of the pit. And when Pim had valiantly objected, wanting to make sure Viscomte's orders were carried out by the letter, Callaghan and Puck had overpowered him, knocked him out and left him lying on the ground. And when he had woken up, he had jumped on the cart immediately and rode out to warn Viscomte - great and merciful Viscomte - about this treachery.

Pim nodded to himself and smiled. Surely Viscomte would spare his life upon hearing this story. Hell, maybe he would even give him a reward of some kind. Pim almost started believing himself a hero at this point.

Jerro watched he fight through mostly closed eyes. He was still reeling from the effects of the poison, but it was definitely wearing off. On the cart, he could think (mostly) straight. During Pagan's "interrogation" he could wiggle his fingers. Every fiber of his being told him to descend back into the all-embracing dark nothingness of sleep, but he fought that urge as Shamus fought Callaghan. Slowly, his strength returned, but would it return too late?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pim drove his cart in the back yard of Luvafair. But who was that man standing there in the shadows as if he was waiting for him to arrive? Viscomte? Stick with your story, stick with your story, stick with...

Callaghan's head flopped back sharply with a bang. Callaghan's eyes rolled up and he fell on his back without making another sound.

Pagan had been conscious for almost an hour before she reacted to the rocking movement around her. She was lying in a painful, stagnant slumber. Well not quite lying - somebody was carrying her. But her body and brain refused to react to the fact that she was still alive. She simply wasn't able to move a muscle. The spark of life had been brutally blown out of her. She just wanted to lie still until death would come...

But the movement disturbed her. Something was trying to surface in her brain - thoughts, images. She fought against them. She just wanted to lie still until she would die.

Torture. Mutilation. The word formed in her brain. With the thought emerged the images in her mind's eyes. Heads without eyes. Naked corpses, hollow and dried. The executioner had gutted them, removed their internal organs. While they were still living, after hours of terrible torture.
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Shamus was making good time on the way back to town. He was traveling quickly and only had to leave the road once to avoid a cart. Shamus couldn't see who it was from his hiding spot, but he knew that it was Pim's reinforcements. He was almost to the gate when he was intercepted by the guard.

Coming into town with a bruised, bloodied, burned, unconscious women on your shoulders was pretty suspicious, but after a trip to the guard house and a quick explanation, he left Pagan there to get her fixed up and left to go get Jerro.

Somewhere near An Gort, Chonnacht...

The boss had not not been happy with what had happened to Callaghan - not because he had been so fond of Callaghan but because Callaghan had been a member of the NNGO. Nobody killed members of the NNGO without a proper authorization from the boss. The boss had a reputation to protect, and if he just let people kill his men unpunished he would soon find himself without a criminal organization to lead.

The situation was problematic, though. They needed d'Argent and his business, for the moment at least. And they needed to send somebody else there to take Callaghan's place and oversee their interests. But as soon as d'Argent had utilized his usefulness...

Neil shivered as he was approaching the old ruins of what had once been a fort where he lived. Neil had slumped as pale as a sheet when he had heard the order: d'Argent wants someone intelligent, so we'll give him someone intelligent! Get Ciar Indigo! The boss must have been seriously irated if he seriously wanted to send Indigo to An Mumhain. They never used Indigo for these kinds of operations. Not operations where he was supposed to work with people. Neil figured he wanted to shock d'Argent a little bit too, to show him he had crossed the line.

But still, Neil wished it would have been anyone else but him who had to go to that old fort where Indigo lived. In the dungeons like some kind of evil spirit. And who knows - maybe he was that.

Neil slipped in from a crack in the wall and headed towards the castle. Once there he lit a lantern and descended to the basement. The basement smelled stale and rotten. He could hear rats squeking all over him. He couldn't understand how even Indigo could live here - a normal man would have gone insane in a week. But then again - Indigo was not a normal man and most likely insane to begin with.

He went to one of the cells where he knew Indigo lived. It was a large cell designed to house twenty or so prisoners. Neil raised the lantern but the sphere of light didn't reach all corners. He couldn't see anyone, yet he knew Indigo was there. Watching him.

And then, a voice: "Hello, Neil." It was a deep, rich and melodious voice, civilized and intelligent, soft, gentle and hypnotic voice. The most beautiful voice Neil had ever heard. Angelic was the word that came to his mind. "Did you bring me food?"

"Not this time, Ciar. The boss wants you to do something for him."

A man entered the sphere of light, and Neil felt irresistable urge to retreat before that horrifying figure. For Ciar Indigo was a terrible sight. He was closer to seven feet tall and skinny, and he had broad, bony shoulders and long arms. He was dressed all in black. Even his two scabbard belts and the hilts of his swords - and, Neil knew, the blades too - were as black as death. But the most horrifying thing about him was his face. It was snow white with a stint of gray. His eyes were like two deep, black holes in the mask-like face. His skin was uneven and deformed. Where once had been his nose and cheeks the skin was just one big wrinkly scar. His right ear was gone and the hole was covered with a black patch. His left ear was deformed and voluble. His mouth was but an ugly, limp crack in the middle of all the scar-tissue. His hair - golden and lifeless - grew as uneven bobbles in his temples and neck. His scalp was filled with similar bad-looking scars. Under his chin his skin was tight and white, his scars had strained to a breaking point. He wore a scarf on his neck.

The scarf was indigo blue.

"Please tell me about it, Neil", Indigo said with that strangely appealing and pleasant voice that didn't seem to belong to that monstrous face. Neil started talking and Indigo retreated into the shadows again. Neil talked about fifteen minutes without interruption.

When he had finished there was a long silence. Neil couldn't see or hear anyone, but he knew Indigo was there. Neil could sense his presence. Neil almost jumped out of his shoes when he heard a voice from behind him saying: "Was that all, Neil?"

"N-no, not quite. When the operation is over, the boss wants... Final Silence. Ye know what that means, eh?"

"Yeah. I know what Final Silence means. Get me a horse. I should be in Imleach in three days."

It was far into the evening when Shamus found himself at the gates again. Whether by luck, or by fate, one of the guards posted was there the first time he came to town.

"What? Again? How many people ye got stashed out there?"

"Last one. I promise." He answered wearily, out of breath from his trek. The guard took Jerro over one shoulder and helped Shamus bring Jerro to the doctor. He was placed in the room next to Pagan's, and would receive treatment after they were done checking up on Pagan. Shamus slumped into a chair facing the door and thanked the young guard. The guard left and he waited for the doctor to come, but fell asleep long before he came.

A knock on the door woke Biddy up in her little cottage a few miles south of An Gort. Who could it be at this hour? The rooster hadn't even sung yet! Biddy rubbed her eyes and put on something more decent than her night gown before she rushed to open the door.

A stranger stood behind it, a stranger dressed all in black. He had a black slouch hat too. He had pulled it very low and was looking at the tips of his boots so Biddy couldn't see his face. Biddy saw he had two swords hanging from his hips and swallowed. He had to be a robber, possibly from the NNGO! And she lived all alone in here - the nearest neighbor was half a mile away.

"Good morning, ma'am. Sorry about the hour, but my horse hurt its leg. Could you please help me?"

The strangers voice was magnetic and self-conscious and sent a tingling feeling all over Biddy's body. How tall he was! And he must be very handsome too - with that voice there was no doubt about it. Why was he hiding his face like that? Was he running from the law and wished to remain incognito?

Suddenly Biddy didn't care anymore if he was an outlaw. The excitement of it all made her shiver. A handsome, rugged outlaw here in her cottage! What might he do to her?

"Aye", Biddy said, "but please, do come in first. I'll make us both a strong cup of herbal tea. I haven't waken up fully yet."

"Do you live here by yourself?" the stranger asked.

"Me? Aye, all alone, poor Biddy, the eternal spinster. No neighbors either, nowhere close by..."

Jerro slowly opened his eyes. He looked around to see where he was. He remembered passing out in the woods, and was fairly certain that beds didn't grow from bushes. He couldn't find the window, but he did see Shamus slumped in a chair. Someone had thrown a blanket over him, but he was still sound asleep. That explained how he got here. He could smell something... a lot of somethings. Most of it had an herbal smell, but the smells ranged from sickly sweet to foul as sin. Most of the smells were faded, but they were in enough number or too strong to be blocked out completely. That meant he was probably in a hospital.

He faintly remembered their escape, and wondered what had happened after. Was Pagan ok? She seemed a mess if he remembered correctly. If she was, there was no better place for her than here. He was too tired, though. He would sort out it in the morning... preferably several mornings later. He rolled over and went back to sleep.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro woke up again. This time he doubted that he would fall back to sleep. He looked over to where Shamus had been, but all that was there was a blanket. Jerro guessed that he had something better to do than sit around watching another person sleep, and Jerro honestly didn't blame him. Jerro carefully stood up and stretched app of the knots and sores that he had got from the long period of inactivity. He moved around, and eventually he found himself outside. He was still tired, but it was the kind of tired one gets after waking up from a good rest, not the utter exhaustion of the physically ill.

He walked around for a bit, but he couldn't find anyone that could help him. Instead, he walked outside, hoping that he could find someone.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

A young girl rode through the gate and into the cow farm. She sat on the saddle straight as a man wearing leather trousers and green shirt, her long blonde hair landed to her back as a wild gust and her blue eyes shone with life and youth over her freckled nose. She appeared to be on her eighteens.

When she saw Jerro standing on the yard she turned her horse and rode to him. The girl gave him a playful, teasing smile:

"Good morning, sir. And who might ye be? A new farmhand, perhaps?"

Redmund rushed out of the shead when he saw her daughter talking to that stranger, patient, whatever but one who looked very well now. A little too well for Redmund's liking. He ran to the girl and took her in as she landed from the horse and answered to the tight hug she gave him. Laoise sniffed his shirt like a puppy.

"Mmmmm..." she murmured, "how good ye smell! Have ye been in the barn?"

Redmund glanced at Jerro and frowned worriedly.

"Yes. Listen, Laoise..."

"Have ye been worried about me?" Laoise's white teeth shone as she smiled. She leaned back on her father's strong arms and looked at his face. "Da, I can assure ye that yer daughter's virtue is still very much intact! I'm afraid Sean has turned into a gelding after ye beat him up! Just yesterday I tried to seduce him into a barn, and he squeeled and ran away from me like a rabbit!"

"Oh, ye mean colonel Pagan MacKenzie", Redmund said. "Don't worry, she'll be all right. We don't have a lot of expertise to tending the wounded here in Imleach, I'm afraid. There is the church, and the monks are doing the best they can. And then there are the ever so popular local healers like Oddman and Alys. But me", Redmund said with a hint of pride in his voice, "studied medicine in the university of Corcaigh and can call meself a doctor more than anyone else in this town! Even though", Redmund continued with a regretful look in his eyes, "most people here don't seem to trust the modern science, but instead the old healers fer their illnesses and blacksmiths to pull out their rotten teeth!"

Redmund was quiet for a while before continuing: "Oh but ye are not taking colonel MacKenzie anywhere. Not yet, not before she's fit enough to be killed in one of yer stupid wars!"

"Don't worry about that. I won't take her anywhere. I saw how bad she was before I passed out, I wouldn't let her run around until she is well recovered. I have to be honest, though, I wasn't expecting to wake up at a farm. I would have expected yer own buildin in the middle of town."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Luimneach was a ghost town. Ciar Indigo had ridden through several towns like that - the plague that had ravaged Ireland had taken a terrible toll on it's people, and towns previously so filled with activity and life were now decaying, rotting places of death. That had an appeal to Indigo.

Indigo spent his days in the cemetaries, inside the mausoleums of dead noblemen. Indigo hated the sun. He had almost supernaturally good night vision, but the downside was that bright light hurt his eyes. And in any case it wasn't a good idea for him to travel by days. Too many people up and about at daytime. The horse Neil had brought him was pale, and that appealed to Indigo too. It appealed his sense of the dramatic.

It was still morning, so Indigo had a lot of time to sleep, eat and gather his strength. After sundown he would come out of the mausoleum and ride the couple hours stretch to Imleach. He would check out the old prison first before introducing himself in the Luvafair. The prison sounded like a place where he would like to live for the duration of his stay in Imleach, but it was only common decency to go meet the people he was going to work with for a while. To let them know he had arrived. Indigo hated rudeness and people with bad manners.

"Aye, I believe me wife Maureen has made pancakes this morning. We all must be really hungry, so let's go have a bite, shall we?" Redmund wrapped his hand protectively on his daughter's shoulders as they turned towards the house. "After that I have to retreat to me office fer a while. Some fresh supplies of medicines and bandages just arrived this morning, I have to inspect them to make sure of their quality..."

The breakfast was delicious. Maureen had eaten earlier and was outside milking the cows, so there were only Redmund, Laoise and Jerro dining in the kitchen. When they were finished, Redmund stood up and cleaned the plate. Then he turned around and threw a warning glance at Jerro's direction before talking to her daughter:

"All right, I have to retreat now. And ye, young lady, have a lot of work to do here around the farm, so don't be bothering our guest fer too long, ye hear me?"

Having said that Redmund excused himself, marched in his office and slammed the door shut behind him.

Unaware of Laoise's thoughts, Jerro turned to her. He was going to ask Dr. Sweeney if there was anything he could do to repay him. He left for his office too quickly, though. He figured if there were anyone else that knew what there was to do, it would be his daughter. "I'd feel bad staying here without doing anythin, is there some way I can help out, seeing as I'll probably be here for a while."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

I'd be glad to help ye. But ye won't get in trouble if I do help ye with yer chores, will ye?" He silently added, Or will I get in trouble?
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro smiled nervously... Sean? Who was Sean? And why did she read into that so easily? "Umm... Yes, well... we should, uh, should go see about those chores, shall we?" Jerro was still worried about her da, though. He remembered what she had said about Sean after Dr. Sweeney was through with him. She seemed hell-bent to try it again.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro hesitated before follow her out, maybe it wasn't too late to run after Dr. Sweeney and see what he would like him to do? Nope, too late. Plastering a smile on his face, he ran after Laoise, who seemed too eager to finish the chores.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

The Red Duke was not pleased and his servants were beyond nervous. There were already two cooling corpses leaving trails as they were hauled out of his audience chamber.

That moronic Grimthorn had not reported in for at least two weeks.

d'Argent had called for reinforcements

Anto had no one sentient in his entire army. How did he actually manage to win battles?

But

There was good news

The Red Duke remained unknown to Cardinal Faheud and the Red Duke had more than enough of the oriental poison to take out half the English, the Scottish Clergy, and all of the warring NNGO and MacKenzie clans.

Still. Had it been wise to send in The Finisher? That one would either create the desired order or acceptable chaos. All was good there.

The Mcdermott woman still lived. The two MacKenzie women still lived.

Yet....his old rival Zanatin and that stuffed nightshirt Viceroy were gone.

Sometimes the smoke takes a good while to clear.

A messenger in traveling clothes hurried into the hall.

"Brightpoint lives, Sire. he was seen at Westgate two weeks ago with the Irish woman."

The Red Duke looked coldly at the messenger. He rose and walked up to him.

"Do you have any other bad news for me, messenger?"

The messenger stammered, "Nay, sire!"

"Well that is good then, isn't it?" answered the Red Duke cordially.

The messenger, to his great benefit, never saw or felt the lightning strike of the long-knife between his ribs and into his heart, for the Red Duke was just that fast.

It was time for tea.

Laoise had started to become more and more interested in Jerro as the day had progressed, because he was so different to other men she knew. He seemed almost immune to her womanly charms, although not totally immune, that much she could sense. So Jerro was interested in girls, yet he remained polite yet distant and rejecting towards her. Laoise who was used to the annoying eagerness and clumsiness of menfolk found that kind of behaviour intriguing and exciting. She had found out that Jerro was with the NMA, and the knowledge of that had stiffened her of excitement. The images those letters conjured in her mind - the adventures and braveries that were attached to the NMA! Laoise wondered if Jerro had been in the Laighean war, and wether he had killed people there. The thought of it made her shiver.

"I think we are all finished fer the day", she answered. "Let's get back to the house - if ma hasn't returned yet from town I'll make us dinner!"

Pagan was just inspecting the cabinets in the kitchen for something to drink when Jerro and Laoise walked in. She closed the cabinet-door quickly and assumed an innocent face.

"Well well, it seems our other guest is up and about as well!" said Laoise. "I hope ye slept well!"

"Very well, thank ye", Pagan smiled at the lass. Suddenly Laoise frowned:

"Where's da?"

"I don't know", Pagan shrugged. "I haven't seen anyone since I woke up."

"Do ye mean he still hasn't come out of his office?" Laoise said worriedly and turned her look at the office door. It was ominously silent.
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"He's never been in his office more than one or two hours a day! And why is he so quiet in there?" Laoise's voice started to shiver with worry. "Da has a bad heart, what if something's happened?"

Pagan took two decisive steps to the door and knocked. There was no answer.

"Okay, I'm going to open it", she said to Jerro and Laoise. Pagan turned the handle and pushed the door open.

It was a smallish, ascetic and practical working room. The walls were covered with shelves and cabinets full of potions and all kinds of tools Pagan figured medical doctors used in their work. In the middle of the room there was a big desk, and on that desk were some opened potions. Dr. Sweeney was lying on the floor without making a sound. He had the same grey color on his face Pagan remembered from Corcaigh Castle. Before she could prevent it, Laoise screamed and ran to his father.

"Nobody touch anything!" Pagan warned. "Jerro, Laoise - help me carry him out of this office. After that we have to evacuate the premises as soon as we can. Do not touch or eat or drink anything here no more, ye hear me?"
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Pagan nodded and said tersely: "Aye, looks that way. Alright, we're gonna get him to the NMA HQ first and then decide how to proceed from there."

"W-what's wrong with him?" Laoise sobbed. In spite of always teasing Redmund and trying to cause him grey hair she absolutely adored her father and secretly enjoyed his overprotectiveness. Laoise had always been daddy's girl and seeing him in the state he was in almost broke her. "I couldn't bare it if... if..."

"Laoise", Pagan interrupted. "We need a horse and a cart. We need to get out of here. Now!"

"But ma!" Laoise protested. "She hasn't returned from the town yet!"

"All right, all right", Pagan tried to calm her down. "We'll find her, don't worry. And yer da is going to be all right, ye'll see." If we can get him the antedote in time, she thought but didn't say it out loud. She knew the poison worked slowly, but Redmund had collapsed so much sooner than she or Zanditin, so maybe it worked differently on different people. Maybe Dr. Sweeney was more vulnerable to it than most people. Pagan had no idea how long the doctor still had to live.
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Pagan and Jerro carried Dr. Sweeney quickly out of the house as Laoise, exhibiting astonishing coolness under pressure, tied the cart to the horse. That lass might make a fine soldier for the NMA one day, Pagan thought approvingly as they laid Dr. Sweeney down at the back of the cart, setting some quilts under his head as a pillow. Pagan noticed that Laoise wanted to remain close to her father and remembered Jerro once telling to her he wanted to become a doctor one day himself, so he must possess some skills in tending the sick already - or if he didn't there was no better time to learn than right now.

"All right", she said, "Jerro, Laoise - ye take care of the doctor while I'll be driving the horse!" Pagan jumped on the drover's seat, made a smacking voice with her mouth and whipped the reins. She felt a jerk as the horse pulled the cart into motion and they were on their way.
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Pagan looked over her shoulder as Jerro mentioned whiskey and instinctively reached out for her hipflask. But it was empty, as it had been since they first got locked up in that empty warehouse in the Luvafair.

"Nope, no whiskey", she said. "Trust me, I wish I had some. I think this is the first time I'm completely sober since... I don't know, since that time I spent a night in the Laighean prison I guess. And I haven't even gotten the shakes yet, I guess I've been too busy just trying to stay alive. Hopefully I won't start seeing or hearing things in a bit."

Laoise shook her head too - she had been too upset to even think about getting anything with them.

A middle-aged woman approached as they continued on the road. "Ma!" Laoise shouted. Pagan recognized the woman who had served her breakfast too and stopped the cart. "Hop in, we are going back to town!" Pagan shouted at her.
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Pagan stopped the cart in front of the NMA headquarters and hopped out of it, grimacing in pain as her wounded side reminded her of it's existence. It would leave her with a nasty burn scar. No matter, she would make sure both Callaghan and d'Argent would get hung, drawn and quartered if it was up to her. Or possibly flayed and boiled, she thought vengefully as she kicked open the door. The duty officer startled with Pagan's belligerent entrance and jumped up from behind his desk.

"At ease, officer!" Pagan bellowed. "I am Colonel Pagan MacKenzie of the 5th regiment in case ye don't recognize me! We have a poisoned man in the back of the cart, get someone to get him in the sick bay ASAP! And get Captain Kelly! And get me some whiskey, jahdamn ye! NOW MOVE!"

The duty officer tripped on his own feet trying to fulfill Pagan's many orders all at once and fell down on the floor. Pagan gave a vigorous kick to the bottom of his boot and roared:

"MOVE it, soldier, or so help me Jah ye will be peeling potatoes until next Yule! This is no time to have a nap, we're in a middle of a crisis situation here!"

The unlucky soldier who had bumped on Pagan on a bad day sprung up and ran over the corner as if the Nameless One himself was chasing after him.
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Pagan shook her head. "We have two vials of the antedote in Corcaigh - at least I think we do. I'm not sure what happened to the vials after Zan's... passing or who's got the hold of them, but somebody must know where they are. And then we have three more in the Abbey of Port Lairge. So five vials - five in the whole damn island! What do ye suppose we should do?"

Captain Heber Kelly marched to the lobby from around the corner, carrying a bottle of whiskey with him. Pagan snatched the bottle from his hand like a seagull and lifted to her lips. The booze chugged in her throat, and when she handed the bottle to Jerro it was half empty.

"Follow me to me office", Kelly grunted and turned on his heels. Pagan started following the big man and had to almost run to keep up with Kelly's long strides. Kelly opened the door, held it open for Pagan and Jerro, slammed it shut behind them so it shook in it's frames, circled around his desk, sat behind it and pointed the two uncomfortable wooden chairs next to it.
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Captain Heber's black eyes flashed with anger as she addressed Pagan: "Colonel, I would be extremely thrilled to know what the bloody hell is going on around here! First I get a report that somebody carries ye two into town, looking like ye've been ran through a meat grinder. So I instruct them to take ye to Redmund's farm - he's a good friend of mine and I figured he'd take good care of ye. But now it seems somebody took care of him - ye drive here like ye were chased by devils and the man is dying of some sort of poisoning! So I want ye to let me in on it and SPIT IT OUT NOW!" Remembering he was addressing a superior officer he added, almost reluctantly: "Ma'am!"

Pagan didn't mind Kelly's outburst. Instead she told him the whole story from start to finish. When she was finished, Kelly leaned back. "We have to hit that Luvafair hard! I'll send five platoons of heavily armed..."

"Ye will do no such thing, Captain", Pagan interrupted. "We will raid the place, aye. Tomorrow. I will be leading the group. Could ye arrange fer a platoon of skilled and trustworthy soldiers to meet me here by tomorrow morning? Do not tell them what's it about, just make them come. But first things first - somebody must transport Dr. Sweeney to Cork immediately. Tell them to contact Padraig MacKenzie when they are there - or if he's not in Cork, the mayor, Moratt. Give me a piece of paper and a pen, Captain."

Pagan stood up and scribbled a few words on the piece of a note and handed it to Kelly. "One or the other should know where the vials are. I've explained the situation in the letter and emphasized that Sweeney should be given the antedote." Pagan returned to her seat. "Now - they took my sword, and I want it back. But in the meantime I will be needing another one on loan. How about ye, Jerro? Do ye need anything?"
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The night had fallen over Imleach. With it came the rain and a particularly nasty thunderstorm. The Luvafair staff was still burning the evidence as the door opened, making a squeaking sound.

At that moment a lightning struck, and the men got a glimpse of a very tall, thin silhoutte at the door. When the lightning struck again there was nothing there, for Ciar Indigo had taken a sidestep to get away from the door. A deep, civilized and pleasant voice emanated from from the darkness:

"Good evening, gentlemen. I wish to talk with Viscome d'Argent. I was led to believe he was here?"

"My name is Ciar Indigo. It probably doesn't say anything to you, but I was sent here from Chonnacht by our mutual friends to take over Callaghan who had a little accident. Why did you shoot Viscomte d'Argent, if you don't mind me asking? And more importantly - does that mean that the operation has been cancelled?"

There was a lantern hanging from the roof, creating dim lighting in the tavern, but the light couldn't reach the corners of the tavern where Indigo's voice came from. Branaego didn't know it, but he had been only a heartbeat away from death. Indigo's instructions had been very simple - cooperate and help until the operation is over. Once it's called off - Final Silence. Indigo's specialty.

"Ah, very well then. Introducing myself to my associate would seem like a decent thing to do. So, unless you or d'Argent are too busy, I'd appreciate an audience." Ciar Indigo's hideous face emerged in the sphere of light. Because of his extremely dark clothing that and his indigo scarf were the only things visible to Branagh, as if they were floating in the air. "Please, let's go meet him."

Ciar Indigo was impressed by Branaego's coolness - he hadn't even blinked an eye when he had shown his face to him. Indigo bowed slightly - never removing his gaze from Branaego's eyes - and said:

"I am most grateful for this opportunity to meet the Viscomte. From what I've heard he has made quite an impression to our mutual friend up in An Gort. I have a horse outside, and I'm ready to leave whenever. There is no rush." The horrible crack under what had once been Indigo's nose grimaced into something that might have been a smile.

"I agree with Capt. Heber on this one." Jerro said. "Ye are not in any condition to lead the charge. That said, I know ye are just gonna ignore what I said, so I want to be there too." Jerro looked around to see if they all were in agreement, or at least as much agreement as possible[/i]
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"Well, then lad, lets be to it. I can see by yer looks that you have skill and powers about you--tempered with wit. Exactly what we need to pull off our respective bosses' plans... the murder of all in Clan MacKenzie. They shall rue the day they ever tried to stop the Red Duke's Grande Design."

Branaego howled with laughter and motioned his new associate to follow him out to the stables from which place they would depart to where d'Argent was waiting...in the Last place MacKenzies would ever look.

As Pagan figured out how to wrest the bird from Grunt, Jerro ran up into the room that he had been occupying here (in theory anyway). He needed to grab his staff. It wasn't too flashy, just a length of oak about an inch-and-a-half thick, slightly taller than he was. It didn't even have a good polish or anything on it. It had served him well, and showed. He found it leaning up against a corner and rushed back downstairs.

He was tying the staff to his back in a loose knot, loose enough to come free with a quick tug, but not loose enough to fall off, when he reached the bottom step. He walked over to Pagan and asked her, "Ready?"
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Jerro gave the question some thought. "Well, they probably already know ye live here, an I can't think of anyplace else, so I suppose headquarters would be the safest place."
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As Jerro walked with Pagan down to headquarters, he thought over what she had said. It was true, a small part of him was saying, this isn't yer fight, ye could die here. Why risk yer life in something like this? Yes the king died, that is sad, but another one will come up, that happens almost daily in some places! He pushed that voice out of his head. No! I gave her my word. I will not sit here while someone out there is killing off people. And on and on he argued with the voice that wouldn't leave.

Eventually, he cut the voice off and thought about what Pagan had said. It was true, there was no doubt that blood would be spilled. Jerro was worried, would it be possible to uphold his oath? Would he be able to help when the time came? He was all too aware of the voice still hammering on him. He looked over to Pagan, and when he did a cold shiver ran down his spine. With her bruises, armor and weapons, if there had been any doubt about how serious the situation was, that doubt was gone. Pagan reminded him of the warrior queens that he would hear about in the stories.

He turned back to the road and realized that they were back at the headquarters. He didn't know that they had come back already. All doubts dissolved as he stood outside the doors. "No turning back now." He said quietly. Whether he was speaking to himself, or to Pagan, he didn't know. He followed Pagan into the headquarters, ready to face to entire world if necessary.

He would follow this through to the end.

Hopefully, not to his end.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro nodded. Yer right, I'll see if I can track him down." With that, he rushed off to Shamus's house, constantly looking over his shoulder for a tail or an ambush. He was able to find Shamus there, but he wasn't all too happy about being woken up this early. After explaining the situation, Shamus said that he would guide them. He told Jerro to meet him at the gate in ten minutes, and began to prepare for a fight. Jerro ran back to the empty luvafair to tell Pagan what Shamus had said.
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Jerro felt out of place in the group. He was the only one without armor or a multitude of weapons. It wasn't because he didn't think he'd need them, but because he couldn't use them. He tried to stay away from lethal weapons (although anything could actually be lethal) and since he relied on speed and agility to fight, the armor would restrict his movement too much.

That wasn't the only reason. Each person here was ready to fight to the death. Jerro couldn't make that choice. He wasn't sure if he would be able to help at all. The voice in the back came back, feeding upon his doubts. If ye can't kill them, they'll get back up and kill someone else, maybe even you. Do ye expect them to stop the battle so ye can tie up each man ye knock out? Face it, yer useless here. What would ye do with all the prisoners anyway? Just turn around and go home!

Jerro tried to ignore this voice, but it was getting harder. When Jerro saw the smoke, the voice redoubled its efforts. Turn back now! It's not too late. Jerro ignored it and continued to ride. The fire meant that there was people there, cooking something. Or burning something. He didn't know what they would find, but he braced himself for the worse.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro looked back at the castle. He was relieved that the fire was coming from the chimney, which meant that they were cooking something. It could very well mean that they were burning paper evidence too, but at least it meant they weren't trying to burn anything too big.

He turned to Pagan and said, "It looks like Callaghan and d'Argente aren't here. We could still attack and see what they know. Plus a castle like that has got to have prisoners, maybe these girls ye speak of." He vaguely remembers someone entering the room when they were imprisoned, but he couldn't remember clearly. "What do we do?"
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Jerro licked his lips nervously. His palms began to sweat. Oddly enough though, he felt more calm than he should. He looked over at everyone below him and prepared himself. "By yer command." Jerro said. He looked at Shamus and saw him pull out several wicked looking throwing knives and twin shortswords. Jerro marveled at how he could hold all that weaponry at once. Then he took hold of his staff and prepared to charge.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"Are we going to attack them, or not?" Jerro knew that he was being impertinent, but they had to make a decision now. Then Shamus came up with an idea that he should have earlier.

"We could fall back and set up an ambush."
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The rest of the group followed Pagan through the valley. They rode hard until they reached the spot they would hide their horses. Then they scaled up to the top where they would stage their ambush. A handful of swordsman hid in the brush on the other side of the road to fully ensnare them. Jerro was among those troops, but Shamus wasn't.. Without a long range weapon climbing the hill would have been pointless. They hunkered down and waited for Pagan's signal.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

They all agreed that it was probably the best shot they had, but one soldier said, "But ma'am, what if there're prisoners in th' wagon?" A quick burst of murmuring agreement ran through the group as they looked to Pagan for guidance.
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Jerro crouched in the bushes as they waited for the wagons to pass. He knew from experience that it was easier to hide than people thought. Unless they stopped to turn over every rock, they would probably not notice them. People had a tendency to see what they wanted, and even then, they usually didn't look farther than head-height unless they knew to look otherwise.

He didn't know how long they waited before the wagon loomed into view. He saw that there was indeed two men on the drover's seat, but Jerro couldn't look see anyone else without leaving the brush. The man next to the drover had a crossbow out while the drover had one laid across his lap. He looked up to where Pagan was waiting for the signal.
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Jerro and Shamus both pulled hard on the rope. The rope had a greater effect than they had anticipated. After the first pair of horses went down, the second pair fell over the first. Jerro winced as the full weight of the cart ran over the pile-up of horses and overturned. Several men fell out through the canvas top over to where Shamus had hidden. These few were quickly picked off by Shamus's throwing knives and the archers above. Then, as the cart continued to slide, the reins pulled taut as the horses weight yanked the fallen cart into a wide circle. Jerro, Shamus, Pagan and the swordsmen quickly moved into position; either to apprehend prisoners or to kill the criminals.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro had just enough time to see Pagan get hit before he was beset by his own foe. The man came rushing out of the burning wagon, both hands on his sword, sword above his head. Jerro had just brought his staff up in time to block the two-handed swing. The impact jarred his arms, sending little shocks of pain through them. He pushed the sword away, knocking the man off balance, and kicked his legs out from under him. Not missing a beat, Jerro swung the staff high over his head and brought it down in a circle right down on the man's temple.

The man who rushed Jerro seemed to have been knocked senseless, but to be sure Jerro brought the butt of his staff down upon the man's forehead. He whirled to where he saw Pagan get attacked, to find the situation taken care of.
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Jerro looked down at Pagan's former opponent, bile rising up in his throat. "Well," He began. "I suppose that would definately do it." He looked over the battlefield, saddened by all of the death. He looked back at Pagan and began to speak again. "It looks like that's the last of them. The man I fought was still breathing, last I checked. Looks like he may be the only one. If ye want to capture him, though, I'd do it quickly. In my experience, they rarely stay down for very long."

He looked over at the man he was fighting. He could see signs of breathing, but he would probably have a nasty headache and some swelling too. That would be lucky if that was all he had. Head wounds, while easy to knock someone out with, could also kill easily. He may have to be watched for a while to ensure he wakes up at all. His eyes flicker over to what was left of the man Pagan fought, and he remembered what Pagan had said earlier. He mentally corrected himself and thought, if Pagan decides that they should keep him alive, that is.
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Jerro fell to his knees, staring at the dead man. Seconds ago, he had been alive, granted he had been trying to kill Jerro, but he had still been alive. A thin wave of relief swept over Jerro, he had been able to keep his oath after all. That relief was soon dragged out by anger and resentment. Ye great bloody fool! He berated himself. What good is yer oath now. Ye may not have had a hand in these men's deaths, but neither did ye do anything to stop it! These men probably had families, people who loved them. Now they have pall-bearers. And for what? So one man can benefit?

Eventually, it was too much for Jerro to bear. He vomited, disgusted by everything. He fell in a heap next to the pool of bile, shaking with pent up rage and fear. He closed his eyes and just laid there. After several minutes, he quietly croaked, "I just can't do this anymore."
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Jerro chuckled, dark and humorlessly. "Am I alright? How could I be? Look around." He got up unsteadily, swaying like a drunk. "Look at all the death. And for what? So one man can tell more people what to do? How could this happened?"

Suddenly he looked up to the sky and roared his fury to the heavens. "AND WHAT ARE YE DOING? WHY DON'T YE WAVE A HAND AND MAKE ALL RIGHT? AREN'T YE SUPPOSED TO BE ALL-POWERFUL?" Tears began to roll down his face, but he was oblivious to them. "YE TOOK BARRABAS FROM ME! YE TOOK THESE MEN, WHO HAD FAMILIES, AND FRIENDS WHO CARED FOR THEM! HOW MANY MORE MUST YE TAKE BEFORE YE ARE SATED?" He picked up his staff and with one swing smashed it against the earth. Already weakened from the sword, the staff broke, the half rebounding up to hit his knee.

His anger spent, he felt weak. "See? Even our weapons break on us." He fell to his knees again, sobbing freely. "Why can't I save anyone?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro nodded. He knew that he had to act, but that didn't help. What Pagan said was true. Jerro still felt hollow inside, he knew he had been naive, but had never known the full extant of his ignorance. No one deserved to die, but it was inevitable. He would have to try and save all he could. No one would be saved if he just sat there wallowing in his own despair. Mechanically, he stood and followed the rest of the soldiers.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Shamus stood next to Pagan, watching the girls carefully. He saw that one of them was the one he had "rescued" when he had saved Pagan and Jerro. He was worried at what had happened. He pulled Pagan aside and whispered to her, "That bastard! I think he tortured these women and broke their minds. I remember Callaghan sayin he would "break ye." He may have been trying to turn ye like them, servile and unable to think for yerself. Now, I want to try something, and if it doesn't work, I'll look like a fool, if it does, I'll look like an arse. Either way, it may be our only shot."

He stepped out back into the doorway and, in his most commanding voice, said, "Callaghan has sold ye to me, I'm yer new master now. Come!" He accented this by clapping his hands twice. Then he stood back and prayed to Jah that it didn't work.

Shamus cursed to himself quietly. He was afraid that it might have worked. Picking up where Pagan left off, he said, in a gentler voice, "She's right, it's all over now, I don't need any slaves." He saw their eyes widen, panic in them as they started to retreat from him. "What I mean to say is, yer free. Surely ye must remember life before Callaghan? I want ye to go out and live for yerselves, not as servants. I'll even join ye to make sure ye find homes safely, how does that sound?" He hoped this dismissal was enough to break the chains that Callaghan had laid so thickly over them.

The girls stared at Shamus with empty eyes, as if they were unable to comprehend the meaning of his words. A hard knot tightened inside Pagan. She knew it would take some time for them to heal. She said: "Go inside the prison and take what ye need. Food and clothes. We will unload the wagon and take ye back to Imleach. But do it quickly, as quickly as ye possibly can."

They were blinking their eyes unsure of what to do. Then they started moving - slowly at first, then faster, until they ran so fast their hair was flowing.

Blood was clotting on Pagan's left arm. She staggered towards the wagon and inspected the load. Crates full of canned food, booze, flour, sugar, salt - everything that was needed for living outside of civilization. There was trunks filled with clothes, hats, underwear, linens and wool blankets. There was big and heavy boxes filled with weapons, cartons that most likely contained loaded dice, unopened decks of cards and small pocket mirrors. A perfect stock of cheating devices. The wagons also contained collapsible tables, beds and several bar stools. Heavy oak planks and sawbucks apparently formed a mobile bardesk. Pagan ordered the soldiers to help her in tossing most of the stuff in a big pile in the middle of the yard. Then she ordered the wagons to be pulled farther while she set the pile on fire. All that she spared was some clothes, food and a crate full of whiskey.
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The flames were licking the pile greedily. The girls came at the door - they were eating while watching. Pagan waved at them and pointed at the pile of clothes. They rushed at it. A little later Pagan could hear them splashing in a nearby pond.

She was sitting on a shaft of the wagon trying to bandage a bad wound on her shoulder. It didn't bleed anymore, but she was afraid of the infection. She felt dizzy and miserable, but for some reason she couldn't force herself to ask for help. Perhaps she felt guilty for the dead soldiers who had given their lives for her. She would have to return their bodies to their families. They would receive heroes burial - not that it would make it any better for their parents, wives and children if they had them.

After nightfall the women came out.

Pagan was sitting on a shaft weaving, dead drunk. The women gathered around her, startled by the sight. Pagan tried to stand up, but couldn't. In the light of the glowing bonfire her face looked wan and ugly.

"Ye mussht..." she started, went quiet, turned slowly and slumped to the ground, passing out cold.

Somewhere a humming bird started singing. It continued until a hungry wolf started howling in the bushes on the foot of the ridge.
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The next day - just before dawn - they buried the dead bandits in the mellow soil in the back of the prison. Pagan was weak of the loss of blood and nauseated of the dirty work, but she didn't slow down before it was done. They had found Callaghan's body too, early in the morning inside the prison. Somebody had impaled his head with a sword. They buried his body along with the rest of them.

Just before sunrise one of the women came out - she was waving at the working soldiers. One after another they washed themselves in a tub by the wall of the stable and went inside the main building and to the dining room. Fried bacon and red peas were boiling on the stove and casks of ale were waiting alluringly in the background. The girls had even fried bread for them, and set it on the plates golden brown and fragrant.

Pagan looked each of them in turn. Washed and cleansed faces didn't somehow seem to match with the seductive outfits they were wearing.

The women weren't looking back. They were sitting quietly on a corner, staring at the floor, without making a sound.
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Pagan found out she was terribly hungry. She buttered a piece of bread and had a cautious bite. It tasted incredibly good. She gobbled it down. The beer tasted if possible even better. She emptied a large tankard and gorged a large portion of peas and bacon. All the soldiers were stuffing themselves in a similar fashion, and the girls were staring at them with fascination. Several of the soldiers noticed that, blushed and toned down their gorging. They didn't realize that cooking for hungry men was a new experience to these lasses.

Pagan lifted her gaze when Jerro talked to her and looked him in the eyes. "I'm not sure. Maybe the girls know something? They have been living here fer quite some time now, they must know something! If we just could get them to open up."

Pagan looked at the girls and smiled. They smiled back cautiously.

"This is delicious", she said. "Why don't ye join us?"

That finally broke the ice, and they were all talking at the same time. They were competing in serving the soldiers, guessing their wishes and expressing their gratitude in thousands of different ways.
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Jerro's innocent question made the chatter stop as if it had been cut down with a knife. The women straightened up - suspiciously. Their looks drilled at Jerro.

Instinctively Pagan understood that they didn't want to return to Imleach. They didn't want to face their own vanity in front of other people. The NMA would demand inquests, endless stream of details. Town gossips would gormandize with details and paint fantastic stories that would spread in taverns and shops. Nobles would scream indecency and works of The Nameless One. They would be rejected, shut out of the society and possibly even slain.

Pagan understood this to be the truth and didn't want it to happen to them. She had to think of something to spare them from that fate, but first she had to make them open up to her - to tell her what they knew. But how?
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The women shifted their gaze from Jerro to Pagan, and the realization she had been through at least part of what had been done to them made their attitude towards her change into more trusting. In their eyes Pagan had just turned into one of them. Pagan took an advantage of it and started talking with them - told them about her work, the assassination of the King and how she had tried to hunt down those responsible, told them about Callaghan and d'Argent - and they in turn told how that diabolical d'Argent had lured them into a trap. They told about the promises, contracts, the trip to the "countryside" to relax and rest, the shock they had experienced when they had found out the "retreat" was in fact an abandoned prison, where they were forced to do unspeakable things and where they were dulled and broken until they were ready to do anything just to get out of there.

Pagan perked her ears. She thought about d'Argent and the almost physical disgust she had felt for that foreigner. Why? Was he evil? Obviously, but that wasn't all. There had been something sick, something almost alien to humanity - something... ingratiating, slippery; Pagan could not find the words to describe what she was feeling.
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"Do ye know where d'Argent is now?" Pagan asked.

They shook their heads.

"Do ye have any idea where he might be?"

They were quiet for a long time, trying hard to think of something. "Well?" Pagan said in a friendly tone.

"No... no we don't."

"Tell me about them", Pagan said. "Everything ye know. Absolutely everything."

And little by little the details came out. Callaghan's sadistic brutality, incomprehensible cruelty, morbid and unexplained hatred towards all women - and his secret hatred, loathing and envy towards d'Argent, who treated him - as he treated all his underlings and accomplishes - like something he had found from under his boot.

Pagan still couldn't understand d'Argent. Cruel, sadistic brutes she could understand - her father had been like that, in a way Callaghan had been like a replica of her own father - but not d'Argent's type. It was as if something had been missing from him - something that was usually there, even in the most callous, hardened and evil men Pagan had met before. That was the only way she could describe how she felt.
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He penned a letter.

Could he? Jerro thought about it. "Yeah, I suppose he could. Let's ask him."

Jerro called Shamus over and they explained the situation to him. "So, will ye do it?"

Shamus appeared to be thinking about it, but Jerro knew what his answer was gonna be before he said anything. "I don't like to leave my shop for too long, but for ye, I'll make an exception. Just tell me when ye want to leave and I'll be ready."
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"Aye. I will." Jerro said as Pagan rushed off. He was curious what the letter had to say, it must've been important for her to rush off like that. If she wanted him to know, she'd tell him. He turned and began to help with the packing, it was goingbto be a long trip for them, but they'd lead better lives.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"None here." Shamus called back. The girls were too excited at the prospect of freedom to say anything, and probably hadn't heard Pagan anyway. In minutes, they were off, on there way to a new life. As Jerro watched them leave, he wondered how it would all turn out.

Once Pagan rejoined them, he asked, "Anythin good?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

A while later, after the mostly quiet ride back to Imleach, the gate rolled into view. , Jerro asked Pagan, "What do we do now? Do we look for d'Argente some more, or do we rest and wait for reinforcements?" If they were to look, Jerro didn't know what he would do. He had exhausted his most reliable resources, and he was afraid what would happen if he went undercover again.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro followed Pagan away from the gates, confused at what was happening. Where was she going? He followed wordlessly as she went further away. He saw Barrabas through the trees, so he assumed that this way was right.

He often wondered about that, was he going mad? No, he was too young for that. Anyway, which was more likely, after a traumatic experience at a young age, he sees his dead friend as a way to keep calm during times of stress and indecision, or that Jah let his friend come down to earth as a guardian angel that only he could see? No contest. Besides, didn't crazy people throw cats at people, or run around stark naked, or something... Well, crazy?

He pushed these thoughts aside as they came to a stop. Pagan dismounted, so Jerro did too. Then she pulled out a rain quilt and started to drink. "Erm... What are ye doin? Shouldn't we be doing somethin else, not having a picnic?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

He followed Pagan through the streets. She seemed off somehow, but Jerro couldn't place why. Perhaps she had finally drunk so much, she had become terrifically, horribly sober. Then Jerro wondered why he kept having these strange thoughts, perhaps he was still feeling off himself. He was also worried about what would happen should they get attacked. He didn't have a weapon anymore. Although he felt sorry for anyone to cross Pagan's path right now. Jerro couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, or led into another trap.

He wanted to ask Pagan what was wrong, but it was obvious she was trying to avoid being noticed. Why, though? He couldn't ask that, either. He fell behind her a few paces further and tried to become inconspicuous. It was too late for most crowds, and the horses marked them as just getting in town from afar. They also marked them as being together, no matter the distance he put between them. They were more Exposed than he would have liked, but he was sure that they would make it fine. If only he could shake his uneasy feeling.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro saw Pagan stop and look back to him expectantly. He caught up, looked past her and read the sign.



"Jah!" He whispered. "That don't look good at all." How could they be the ones to do it? Did people actually believe this? Pagan had been poisoned herself, and the marks on her now weren't self inflicted. In any case, they shouldn't be seen. "Ye were right. We should get out of here quickly. But that might make us look guilty. What should we do?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Hmm... While Jerro had been in plenty of trouble with the law before, it had never been under his actual name and there were never any posters. Still, he knew people who had gotten into this kind of trouble, not regicide really, but still general bad stuff.

"Well, there are three things we could do. I say three, but it's really two and the second option has two choices in itself. First, we could turn ourselves in, proclaim our innocence and try to prove it. More likely we'll be killed more or less on the spot. The second option is we hide and gather evidence from the shadows."

He pulled her off the main road into a small alleyway so that they could have some semblance of privacy. "Now, we could try running to another town, or even another country, but we might lose all of our leads here. The other way is to disguise ourselves, stay away from our usual haunts and stay here. It's risky, but we may be able to find out more."

He looked out of the alley and down both sides of the street. He couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean there was no one there. "So, which will it be?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"Oh, we wouldn't be killed on spot", Pagan said grimly. "Oh no, we wouldn't get away that easily. Trust me, I've been the Constable and I know. In effect being 'detained fer questioning' is much worse fate than being found guilty and executed - that's why most people confess right on the spot whether they did it or not. Our method of execution - a drop from the high window - is a very humane and civilized form of ending one's life. There isn't time fer it to hurt. But worse fate awaits those stubborn ones who cling on to their innocence and have high hopes of their abilities to prove it to the Court. There are many methods of making people confess. One of the most lenient one was something we called the 'Lie Detector Test'. It is very simple. The suspect is tied to a big stone and thrown into a pond. If the suspect drowns, that means they are innocent. But if they float, that means they are guilty and Jah wants to save their lives so that they can face the righteous earthly justice and be thrown out of the high window of Corcaigh Palace. Surprisingly large number of convicts were found innocent and got their reputations cleared post mortem with the Lie Detector Test."

"So turning ourselves in is not an option - not before we can prove our innocence. And running away is no answer either - we would have to run fer the rest of our lives and never look back. So I say the third option is the best chance we can get. What do ye suggest?"
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"I think the best we can do is just let them loose. They are marked fer the army, and they know their way back home. The only downside in this is that our pursuers will know know that we are in town, or at least that we didn't run away with the army horses. The other alternative would be to kill them somewhere, but to be honest I would hate to do that. It would also be really difficult to find a safe place to do it, let alone hide the corpses. No, I say we let the horses go free", Pagan said and detached the shield from the saddle. She looked at Jerro apologetically and added:

"Obviously I know I can't be carrying a sword and a shield with me while disguised, but I might need them still and we need to get them somewhere we can keep them. I hope yer friend doesn't live far because especially the shield might draw some attention while I'm carrying it."
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"Aye, I use make-up. I dye me hair too", Pagan confessed. "I'm naturally a brunette", she confessed, rather pointlessly. She didn't have any questions. She had been struck down from the pedastal, from everything she had learned to take for granted.

Now the law would be chasing her. The same law she had used as her own shield so many times before.

There was no running away now. They were wanted for regicide. Soon there would be a bounty on their heads, and that would be a death sentence for them.

But what about the NMA? Would Field Marshal Silverswain - infuriated out of his mind - send an army or two to chase them? That would only really matter if they tried to run though - inside city walls the armies were pretty much useless. But here the constabulary would be after them. Pagan shivered.
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The street was dark and desolate. A cool, moist breeze was whinging on treetops and the moist grass was squelching under Pagan's boots.

"Well, I guess I could be yer wife, Faolán. Like... Bridget, Bridget MacBruiser Seanáin, shopkeeper's wife. That's a good name, aye?"

Pagan saw light coming from behind the closed curtains as they approached the house. The windows were closed, but whoever lived there hadn't call it a night yet.
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Pagan couldn't help but smile at the funny looking lady with a funny-colored hair that had opened the door for them. The warmth and friendliness that emanated from her was genuine, and Pagan felt no discomfort when she suddenly hugged her like they were old friends already. Pagan liked Deirdre instantly and returned the embrace with a wide grin. Deirdre had something about her that made Pagan feel at ease in the house and dissolved some of the anxiousness in her.

"Aye, I am Pagan. And Jerro here told me ye are in a business of making extreme make-overs to people. If ye are going to dye me hair, I would prefer something less conspicious though - something more mainstream. Say, Dierdre, ye wouldn't happen to have anything to drink around here?"
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"Why is it such a pity?" Pagan wondered out loud. "I've been dying me hair blond ever since I hitched up with Kadie because, ye know, I think she prefers blonds. I'm in favor of the potash instead of the urine, even if the urine leaves a more natural color. Unfortunately it also leaves a frisky smell that I prefer not to smell when I wake up in the morning", Pagan confided to Dierdre.

When asked about her drink of choice, Pagan hastened to say: "I'll have whiskey, please, if ye don't mind. I don't usually drink tea, unless it's spiked that is. In my line of business I have to keep me edge, and I've seen enough tea drinkers to know what that stuff will do to people. I wouldn't last a day if I suddenly changed into a sappy idealist who visits convicts, tries to help strayed youth, organizes anti-war protests and tries to save the world. So whiskey it is fer me."

Pagan still had almost cup and a half worth of the stuff in her hip flask, but that was reserved for emergencies and Pagan never failed to seize the opportunity to hooch off other people when she saw one arising in the horizon. So she walked to the cabinet and poured herself a large one. "What about ye two? Want one?"

Deirdre asked Pagan what she was going to be. "I was thinking about being Faólan's wife. So I guess the wife of an elderly shopkeeper is an elderly lady."
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[b]"Oh, it was just a suggestion! Ye can be what ever ye want. But anyway, I already know Faolán, so let me do Jerro up first and we can do ye when we're done."

Jerro followed Dierdre into another room, Dierdre's studio. This is where she held all of her various dyes, powders and creams, most of them homemade. It surprised Jerro each time he came in here.

Almost an hour of making-up and mindless small talk later, Jerro emerged into the kitchen. He now had almost white hair with tufts of grey hair throughout. He had more pronounced wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. As a final touch, he also had a pale scar running from above his left eye down to his cheek. Jerro himself stood slightly stooped.

He changed his voice to match his new look, he even sounded older, his voice wavered a bit and sounded slightly deeper. "Well? How do I look?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

"Up-bup-bup! It's Faolán now, if yer gonna be my wife it wouldn't look good to have ye yell out another man's name." He smiled and held up his hands. They still looked young. "She can't do a thing to the rest of ye, but ye'll never be able to recognize yer new face!" He moved aside as Dierdre bounced into the room beaming from the positive review.

"I'm so glad ye like it! Most people don't ask for wrinkles, only to take them away. I'm glad I was able to do it right." She went over to Pagan and practically dragged her by her hands into the room. She placed Pagan into the seat and started gathering various supplies. "I'm so excited! It's been forever since I've done another girl! First things first, we'll have to wash the old dye out. Then tell me exactly what yer looking for and I'll see what I can do."

Back in the kitchen, Jerro took out a cup for some tea. As he was getting the tea leaves, he noticed that the bottle of whiskey was noticeably emptier than when he had left to get older. He shrugged, Pagan had probably just gotten thirsty. He finished making the tea and sat down for the long wait.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Dierdre frowned as she attempted to scrub out every last iota of Pagan's old hair color. "Well, that's not very helpful at all! I was hopin ye had some inklin of an idea in yer head." The frown didn't last long, though. Giggles broke through and Dierdre found herself smiling again. [b]"While it may be interestin to turn ye into an old crone, if ye are goin to play as Jerro's wife, then ye can't be too ugly. After all, as a shopkeeper, he could have his pick o' women and definately wouldn't pick a partner who looks completely hideous!"

So she would need to make another "mask" that complimented the first without being too similar. This would be fun! Unless Pagan had a change of heart, she would be able to start right after she finished washing Pagan's hair. Besides that, it had been a while since she had indulged herself in some good girl talk!

"Oh, I've been here since birth! I was always a pampered girl, me brother would buy me all the makeup I wanted." Her face clouded over for a second, before she continued, "After a while, I thought, 'if I could make myself pretty with this, what else could I do?' So I started practicing with new things and making my own stuff. Won't my brother be proud when he comes back!

There! Finished washing this stuf out of her hair! Let's see, a steel grey would be perfect! Dotted with specks of a fiery red! Maybe something darker? Nah, it'll look fantastic! "How about ye? How'd ye get mixed in with Jerro in this whole regicide charge?"

Dierdre stiffened involuntarily. She was one of the few people who knew the full truth about Jerro's past. Slowly, she continued to mix the dyes to get just the right color. "We-ell, I suppose ye could say that. I'm not in a position to tell ye, though." She finally got the mixture right. "Alright, this could take a while, so don't move too much. I've got to work this down all the way to yer roots, otherwise it'll be obvious that it's a dye-job. And old ladies down dye their hair grey." She giggled at the thought that someone would actually want grey hair.

"That does sound like Jerro though. That's like how I met with him, he..." Suddenly something Pagan had said had caught up with her. "OhmiJah! The king was your good friend? What reason would ye have for killin him then?" She stepped back to see her work so far, then kept working the dye in. "Honestly, some people are just so... ugh!" She couldn't think of a word bad enough to explain how stupid some people were.

Dierdre shook her head. Why couldn't people use common sense? What possible reason would Pagan have for killing her friend? And how would Jerro get caught up in all of this? Even though Eire was bloody and... and violent, why does that make everyone there an automatic murderer? It just doesn't make sense.

She spent the remainder of the time doing Pagan's hair in a quiet, angry fog. She eventually calmed down enough to become sociable again. Just a few red specks along the grey. Enough to look natural, but not too much either. Closer to the tips than the roots... there! Perfect!

"Alright! I'm done with yer hair now. Do ye wanna see it, or do ye wanna wait until we're all done?"

Dierde smiled and giggled at Pagan's enthusiasm. "Alright, hold yer horses. I know yer excited, just give me a second to find that mirror." She rummaged about the various shelves and other flat surfaces until she came up with what she was looking for. A small hand mirror with a basic rose and vine pattern on it. Right in the center of the vines was a small oval of glass.

She held the mirror to Pagan with a flourish. Then, once Pagan grabbed it, she started to prepare the stuff for the next part of the makeover.

Dierdre giggled again. [b]"Unless yer willing to go out with pillows under yer shirt, then I can't do a thing for ye. I can make yer face seem rounder, but that is about all I can do." First she would need to get the skin the right shade. She would have to change the skin so that it was paler, but still a believable skin tone. Not albino either, she had seen one and immediately felt bad for him, after all, he would never be able to tan!

She took the mirror and put it back somewhere she would remember it. She then took out a special cream she made herself. It wouldn't crack once it dried, nor would it feel oily or fake. It had taken her months to get it right. She took a dollop of it and worked it between her palms for a second before beginning to apply it. [b]"As for the ugly, I'll see what I can do. I can't change anything, mind ye, just make it look different. Don't talk til I'm done with this cream. Trust me, it tastes horrible!"

As soon as the foreign Viscount had left the Bailiwick Constable Caine asked his adjutant to call all the under-constables to his office in the Bailiwick. And he did mean everyone. And no, he didn't want or need any help from the NMA. Best keep those interfering pests out of the loop altogether. This was a job for Constable Caine, and he would take all the credit for it.

Caine rubbed his hands in anticipation. Finally the day of reckoning had come! Caine had never forgotten the time when Pagan MacKenzie had been the Constable and Caine's boss. Like that one time she had found out he had been taking money from a loan shark to not interfere with his businesses. True, Pagan had never reported him for it, but she had said some insulting words at him and cut him off from a lucrative income. And then that disgusting lush had had the nerve to expect some kind of gratitude from him! Him, Constable Caine, who's fathers and fathers' fathers had worked in the line of law enforcement for as long as he knew. What had Pagan's blood family done? They had been nothing but a bunch of common thugs and drunkards, and even if Pagan had later joined the almighty MacKenzie Clan, that didn't change the fact she was nothing but rubbish, plain and simple.

And then there had been that time when Caine had interrogated that drunkard a little too harshly and he had died. True, the man hadn't actually done anything, but the fact was that the man was a nobody and what was the point of being in the constabulary in the first place if you weren't allowed to take bribes and beat up drunkards? Pagan hadn't helped him at all that time and it had seriously dented Caine's good name and almost cost him his job.

But each dog had it's day. Oh yes, this time that lushy peace of human trash would get what was coming to her and there was nothing the almighty MacKenzies could do about it...

When the whole constabulary was gathered Caine explained the situation and his plan for them. Before long they had surrounded the house the foreign Viscount had pointed out to him. d'Argent seemed to be a really upstanding citizen, a man of substance, wealth and good upbringing! Not to mention generosity...

The best throwers of the force were carrying burning torches on one hand and bottles of whiskey with rags stuck in them on the other. If the human trash inside wouldn't come out peacefully, they would all burn inside...

Constable Caine stepped fore and pounded the door with his giant shillelagh. "In the name of the law, open the door right this minute!"


Do you want to be dead?

Jerro's head perked up. How had they found them? No matter, he would have to try to find a way out of this himself. He stood up, remembering to keep to his diguise. Stooped over and shuffling, he walked to the door. He could see torch light flickering underneath the door. Something told him that they weren't just to see in the dark.

He slowly opened the door, and stood there with his knees bent slightly to make him look smaller and placed hand on his hunched back. He put a pained expression on his face and stepped out. "Yes? Can I help ye?" He asked in his new, older voice. He looked at the crowd that had gathered out of the house. He did not like the look of this crowd at all.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Jerro nodded. So at least they didn't know that they had gone incognito. "Well, this is not my house to invite ye into, but please, come in. If ye say ye have orders, then we can't stop ye. I was in the guard myself, once." He pointed to the fake scar on his face. "Some... gutter urchin almost took me eye out then. Luckily my captain were there, and he managed to pull me back before any real damage could be done. But ye don't want to hear all that, come in."

He stepped out of the way to allow them into the house. "This is my good friend Dierdre's house. Sweet young lass she is, she is giving my wife a make over, no charge!" He shuffled back over to the chair he had been sitting in a few seconds ago and picked his tea cup back up. "I'd offer ye some tea, I just made it, but it looks like yer men brought there own drinks. Fair enough, there probably wasn't enough for all of ye anyway." He made a show of blowing his now-cold tea and began to sip at it again.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Constable Caine stepped inside and waved at his men to follow. For a moment he was considering leaving the throwers outside, but then it occurred to him that should they throw their bottles while all the guards were inside too... let's just say it would have been a dumb way to go. And while Constable Caine might have been a lot of things, he sure wasn't dumb.

Once they were all inside Caine frowned. He had a feeling he had forgotten something. Something important. Something that the foreign Viscount d'Argent had told him. Something about disguises. Disguises, disguises... Oh, right! He had said that the suspects had disguised themselves to an elderly couple. Elderly meaning old. And the man sitting in front of them, sipping his tea, was old. Thus elderly. Or was he? Caine laid his eyes on his hands - his young, smooth hands - and his eyes widened. My Jah! This must have been Jerro O'Connor, one of the conspirators behind the assassination of King Zanditin! In Caine's opinion Zanditin had been nothing but a Scottish carpet-bagger and not worthy of the crown, but the King all the same. And now this peace of human trash had the nerve to imagine he could fool Constable Caine with such a cheap trick!

A smirk spread on Caine's face as he realized he hadn't actually forgotten what d'Argent had said - no, it had been a conscious tactic from his part - to let the prey think they had managed to fool him, when in fact the opposite was true. He said:

"Well, in that case you don't mind if I join the tea set as my men search the premises?" Caine gestured for three men to stay in the room with him and the four remaining to start checking the rooms. Caine stepped nonchalantly to the teapot and poured himself a cup.


Do you want to be dead?

Jerro saw the constable's eyes go to his hands and widen. He knew the plan was foiled. He silently cursed himself for not investing in gloves. He hoped that he would be able to appeal to his reason, but judging from the bottles of alcohol with rags in it, he doubted so. If all else failed, he was sure he could run faster. Then he heard the shout from Dierdre's studio.

He leaned across the table and spoke quietly so that only the constable would be able to hear him. "I know ye know who we are. Ye don't mask yer face all that well, really. Why don't we all sit together here, drink some tea and rationally explain the situation, all of the important players are here anyway. Except for the real killers, but we'll have to try and persuade you on that ourselves, won't we?" He smiled warmly towards the man, as if sharing a joke. "Besides, no one in the guard can make a decent pot o' tea. Why let this stuff go to waste?"
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise