= (CRP) A Changing of the Guard

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stepped out into the open spaces a bit to ensure he had room

"Aye. When you shoot from the off hand you put your right hand in a firm and steady under-bow hold like this." He demonstrated the move.

"You will have to work on it to attain great accuracy, but muscle memory will win out through repetition. Watch how I dive, draw, fire right, roll, reload and put away the bow, crouch, dive, draw left, fire, and roll to cover."

Allan completed the maneuvers he described, placing two bolts within an inch of each other fifty feet across the clearing.

"Want to give it a try?"

Destini

She was impressed, and didn't think for a moment that she could actually pull off what she'd just watched Allan do. But for their mission, for her employment, for her kin, she would have to learn. She took a deep breath. "Aye, let me try."

Destini took the exact stance she had seen Allan use before he'd begun. Taking several deep breaths, she took note of where her weight was positioned. She would need to use every muscle correctly in order to attain even close to Allan's impeccable performance.

She dove as she had seen Allan do, then drew and fired with her right hand as she came up. She rolled and reloaded as she came back to her feet then put away the bow. Crouching and diving again, images of Elias came to her mind. This type of dodging was exactly what Allan had used in that situation. Strangely, she found the memory focused her and she drew the bow with her left hand, surprised with how handy it was to draw and swiftly fire from the newly positioned tether. She rolled to the bushes where Allan had ended up.

As she came from the bushes and walked back to where Allan stood in the clearing, she had no idea how well her aim had landed her bolts. She was honestly afraid to look, uncertain how Allan would react if her aim had faltered as terribly as she feared it had.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Not bad," Allan grinned, "not bat at all.."

Walking over to the tree to retrieve bolts he pointed to hers.

"Your first one was chest high for most people...excellent. Push your aim a little higher with the offhand as it will drift down until you are very confident with the skill."

He pointed to her second bolt again...." it went about two feet lower than you want--but still very good indeed. Practice this several more times and then for a bit every day. In no time at all you'll be placing the bolt group inside a shilling's diameter."

This was going better than he had thought it would

Destini

She looked up at the shots she had fired and was surprised to see how close they were. If the tree she was firing at had been a man who had not moved after the first shot, she would have hit him twice. She returned Allan's grin. "Aye! Let's go again!"

Under Allan's guidance, she tried the technique a few more times. Allan varried the dives and rolls requested of her, sometimes demonstrating before making her do it by herself and sometimes making her try without anything to mirror. The sun set. The darkness began to decend upon the clearing beside the lake. The fishermen abandoned their persuit for their dinners and retired to their homes. As the hours passed, she realized she was bettering at the techniques Allan was teaching.

"I believe I can practice this on my own," she said with a smile and a gleam in her eye. "What else can ye show me?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"You can certainly do that. Time will give you great skill and accuracy. Perhaps we should look at the fine art and subtle science of tracking and camouflage. There is no finer skills than an ability to melt through woods, crowds, alleys, or a ship."

He led them towards the trees.

"It is an especially great challenge to learn to find cover and concealment when there appears to be none..."

Destini

This tactic she had learned, at least in part. "Zanditin once spoke to me o' tactics o' stealth," she said with pride. Her grin faded as she recalled the danger her kin was faced. Pagan's letter had said that Zan had been poisoned by the very poison she and Allan were working to defeat. "O' course, he ne'er showed me."

She turned to him, worry in her eyes as the full moon rose in the East to replace the sun that had set in the West. "Show me what ye know, an' I'll attempt to apply it."
_________________

--The_finisher

Behold! Henceforth are the pages of the diary of Ivy: the Finisher, sole true servant of the Red Duke - no matter what he may think.

So, you know, K,

There I was enjoying my own business within the busy shopping district of London. There is this shop in West End that has the cutest bodices! In, like, well, you know, black and bright pink! Totally my favorite colors! Not that I'm perky, you know, because I'm, like, totally not.

Yeah.

So.

There I was, when, suddenly there arrived a huge raven, like, from the annals of the darkest penned history of the world. And I'm like, OMJ! BTW ... when I say OMJ, I don't mean O.M.J. That's the way only posers that serve that weird Cardinal Faheud pronounce it. No, I mean Oh My Jah in, like, the truest sense of the word ... not that I believe in Jah or anything like that. All that mumbo jumbo is totally uncool, yeah? Besides, I don't really care about whatever religion people thing is cool. My heart belongs to the Red Duke! He's just so smooth, and swave, and gentlemanly, and .... No, I'm not perky.

Ahem.

Anyway, like, the raven was carrying this dumbass letter that had this bigass seal and stuff. And I knew. I knew it was from the Red Duke! Oh! Yay! This would be a frickin' awesome assignment! I knew it in my blood, my dark, red, blood that runs in the darkness of my veins until death takes me down to the depths.

Yeah, so I tore open the letter like a seabird tears open the helpless shell of a molusk in order to get to the meat within. And there I saw it! My assignment from the Red Duke! OMJ!!!!!

Like, Dude!!! I totally get to go to Ireland! Sweeeet!!

So, I made my way through England's dismal roads. For lo! The Finisher doesn't travel by way of the most traveled highways ... unless she has to, of course. Because, you know, there was this band of gypsies who were also taking the back roads and I totally had to avoid them. I mean, honestly, gypsies? EW!

So I traveled around those rugmunchers and finally got to Holywell where the Red Duke's letter said there would be a ship that I could take to Ireland. I walked into the tavern ... wait, no ... scratch that ... I burst into the tavern like an emo storm with immense attitude. My red lipstick must have sparkled in that firelight. You know, the orientals have such way cool beauty secrets! They, like, totally make me seem 20!

So, there I was, in all my dark glory! The Finisher stood in the center of that tavern with one hip cocked out to one side to look all seductive and not-caring-like. Then who do I see? Like, dude. Seriously? There's this guy, you know. He works for the Red Duke too. I'd think he was cool, except, you know, he's not. I might have squeaked a bit, such was my surprise when I saw him. I go, "O.M.J." in my best possble whatever voice. "Tell me you're not stupid enough to have messed up Dukie's assignment again!" I rolled my eyes for extra dramatic effect. Because, you know, The Finisher is nothing if not dramatic!

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn looked over at the woman standing in the center of the tavern looking directly at him. The Finisher! Had Barkley called her? No, that weasle didn't have that kind of influence. Then had the Red Duke sent her to take care of him? No, she seemed as surpised to see him as he was to see her. Good. Of course, she could just take care of him anyway. She had a habit of dealing death to whomever she chose ... sometimes simply because she didn't like their socks. He would have to play this unfortunate meeting as inconsequential as it was. "Well," said Grimthorn raising his glass in a mock toast to the girl. "If it isn't the pubescent little floosy that the Red Duke keeps about as his pet."

--The_finisher

Dear Diary,

I honestly don't know what Grimy's thinking. Like, so, the moment I totally pwned him for his being in Holywell when he's supposed to be in Hastings, he opened his mouth and uttered the most lame-o thing I think I have ever heard. OMJ. Like, loser much? I can't believe that was the best he could come up with. Like, dude! He has no idea who he's messing with!

Just to show him how super unimpressed I was with his skills at pwnage, I whipped my black as night hair over my shoulder with a flick of my head. A cascade of ebony strands flew backwards and landed against my flawless, snowy skin. Because, yeah, I am just that cool. And Grimy's like, you know, totally not. I mean, seriously, did he think he could get off with insulting me with his worthless words? For lo! The Finisher is not so easily thwarted ... especially by someone with such terrible fashion sense. Like, OMJ, I'm not even kidding. Honestly, the style he wears is so 1450. He's like almost a whole decade behind the times. Geez.

I made the loser L sign with my finger and thumb on my forehead. Because, you know, I don't even have to speak to totally pwn him. But just because Grimy should know what true pwnage is, I decided to lay into him with words anyway. Because, you know, why not? "Step off, poser!" I go in my uber you're-totally-wasting-my-time voice. "At least I can follow Dukie's commands. Is the schoolboy even dead yet? Last I heard you totally stink at this whole evil-doer thing." I could tell from his expression that he was all rightfully chastised and stuff, so I let it go.

Yeah, I know, I'm totally a softy. I prolly should have pulled out my weapons and made him like beg for death or something. But honestly, The Finisher has better things to do with an evening.

K, so, anyway, there I was having just pwnd Grimy. I needed a place to stay for the night so I turned a silent shoulder on Grimy and ignored him like the cockroach he is - except, if he were a cockroach, I think I'd prolly grind him into cockroach guts on the floor. I can't stand things with more than four appendages, I mean, really. EW!!1! J/K I'd be all cool and stuff - you know it.

So, back at the bartender, I'm all, "So, like, you got vacancies?"

And he goes, "Yeah."

So I went, "I need a room for the night."

And he's all, "One or two beds?"

And I'm all disgusted and stuff, because apparently, he totally thought Grimy and I were, like, an item, or something. Ew! So I'm like, "Dude, I sleep alone. In quiet. Like the deep, dark sleep of the dead. Get my meaning?"

So, now he's all trembling in his non-fab shoes. Not that I really would have done anything to him because he's just not worth my time. And I just got a manicure back in London and I'd really hate to chip a nail so soon into my assignment. The Finisher is nothing if not classy. So, anyway, the bartender is all, "So that's one bed then?"

And I'm all, "Yeah."

And he's all, "K."

And I go, "gimme the key."

And he's like, "oh, yeah," and handed me the key.

So I paid him and took the key and flounced off to the room without even a glance back at Grimy. Yeah, that's right. I totally dissed him. Score!!11!

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn stood a moment in stunned silence. The Red Duke had sent an adolescent child to take care of the situation? Yes, the child was effective, but in small scale not in situations of global importance. Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie were too good at their roles, to smart to be so lightly glossed over by a teenager. Because Grimthorn respected them, and even had grown to like them, he should be the one to deal with them. No, this situation required tact, a quality the child lacked in supply. She was sent to do what he could not? Oh, no. This was one minor indigity too far. This was it. He'd had enough.

"Barkeep!" he roared. "Paper and ink, if you please." The bartender looked at Grimthorn dubiously before going into the back room and came out with a scrap of parchment that would have to do and watery ink. He cited a price and Grimthorn paid it. He withdrew a pen and sealing wax from his pouch. Being noble born, he always carried such useful trinkets. He sat at the bar and penned his resignation.

Your Grace,

It is with great regret that I must needs tender you my resignation. The business that you requested was in order and proceeding apace. The promotion of the adolescent child into my domain was, at best, premature, and, at worst, woefully incompetent. I cannot remain in the service of one who would replace me without so much as a word of dismissal.

Therefore, I am mindful to seek other opportunities. It was a pleasure doing business with you. Should you determine the child is more trouble than she is worth, you may contact me through the usual means.

Yours, no longer in service,
RG

Folding the letter in thirds, he swiped a nearby candle to drip sealing wax upon the exposed end of the letter. When the wax was all but cooled, he removed his signet ring and emblazened his seal upon the wax. He got up from his seat, turning as he did so. "Is anyone present going to Glasgow?"

"Yessir! I am!" piped up a pipsqueak against the far wall.

Grimthorn went to him and held the letter up. "Get this item to Glasgow and I shall give you 15 pounds." The pipsqueak nodded his head enthusiastically. "Give it to Mr. Grey at Shawney's Tavern. When does your ship leave?"

"Half an hour, sir!"

"See that you are aboard it," said Grimthorn and handed him the letter and a small pouch of coin. The pipsqueak left the tavern at a run and headed for the port with a speed that pleased Grimthorn. He suddenly felt as if a weight were lifted from his shoulders.

Then, a sinking feeling hit his gut as he realized there was more to think of than his resignation. There were the assassins he had set upon the lady MacKenzie and Brightpoint. Damn. It would do no good to switch sides if he suddenly had no side to switch to. He would have to hope Barkley had been daft enough not to set their plans in motion. He would have to see to Barkley.

Grimthorn left the Town Hall Tavern and, moments later, entered the tavern Barkley frequented and saw the insufficient idiot still sitting at the card table. The moron stood when he saw Grimthorn enter. "Grim! You'll be pleased to know all is done as you requested! I got your message and I've sent five men out to the lake. Took a bit to re-establish my connections some, but I've done it! I trust you're well pleased?"

Grimthorn sighed. His shoulders visibly sagged. "Ecstatic." The deal completed, technically required payment. Grimthorn's business sense nagged at him to pay Barkley. "You'll be paid if they succeed," said Grimthorn as he turned. He had to get to the lakeside. Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie were in danger and he needed to ensure that the assassins failed. For one, he wouldn't have to pay Barkley - and that was good business. And two, he could help the attaches to disolve his former employer's enterprise ... but only if they lived. Five men were, perhaps, more than the attaches could handle. They would undoubtedly need his help.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"No! I heard you from fifty yards, sweets! You want to make irregular pauses in your movement to prevent the trained ear from homing in on your location!!"

Allan wondered how his Shin Master Fengbao Zhan had tolerated his own mis-steps during training. The training of Destini was not going badly but it was having its ups and downs. The answer of course, was patience, perseverance, and communication.

"Come here a moment Desti, and I will explain."

Allan waited for her to come back. he knew her Irish temper could easily be at bursting. How many times had his own Shin master had to wait til tempers cooled to explain things?

"You did well, really. But you can do better with a tiny change. Take a step in that soft way you do. It makes very little noise and that is brilliant! But if you go more than four paces unchecked, a trained ear can spot you as a tiny sound over time is as clear as a loud church bell.

Take a step. Pause. Two steps. pause. three steps. pause. Pause. Two steps. pause. Irregular motion defeats concentration by trackers every time."

He pointed to a rise.

"Do you see that rise? You want to lay down below the summit and creep up until you can see. Eyes notice irregularities in nature. Show as little of your human form as you can and you minimize chances of detection!

Does this make sense?

Destini

What he was teaching her was more complex and difficult to master than anything Zanditin had spoken of. She was beginning to think that she was not suited for this type of employment. She nodded to his words, trying to internalize his teachings without taking his criticism personally. She focused instead on his words of endearment, which she was not entirely certain he meant to actually say aloud. He had called her sweets? She hid her smile by biting her bottom lip.

"Yer point is well made," she said to forestall any worry he might have of whether his training was offending her or not. "The leaves o' the last fall are hinderin' my progress, though, I think. How do ye deal with that? An' is there a difference in these tactics based on time o' year or weather? What if I donae find myself in a forest? How does that work?" she stopped her cascade of questions with a sheepish grin of apology for not giving him a chance to answer.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"That is a fair point, lass, " answered Allan, "In sooth you want to look at how to make the most of any terrain or environment. Focus on not interrupting whatever is there and you will be successful."

He considered for a moment.

"For now, give it another try along the same track as you did last time and we'll see what you can do!"

Destini

She nodded and returned to the woods. The sun was long gone to slumber beneath the horizon and the full moon illuminated very little through the canopy of new leaves that embraced the forest at the edge of the lake. In the time it took her to reach her original location, she vaguely wondered what Richard was up to and whether he was worried about Allan and herself. Since the man-at-arms had joined them, they had not been separated for so long. Still, he might assume else was taking place here in this clearing beside the lake. The training Allan was giving her was exactly as advertised and nothing of what she'd hoped. And perhaps that was for the best.

At length, she reached her original position and began to make her way toward Allan's location.

Step left.

A pause.

Step right then left.

Pause.

Right, left, right.

Pause.

Right, left.

Pause. Pause.

She was gaining distance on Allan's supposed location. Was she being stealthily enough?

An extra pause just to be certain.

Then another step forward with her right foot.

She paused and scanned the darkness for Allan's silhouette.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was watching the amazing improvements in Destini's stealth skills. But what was that sound behind him?

CRAP! Damn! A tight cord suddenly around his neck!

Allan fought. He forced his thumbs under the cord and prevented the swift unconsciousness that a garrotte can inflict.

Darkness at edge of vision. He needed to break free and warn Desti as there were certainly more than one.

DAMN! The attacker was strong.

Brightpoint went limp, the image of unconscious strangled victim.

Cord Slackened.

FOOL!

Allan rolled right and drew to fire swiftly at the assailant.

He was amazed to see a bolt sprout from the eye socket of the attacker.

One down!

How many more?!

He had to warn Desti!

"DESTINI! Get down NOW!!!"

Allan began searching the horizon for the next foe

= (CRP) A Changing of the Guard

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The single walker made his way steadily down the wooded trail, sounds of revelry fading behind him. It would be a long, quiet walk to the Port Town--lots of time really to reflect on conversations both pleasant and strange in the wedding glade...

--A_carrier_pigeon

Fluttering wings in the moonlight, familiar scent on the breeze. Wary of Falcons and owlish nasties.

Ahhh...friend...message.....TREAT!

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan decided he was pretty much as far as he was going to walk without something to eat. In the brilliant moonlight he found a spot by the road and laid out his cloak, with some cheese, bread, a smallish flask of whiskey and...

A Carrier Pigeon?!?!

"Get off that, you git!" growled Allan, muttering curses to his luck. Not often the Cardinal sent one of the night finders out after him. Must be important then. Sigh.

Not more important than bread and cheese most like...and definitely not more important than his flask.

"Out of the way, Out of the way," scolded Allan as he removed the parchment and chucked some bread at the annoying bird who waited with the patience of any brainless fowl expecting a reply message and a second treat.

Peace returned to the clearing by the moonlit road as Deacon Allan ate his meal and pretended that ignoring a pigeon was a useful vocation.

At least the disturbances to dinner were over

Destini

The evening had turned colder than the day, as winter evenings were wont to do in the second month of the year. Destini’s traveling cloak with its hood up kept her mostly warm, but she pulled it closer about her anyway. Her walking staff kept even time with her footsteps through the powdery snow.

A fluttering sound on the road before her drew her attention and she paused, placing both hands on her staff. Her eyes opened wide into the darkness, scanning the trees and road ahead for movement. Oddman had taught her a few necessary defensive moves she hoped she would never need. But theives and highwaymen had been known to pray upon hapless travelers. Flutter flutter. There it was again! She listened closer. Was it the fluttering of fabric or ... ?

...wings....

She saw the pigeon now as it swooped back around overhead intent upon a destination no more than a quarter mile up the road where it landed. She had never before seen a pigeon fly at night. She made her way towards it, moving softer now, more carefully. The powdery snow concealed her footsteps perfectly.

A male figure grumbled at the landed pigeon in the moonlit clearing just ahead. She peered closer and found, with a grin, she recognized him. It was Deacon Brightpoint whom she had just met at Oddman's and Airiana's wedding. She stood just outside the moonlight's reach as she spoke, "Deacon Brightpoint, are ye perchance followin' me?" Her voice was laced with undertones of ill-concealed laughter and, as she stepped into the clearing, her grey eyes sparkled in amusement as well as in the moonlight.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Wrong again, I see...."

Allan stood up, shaking a few crumbs loose--to the delight of the pesky pigeon which immediately was as underfoot as a toddler in Madam Marcela's Honeycake Parlour. His eyes twinkled with mirth in the moonlight as he replied.

"Yes, Fair Lady...I must confess I am indeed following you. I see you spotted my clever ruse in leaving the wedding before you did...It is well known my most effective tracking efforts involve running ahead a few miles and snacking with a pigeon...."

Destini

"Well-known in England or Wales perhaps," said Destini, moving closer so they were not shouting across the clearing at one another, "but here in Eire ye're trackin' efforts are all new and thus likely to succeed with far more readiness."

She looked down at the pigeon at the deacon's feet. "Friend o' yers?" she asked.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan laughed appreciatively...."Well, he is also in service to the Cardinal and often seems to out-rank me, at least when it is time for treats.

Annoying Pigeon? Please meet the lovely and talented Destini MacKenzie..."

Destini wrote:

--A_carrier_pigeon

boring....CRUMBS!....boring.....pretty!......boring......wait!

TREAT?!?!?

Pigeon samples treat-giver's boot as a show of encouragement.

Destini

Destini laughed at the bird as it pecked at the deacon's shoe hopefully. The pigeon? In service to a cardinal? It was then that she saw the leather cord tied around the pigeon's ankle. Suddenly, what the deacon had said made all the more sense.

"'Tis a carrier pigeon!" she cried in surprise. She'd heard of them, but had never seen one before. "Ye communicate with ... a cardinal ... through carrier pigeons." It was not a question, though she supposed it could be interpreted as such. She was sounding aloud the facts as she interpreted them. Her hesitation around the title of cardinal was due to her uncertainty that the cardinal of which this deacon spoke in such a casual fashion was the same one with whom she was familiar. "This would be the Cardinal Faheud, I s'pose?" This was a question, though she stated it firmly as if she knew it was fact and watched the deacon carefully for his reaction.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan nodded at Destini's half question, half statement.

"Aye, His grace Faheud, born of Imleach, orphaned and fostered to a weaver in Lewes England, Deacon, priest, Bishop, Archbishop, and now Cardinal and Primate of the English-speaking Church. At the heart he remains the inquisitive Irishman who cannot stand injustice and/or foul play.

Have you met him, then?

Destini wrote:

Destini

The Cardinal's story, as told by Deacon Brightpoint, was extraordinary and Destini allowed him to see that she was impressed. That Cardinal Faheud was an Irisher by nationality and Imleacher by birth had been unknown to her. It surprised her now to hear it.

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

Have you met him, then?

"Met Him? Nay, I cannae say that I have." She smirked at her own words, realizing she was probably confusing the deacon. She explained further, "As spokesperson fer the previous county council, I had hoped to spend my term ensuring the Cardinal Faheud was welcomed when He arrived an' that His trip was a success. I communicated with Him frequently regardin' the arrangements...." She paused to look down at the bird still at Brightpoint's feet. "Though, not with carrier pigeons."

Smiling back up at the deacon, she continued, "Before I was even midway through my term, I received a final missive from The Cardinal wherein His Grace conveyed His regrets an' explained that His ship to Eire had been forced to turn back to England or face Anto's pirate ships. Fer my meager part in attemptin' to help, His Grace sent me this."

She shrugged her satchel from her shoulders and knelt on the snow, placing her wooden staff on the ground at her side and the satchel before her. Tucked carefully along the side was a long, thin box. She lifted it and stood. Opening it, she revealed a golden staff in four pieces that, when assembled, would stand six foot high It was ornamented at the top like a shepherd's crook. "'Tis a thing too fine fer one o' my quality," she said, looking at it reverently in the moonlight. "'Specially as I wasnae able to help complete His Grace's mission ... try though I did." She mumbled the last, shaking her head and grimacing slightly at her failure. She closed the box and returned it to her satchel, being careful not to desturb her harp within.

Standing again, she lifted her worn, wooden staff to lean upon. "I've told ye mine, Deacon Brightpoint. Ye tell me yers." She fixed him with an open gaze. "How did ye come into the service o' Cardinal Faheud?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked off into the near distance as he listened to Destini’s tale. It was interesting how Cardinal Faheud managed to touch people in such far places. The Deacon jarred himself from the reverie and smiled at Destini as he answered her question.

“Well, miss, there is certainly a long tale you have requested. I have to go back to my beginnings to tell you how my path really crossed—and stayed crossed—with the Cardinal’s own. I was born in Cardiff January 18, 1429. My world changed when my parents died in a house-fire in 1442 while I was bringing sheep down to winter pasture. I came down that valley and saw the plume of smoke that meant my world had just ended. It is funny how plumes of smoke so often means someone’s world has changed.

I had to live somewhere I suppose, and a distant relative fostered me to a sheep merchant in February 1429, and I traveled with that merchant to Sussex in spring of 1430. I was born to ad a proper welsh name, but it was changed to Allan because no one could pronounce a word with 27 characters and no vowels. Who knew?

While we were at a wool faire in Sussex, I hired on to assist a young sheep farmer in Lewes who had taken on responsibilities as a parish Deacon in 1431. Deacon Faheud was his name…a young, feisty, intuitive man who was already growing into a leader.

Later Father Faheud sent me to Holland to train in martial arts with the Shin Master Fengbao Zhan in an attempt to bring more order to my…how did he put it.. ’unfettered and worldly mind.’

I returned To England and Sussex in 1439 as an expert in hand to hand combat and many other disciplines, but remained a feisty, worldly soul. I stayed in the service of Father Faheud and was invested as a Deacon and attaché to the Church in Lewes. For the next several years I began to accompany Father Faheud on journeys around England, Scotland, and Europe. And learned a great deal about diplomacy, statesmanship, and how the Church impacted for good or bad when it did or did not function well.

My trips for the Church became more lengthy and frequent as Father Faheud was promoted through the ranks to Bishop, Archbishop, and Cardinal. Then this last fall I was sent deep into Europe to investigate rumors of a rather vile trade in new poisons and antidotes wending their way from the orient into Europe.

One thing followed another and I found myself jousting with pirates for the largest piece of flotsam in the Irish sea and swam to shore on this mission.

So did I bore you to death with all that? I hope not, as the road is long and much more agreeable with someone to share tales with. I hope the Abbey in Port Lairge will be able to arrange a ship to England for me.

Where are your trails going to take you? What do you seek? Who do you serve?

Destini

How could he think that his tale bored her? She had listened intently as he spoke. Her gaze left his face only when he mentioned his parents. Plumes of smoke, indeed. Visions of her own family came to her mind and she closed her eyes against the bitter memories. Mercifully, he moved on with his tale without asking of her own family. Her eyes returned to watch him as he told his story.

And what a story it was! She found herself wondering what his real name was and marvelling at his travels all the way to and from the orient. From combat training to learning of poisons, this was a man prepared for anything.

Her ears perked when he mentioned that he was in Ireland on a mission. Not that she hadn't already guessed that, but to hear him verify her thoughts immediately brought more questions to her mind. What sort of mission was it? Was he here to carry out the Cardinal Faheud's original mission to assist the church of Ireland? That made no sense. Why would he then have spoken to Padraig at the wedding in the weald only to turn around and head straight back to England? Why not stay and host the conclave as the cardinal had planned to do? Perhaps, as deacon, that wasn't his place. Or, perhaps that wasn't his mission at all....

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

"So did I bore you to death with all that? I hope not, as the road is long and much more agreeable with someone to share tales with. I hope the Abbey in Port Lairge will be able to arrange a ship to England for me.

Where are your trails going to take you? What do you seek? Who do you serve?"

The deacon's own questions put her musings on hold. "No, Deacon, ye're not borin' me. I'm lookin' forward to hearin' more as we journey to Port Lairge. My own trails will take me where they will. I have no destination in mind. I seek only a friendly tavern in the evenin' to share my music with fine folk, an' an open road come the mornin' light. My wants are simple." Or, at least, she wished it was that simple. She still had her unanswered questions.

"As fer who I serve... I don't know ... I am naught but a lordless player lookin' to avoid trouble, if i can help it." Except the trouble of her own far-too-inquisitive mind. That always seemed to plague her no matter what she did.

In an attempt to forestall her questions, she looked down the road. "Speakin' o' the road, shall we continue? We'll never reach Port Lairge at this rate."

But her questions could only be stalled for so long. She tried to appear casual in her curiosity as she lifted her satchel and added, "Perhaps as we walk, ye can tell me o' this mission o' yers."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan smiled at the nudge to action and got up, tossing the last of the bread to the now-plump pigeon who had been feasting this whole time. Not going to fly very far this night Allan thought as he wrapped his cloak around him and looked towards the road.

He met the emerald gaze of Destini steadily as he gave a tiny smile and answered her question.

"Aye...Perhaps I can tell you more of my mission whilst we walk. We do need to be going towards Port Lairge, because like most port cities, it simply refuses to come to us."

Allan grinned at her expression as he brushed lightly past her question and started walking down the road at her side.

"So tell me, have there always been robbers and pirates in Eire? or is it just Anto Capone's lot?

I suppose my only problem with that fellow is the way he keeps making that annoying breathing sound..."

Destini

She hadn't really expected him to tell her his mission. The grin on Brightpoint's face told her she wasn't going to get anything further from him. Her sigh of mild frustration formed a cloud of vapor in the chill, evening air. Glancing at the pigeon, she joined him at his side.

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

"So tell me, have there always been robbers and pirates in Eire? or is it just Anto Capone's lot?

I suppose my only problem with that fellow is the way he keeps making that annoying breathing sound..."

"Nay," she answered his question with a subtle shake of her hooded head. "Anto is only the more organized. There are others."

She thought on his final statement with a frown. "Deacon Brightpoint, is it usual fer a man o' Jah to speak so against his fellow man?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan thought about her question..."Well, I expect the Cardinal would call it one of my unremitting worldly qualities, to not have compassion for and cherish lives dedicated to the Nameless Evil One. Suffice it to say I will shed no tear when Anto comes into his eternal reward at the feet of the Power to which he is so loyal.

I can respect his dedication, his fervor, the fanaticism he inspires in followers, and even his effectiveness. I cannot respect the harm caused to folk who in no way can have played any role in any bad thing that has befallen Anto.

You will find that ordained servants of Jah do not carry edged weapons, nor strike intentionally with killing force. I admire their restraint.

How do the folk in Eire come to grips with the juxtaposed challenge of live and let live vs being recipients of chaotic assault from the amoral?"

Destini wrote:

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

Destini

"Ah, hm," said Destini as she found herself with no immediate answer to Brightpoint's question. There was a long pause in the conversation as she gathered her thoughts. When she responded, she spoke slowly, sounding out what she had to say as she went. "The people o' Eire are watchful against those that might harm or threaten the peace. Rarely do they travel alone, as I do. Rarer still do they trust those they do not know. I believe ye may have experienced that yerself at the weddin'.

"I doubt many have thought o' it in terms o' morality. Those who would harm others are lawless, aye. But amoral?" she shook her head. "The church has been long absent here, deacon. Those few who follow yer faith neither instruct nor preach as openly as they might."

She looked on Brightpoint with a long, considering gaze. "I would be willin' to learn o' yer beliefs."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded as they walked, noticing for the first time that clouds now largely obscured the moon, and that a fall of slow, heavy snowflakes had begun to cloak the road in a shroud of white that glimmered whenever the moon poked out from the clouds.

"Amoral. It may be a question of terminology, but I refer to the idea of what it means to take an action outside any morality, or without a care for what it means to anyone or anything else."

He paused a moment as he searched for a better way to collect his thoughts, walking through the swirls of snow on the road.

"It may be that good and evil is a question of politics and chaos vs order are about cause and effect being taken into account.

Cristos and Aristotle teach that all must begin from a state of general community--known as the Aristotelan Friendship. Harm none and be not harmed. Treat others as you would be treated. Make an oath and keep it. Make no oath you cannot keep. Trust and be trusted.

These are by nature generalist ideas, but the faith itself is a general cloak in which a believer may pass through the storms of life. It has been shown clearly to me through my travels that a church built upon service to the people inherently violates their own belief when it neglects to provide that service. How can the bystander believe a church of public service who does not serve the public?

Many of the Cardinal's reforms (and attempts at reform) surround a desire to make the church be true to its own beliefs. Only then can the faith be both fairly evaluated by all and fairly allowed to try to be of service.

I can tell you that some of the clergy in Eire are under a cloud of disapproval in Canterbury and Rome for failing to be of service to the public.

Also true is that the cycle of neglect feeds itself. Priest does not hold mass...people's souls and well being are neglected, people stop bothering with the church, priests who *are* inclined to be active become discouraged, and so forth.

I remain unconvinced that the pirates and highwaymen that prevented the Cardinal's safe passage to Ireland were a coincidence. For they who thrive in chaos, what would they not do to prevent positive change and peaceful order coming back to the Irish Church?

Allan scowled deeply, "It galls me to the point of fury to see churches here gather dust and trust a luxury for fools and the powerful. But. Change is coming. Whether too late or no, it is coming and woe betide the lazy who let the Light of Jah fade in the emerald forests.

But, such outbursts display quite well why I am forever doomed to the role of attache and minor functionary. Well...that and the whole unremitting thing..."

Allan's deep laugh echoed in the swirling flakes as they continued down the road.

"So, Destini, My beliefs. I shall trade them for yours....

"I believe humans were not put here to idle along and blunder in the dark
I believe we are destined and required to be more at the end than the beginning.
I believe in an obligation to help others
I believe in Compassion...even when the highest compassion is to let a fool reap a harsh lesson or to provide the same to them.

I believe in the Cardinal's interpretations on Aristotle's principles of force:

1. never kill when maiming will do
2. Never maim when hurting will suffice
3. never hurt when teaching and debate will overcome distress
4. remember the most common elements in the world are accident and error and act accordingly."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini listened to the deacon's explanation with great interest. His genuine, passionate means of expressing himself -- from his anger to his beliefs -- was both frightening and alluring. Clearly, this was a man who knew his own mind and did not suffer fools easily. She hoped, for both their sakes, that she was no fool.

She laughed with him when he again mentioned his unremitting worldliness. She wondered if this was a matter over which the cardinal oft chided him. The sound of their laughter reflected on the falling snow nearest them then fell silent several feet ahead the way only sound through falling snow could do.

"My own beliefs will seem hollow to ye when compared to yer own," she warned him in all seriousness. "But since ye've given me such a well-thought out answer, I shall endeavor not to disappoint ye.

"I do believe in a Power above all we see here that shapes our world. But I believe we define our lives on our own by our choices. An' those choices have consequences fer good or fer ill.

"Like yerself, I believe in doin' what I say I will do an' never sayin' I'll do somethin' I cannae.

"I donae believe in takin' a life lest my own is threatened. But if it is threatened, I willnae hesitate to use deadly force, if necessary.

"Finally, I believe there is an answer to every question... even if it isnae readily answered when asked." The last was meant honestly, though her tone teased him for not answering her earlier question regarding his mission in Ireland.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The long-traveled deacon grinned at the sideways barb....he *did* delight in such elegant jousting.

"Well, m'dear, sometimes no answer is an answer, if you take my meaning. But some things unanswered may yet be answered as trust builds, no?"

He risked a sideways glance as they walked through the deepening snow and continued, "So I am well pleased you hold many of the same basic standards for trust and promises. It bespeaks an ability to communicate at the most important levels. So what oaths bind you to this or that?"

Destini wrote:

Destini

She caught his sideways glance with one of her own, then looked away just as quickly. True, she was curious about this man and his mission, but this was a careful friendship that she did not want to risk by appearing over-bold.

The thought of the deacon as a friend gave her pause. He was barely more than an aquaintance, and one she'd met only two or three hours ago. As a traveling companion, he was fascinating. But did simply traveling together make him a friend? She didn't think so. Yet somehow, there was something about this man that gave her cause to trust him and want to get to know him better. And perhaps that alone was enough for her to inadvertantly think of him as a friend.

She avoided his first question -- which she guessed was really only a response to her own circuitous probing for answers he did not want her to have -- by answering his second question.

"I am bound by only one oath, at present. An' that is my oath to the Clan MacKenzie. I shallnae betray them nor shall I e'er give my oath to another clan. At the permission o' my clan chief, with whom ye met at the weddin', I have taken their last name in place o' my own -- a reminder to myself that they are with me an' a part o' me at all times. 'Tis also a reminder o' my oath to them. An' if e'er they should call to me in dire need, I will heed it no matter how far I may wander upon this Earth." Her voice and resolution were firm. There could be no question that she was speaking with her heart.

But why was he asking about her oaths? Despite her resolution to not appear too-forward in her questioning, she could not stop herself from turning the question back on the deacon. "What o' yerself, Deacon Brightpoint? What oaths hold sway o'er yer life?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

“Oaths,” began Deacon Allan as he pushed through a particularly impressive drift of snow that had blown across the path, “not taken lightly, and never forgotten.”

He looked off into the distance for a few paces and then continued, just as Destini might have been thinking he’d completely fallen off topic.

“At twelve I took an oath to one day find out who burned down my parent’s house, and one day I will find them and/or who sent them. My father had refused to sell his land to a couple different owners of large sheep-farms and I have always wondered if that was not the cause. Perhaps one day its back to Cardiff for payment past due.”

“When Deacon Faheud gave me a place to be, I made an oath to never let him down—and I have kept it. It is why I’ll travel the face of the earth on his business. I will often question the how and when, but never the why. Comes back to trust, really..”

“I also made an oath to the Shin Master, Fengbao Zhan, to never misuse my training for personal gain. As evidenced by my obvious wealth and station,” this remarked with a glint of humor about his eyes,” I have either kept that oath or really am the most incompetent selfish person ever. I hope it’s not the latter. You have heard part of that promise when I spoke earlier about never killing when maiming will do, et cetera.”

When I was appointed as a Deacon, I took an oath to never misrepresent the Church, to serve others before me, to heal what harms I find, and be true to my station and patron.”

As they passed back into moonlight again, the distant expression was back on Allan’s face.

“Sometimes it is a trick to make all the oaths weave into a tapestry of a good life, but the best things are rarely easy. I do wonder though, why did the reception I got back in your Clan’s wedding become so much more warm so fast? From armed interrogators to bottomless whiskey in three minutes is something of a leap where I come from. "

"One thing, though, it was also odd to see the livery of the High King of Ireland back in the shadows of the glade’s edge rather than He coming forward into a place he clearly belonged. I suppose the presence of an obvious stranger put Him off…”

They continued down the frosty road as Destini had time to consider all she had heard...

Destini

"I cannae imagine holding all those oaths in one life. With so many considerations to others' wants, how do ye have time to do what ye want? Or ..." she hesitated in her own thinking, realizing she was speaking aloud before she had fully thought it through, "Perhaps that's a selfish concern?"

She shifted her thoughts to Brightpoint's question of her clan and smirked. "Ye're askin' me to explain my kin. I didnae see His Majesty outside the clearin'. An' even if I had, I doubt I could explain his ways to ye. I expect, like all families, there are pieces that cannae be explained -- only experienced. Could be they didnae trust ye as an outsider at first but warmed to ye after a bit. I cannae say what was in their minds. I can only explain my own thoughts an' feelin's on the matter ...." Destini grinned shyly at the deacon and opened her mouth to continue, but had little time to speak.

The moon's appearance in the falling snow was as if the world were taking a deep breath before a plunge. For almost as suddenly as the moon shone through the silver mist of still-falling snow, a gale howled through the glen. It was as if the wind, long-imprisoned under the cloud's blanket for the past hour or so, was taking its chance at the break in the clouds to soar to new speeds and heights. The clouds quickly moved to cover the break. The haze of snow became a torrent that obscured the moonlight in a bombardment of thick flakes. Destini coughed in the sudden wind, snowflakes melting on her open mouth before she closed it.

As she hoped that this weather was only a temporary turn for the worse, the wind tore harder at her cloak,. Destini pulled it tightly about her, fighting in a game of tug-of-war against the gale-force winds. Bowing her hooded head against the wind, she squinted through the heavy flakes to Deacon Brightpoint, relieved that she could still see him beside her -- but only barely. Despite that he was less than an arm's length away, the fierceness of the blizzard made him appear little more than a shadow in an already shadowy world.

"We cannae stay out in this weather!" she shouted to Brightpoint over the howl of the wind. "We have to find shelter!"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Destini certainly had a point about the weather. It was snowing sideways again, and the eerie glow of new white on the road and tree branches was making it hard to distinguish between road and ditch.

“Come on!” he urged, “I am fairly certain we are not far from a gate leading off to a snow shelter. I saw it on my way to the Wedding. I hope it is visible now—the landscape has changed a bit since this afternoon…”

As they pushed ahead he offered a gloved hand to Destini to help her keep her footing. He knew she was no newcomer to Irish weather, and the fickle way it can change from quiet moon to howling blizzard, but offered a hand nonetheless as he stopped beneath an oak for a moment.

“Across that bridge over there,” He yelled, “it ends at a gate and a shelter within.”

Crossing the bridge, they found themselves looking at an open gate-way with a trail leading into the shelter of very old trees. Allan pointed and led the way in.

Once inside the large grove of ancient trees, the wind died down a great deal and they could take a breath and see a sheltering cottage in front of them.

“Well there be a sight for sore eyes and frosty feet!" Allan chuckled, as they made their way forward through the mounds of snow covering the trail.

“Let’s just see if anyone is home then?” Inwardly he hoped not. There was no sign of lights, and if there were sleeping folk inside, they would probably not wake well to travelers pounding at the door…

Destini

She took his proffered hand. She could care less if she lost her footing and ended up snowy -- Jah knew she and the deacon both were already covered in thick flakes -- but she worried for her harp within her shoulder satchel. Two or three times, his strong hand kept her from stumbling. And once, if not for their linked hands, she might have lost him in the blind, snowy darkness of a February midnight.

She peered through the blinding snow, unable to see whatever it was Brightpoint was seeing. She trusted him to guide her through the snow drifts to where he said there was shelter.

The air seemed warmer as the wind stopped blowing snow into their faces. It was not, despite her first hopeful thought, because the weather was bettering. But rather, the gale was blocked by a structure in front of them. This would probably be the shelter Brightpoint had mentioned.

She stepped up to the door and knocked forcefully upon the door, hoping against hope that they might find kindly folk, a hot fire, and a warm meal. She had her music to pay for any late-night hospitality that was offered. Knocking again and taking full view of the shelter, she realized there were no lights nor smoke from the chimney. The house was probably abandoned. With a heavy heart, she pressed the door inward.

It was dark within, but she could make out that there was a fireplace along one wall. Her flint striker would handily make a warm fire, if they also had firewood and ready tinder -- both of which she sadly doubted were at hand. The floors were dirt, but the walls were sturdy against the force of the wind outside. "Well," she said breathlessly, shaking and stamping the snow from her clothing. "It'll do." she looked to the deacon while blowing hot air onto her frozen fingers.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As they explored the empty, but clean and dry cottage, Allan spotted a back door, barred from the inside.

"Let me have a look at the back, never know but what we'll find summat useful for that fireplace."

Lifting the bar and setting it aside, he opened the door to display the cold night, although the moon had *again* made one of its brief appearances.

Allan was well pleased with what he saw.

"Brilliant! Well, m'lady Destini, as the wise soul said, "It'll do...."

Destini

Destini heard the deacon's cheerful call as she set down her satchel against the side of the main room and came to the back door. Seeing the pile of wood she smiled. What was more, as she removed the overturned metal bucket from the pile, she was delighted to find dry tinder in a smaller metal pot beneath.

"If ye'd carry firewood, I'll see what small blaze I can get started with the tinder. Then perhaps we'll use this smaller pot an' make us some hot corn porridge fer a late supper. I know ye've eaten not too long ago, but I've not. An' in any case, I suspect a hot meal would do us both a world o' good." Happy with her plan in mind, she took the small pot of tinder and a few small logs with her into the abandoned shack.

She arranged the kindling as she had many times before on the open road then removed her campfire tools from her satchel and set to striking the steel on the flint stone.

Her hands were cold and the icy nature of the steel and stone did nothing to warm them. The sparks she achieved from the flint were fleeting and did not catch the tinder she'd set out. Painstakingly, she continued to try. There would be no relief from the cold unless she could start a fire.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was setting down a third bundle of wood and kindling when he noticed Destini struggle a bit with the steel striker that seemed to be radiating bloody cold, and decided to offer assistance.

"Miss, if the cold of the striker and numbness in your hands from the storm are a bit much, I may be able to help if you like. One of the benefits of Shin training is learning how to create heat when warm seems impossible."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Too cold to argue overly-much, Destini moved aside. She held out the striker and flint for him to try his hand at making fire.

"Alright, Deacon," she said, shivering. "Let's see this Shin trainin' o' yers." If it sounded like a challenge, it might have been. She was well-proud of her ability to start a fire in dire circumstances and was slightly upset that she could not do so here.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stood before her a moment and brought his hands out wide, lifting his arms slowly outward until the hands met above his head. He then pull the hands, together down into a familiar prayer pose.

His hands then slowly spread out wide and he froze...

"cheeeeeeeeee LU" exclaimed the Deacon with a burst of breath as he slapped his hands together with a loud crack, rubbing them tightly together in a flurry of repetitions before taking the strike and flint, one in each hand.

Eyes closed, he held them for a few moments and handed Destini back the now warmer-than-body-temperature metal and flint. If anything they felt hot.

"Master Feng Bhao teaches us that when conditions are not right for success, you must change the conditions."

ooc: The Tai Chi Shin techniques are of the Qigong family which is a diverse family of dozens of mind-body practices originated thousands of years ago in China. Many of these techniques travelled to mainstream Europe in the time of Marco Polo

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini clasped the warm flint and steel in her cold hands. She looked on the deacon with an expression of startled amazement. She had rubbed her hands together many-a-time to keep them warm before -- who had not? -- but to rub them together in such a way to make icy-cold items like the steel and flint so hot? It was a fascinating method she had never before considered.

So as not to waste the window of opportunity that the deacon had given her, she went immediately to work. She knelt down before the tinder and struck the steel to the flint two, three times. The final spark caught the tinder in a flash of flame. She resisted the urge to cry out in gladness and relief, knowing her own exhalation of breath could undo what little progress they'd made here in the fire's early stage.

At length, the fire was blazing enough to provide light and heat. A bed of coals had formed enough to melt a pot of snow into water. Destini used a flat piece of tinder to stir her corn kernels in the simmering water. They had been silent since Brightpoint had made the steel and flint warm enough to start the fire. Now, with nothing more pressing than stirring to pay attention to, Destini's thoughts replayed the evening in her mind.

She wondered if she would have crossed paths with the deacon if the carrier pigeon had not also been trying to find him in order to deliver his message. "Deacon Brightpoint," said Destini without looking up from her stirring. "What happened to the pigeon?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"You mean little Peck, here? he's been sleeping in the Cowl of my cloak since he ate all that bread earlier. The Cardinal would hardly be pleased if I let one of his rare Night-Finders turn into an ice sculpture."

As Allan answered the question it also occurred to him that he had not actually read the message he had removed from the little bird.

Sitting down near the fire, he took out the parchment and read it. He laughed mirthlessly and threw the bit of parchment in the fire.

Destini

She chuckled softly at his words and imagined the little creature curled up and staying warm inside the deacon's cowl. She continued to stir the softening corn kernels, scraping the bottom so to ensure they wouldn't stick there and burn.

When Brightpoint pulled out a small strip of paper, she guessed its origin. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he read it and made a sudden, unamused sound. Startled at the sudden rush of paper into her fire, Destini turned her head sharply to Brightpoint. "Bad news?" she asked simply.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"The Cardinal is wondering whether I am done vacationing in Ireland yet, and can I just pop over to Castle Wolvesley in England for a word with the Knight Commander of the Order of St. George.

No worries, a Miracle a Day keeps boredom at bay."

He looked at her work with the corn porridge over the fire.

"Would you like some jerked venison for that?"

Destini

She had not expected him to tell her what the cardinal had written. His frank conveyance of the message in the fire came as something of a surprise to her. But if that had been all that had been written on that message why throw it into the fire at all? Unless there something else that he hadn't wanted her to know. Something regarding his reason for being in Ireland, perhaps? Trying to be surreptitious, she moved only her eyes to peer down at the blackend husk of used-to-be message.

Of course, it was possible that this was what he did with all his messages from the cardinal and it was simply second nature to dispose of this one as soon after reading it as possible.

Well, there was no knowing what had been written on the parchment now. And that the deacon clearly wasn't sharing everything with her was really none of her business. Her business was music. His was ... what? Attache to the cardinal of all England, Ireland, and Scotland. To do what for him? Run about delivering messages like a carrier pigeon? Surely there was more than that. But what?

No, nevermind. Forget their occupations. They were simply two travelers on the road to Port Lairge, thrown together through timing and weather. She need know nothing more.

To Brightpoint she said simply, "Ye must lead a fascinatin' life, Deacon." As he mentioned jerked venison, she looked at him fully for the first time, eyebrows arched in pleasant surprise. She hoped her expression would mask some of her wonderings as she responded to his offer by saying, "If ye've some to spare, aye, some meat in the pot wouldnae go amiss."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan retrieved a sizable handful of season venison jerky from a water-tight pouch in his pack.

"There you go! I suspect we can both use it this night. Not much food and a lot of whiskey at Irish weddings I find...

So...that was a lot of wondering your face did--through about thirty different expressions to end up with the comment 'interesting life you lead...' I suppose that is part of the skill of the performer though...sift the thoughts and select the appropriate piece.

I could never do that with songs, never got farther than to master a whistle.

And yes, it is an interesting life... escort information, package, prisoner, dignitary, supplies....ransom a kidnapped churchman...negotiate a peace settlement, dare the wiles of the Weald to hand over a life-saving elixir no one there really wants. All in the service..."

He took up the whistle he had shown her and began to play a haunting melody...

Destini

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

"So...that was a lot of wondering your face did--through about thirty different expressions to end up with the comment 'interesting life you lead...' I suppose that is part of the skill of the performer though...sift the thoughts and select the appropriate piece."

Destini's face flushed crimson as she turned back to the supper, stirring in the newly-added venison. "Aye," she said slowly as she stirred, listening to his haunting melody on the whistle. She longed to play with him on her harp, but dinner would burn now if she tried. Plus, her harp had surely lost its tuning in the cold blizzard outside and that, too, would take time. "'Fraid I'm an excellent musician an' only a passable mummer, though. Else ye'd not have known my thoughts if I'd had any mind to it ... which I had." She looked back over her shoulder at him, smiling softly as he played.

She continued to stir the pot and thought on his final statement before he'd placed the whistle to his lips.

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

"And yes, it is an interesting life... escort information, package, prisoner, dignitary, supplies....ransom a kidnapped churchman...negotiate a peace settlement, dare the wiles of the Weald to hand over a life-saving elixir no one there really wants. All in the service..."

"Wait," she said aloud without really meaning to. The porridge forgotten with a new realization, she spun on her heels to face the deacon and his hauting whistle tune. "Did ye just tell me why ye're in Eire? What's this 'bout a life-savin' elixir?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stopped playing and smiled with an impishness he had not shown her before.

"Ahh. Excellent. You pass the test."

Allan resumed playing

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini blinked. In her surprise at being told a piece of what she wanted to know, she'd lost all seeming that she was minding her own business. If the deacon's grin was any indication, there was no point now in hiding the questions she wanted to ask.

As much as she wanted her question regarding the elixir answered, suddenly another question was more pressing. "So ye're testin' me, are ye? Why? To what end?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well, it is kind of like that porridge that threatens to burst into flame beneath an idle spoon. Life a bit like that. Unless you add some spice and substance every now and again, and stir things up once in a while, it tends to get stuck to the cauldron."

He looked past her at the porridge, and handed Destiny a tiny bit of a yellow spice in a paper wrapping.

"Some Saffron...pleasant to taste and good for weathering cold, damp weather."

"Perhaps after dinner you'll consent to play a bit on the harp?"

Destini wrote:

Destini

Reminded of the porridge, Destini turned back to the pot and resumed her stirring. She cast a sidelong look at Brightpoint as he added the a yellowish spice to the pot. The aroma was amazing. She wondered whence on his travels he'd acquired it. "Ye've an annoyin' talent fer answerin' questions without actually answerin' the question," she told him.

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

"Perhaps after dinner you'll consent to play a bit on the harp?"

"Aye, I'll play my harp after we sup. So long as while we eat ye answer my questions." She smirked at him and offered her hand that was not stirring the pot with the makeshift spoon. "What say ye, deacon? Have we an accord?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan shook the hand with a smile.

"Aye, an accord. I will begin thus as a bit of a bonus. I was taught by folk who live by the rule that guided self-discovery is infinitely more valuable than having a parchment with all the answers tidily laid out upon it.

A whole lot less convenient, I'll warrant, but the picture ends up being more precise, lasting, and effective."

Allan got up to toss a couple bits of corn from the floor to the pigeon which had crawled out of its temporary housing.

"My mission in Ireland had a number of parts, most of which you have heard tell of, either in our travels, or at the Wedding. if you look back, you will find most of the missing pieces of the wood-puzzle, and likely be able to sort out the overall intent.

You will also note the things which did *not* occur at the Wedding, which leave me fairly unconvinced those in danger will find their status much improved."

Destini wrote:

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

"Perhaps after dinner you'll consent to play a bit on the harp?"

Destini

It seemed he would rather her figure it out on her own. She took up the challenge with an incline of her head and a soft utterance of, "As ye wish." She set her hand to stirring in the saffron and her mind to re-sorting all the details she knew thus far. But this time, rather than wonder silently, she spoke her thoughts aloud so the deacon could follow her analysis of the situation from her point of view.

"That ye're here on the Cardinal Faheud's business is plain enough, so let's start with that," she said by way of beginning. "So it's likely the sealed parchment ye handed to Padraig at the weddin' was some letter o' note confirmin' ye as the cardinal's man. Perhaps it confirmed, also, what ye had to tell Padraig. But as I couldnae hear yer conversation, nor did I witness what was written on the parchment, any conclusions I could make that way are naught but guesswork.

"Ye said ye came to the weddin' to talk with Padraig, an' that ye surely did. Just now, ye said ye came to the weddin' to hand over a 'life savin' elixir'. That would be the velvet pouches ye handed to Padraig, aye?" Although she asked a question, she did not pause for an answer, but continued as if she were speaking only to herself. "I think it must be. Ye say there are 'those in danger.' Since ye handed the elixir to Padraig, I can only conclude that those are members o' Clan MacKenzie. Otherwise, why give it to Padraig at all?"

Here, she paused as her thoughts shifted in a new direction.

"Unless," she said, continuing slowly, "Yer travels from England took longer than expected an' ye still thought Padraig to be Duke o' An Mumhain. Ye said ye were hopin' fer a boat in Port Lairge that would 'dodge trouble back to England' That was clearly more than idle hope, since ye also said ye were ' jousting with pirates.'"

She frowned in frustration a moment as that firmly placed piece of the puzzle did not line up with the next.

"But if ye thought Padraig was duke, then that only widens the possibilities o' people in danger." She thought on that in silence a long moment, moving the piece of information around her head like a jigsaw until it would fit with the other pieces. "But ... no. Certainly, ye would have been told Padraig was no longer duke. An' yet, it wasnae until towards the end o' yer conversation that ye handed him the elixir." Satisfied with this reasoning, she nodded slowly, certain now that she was on the right way of thinking. "So, someone in my clan is in danger. But who?" She looked to the deacon, but not for his answer. Her gaze was further away than on his face.

Sighing, she found another piece of the puzzle that didn't yet fit. The more she put together, the more pieces appeared. At least, some pieces were fitting together. "Then there's the matter o' why a cardinal in England would care 'bout a member o' a clan in Eire .... Unless whoe'er was threatened was more than just a member o' Clan MacKenzie. Someone with enough power to encourage the church's growth in Eire, maybe. Back at the weddin', ye mentioned ye had to 'see a man 'bout a bishop'" She frowned at that. "But, to my knowledge, none o' my clan strictly follow the church way, so that cannae be it .... Unless this is bigger even than the church."

That line of thinking was getting her nowhere. It just kept opening up more and more possibilities without answering a single question. She set that aside for now in favor of, hopefully, more productive thinking.

"Now, if ye'd ever mentioned any o' my clan specifically ...." her voice trailed off and she cocked her head to one side as she considered that. "But ye did mention some. O' course, ye were here to speak with Padraig an' gift him the elixir. But then ye also mentioned His Majesty was at the weddin', though I didnae see him. If I'm rememberin' correctly, ye were wonderin' why he didnae come forward into the clearin'. Could it be ye had wanted to speak with him as well? An if so ..."

She focused her gaze sharply on Brightpoint with a sudden stricken expression. When she spoke, her voice was tight and as frozen as the blizzard outside.

"Zanditin. It's Zan isn't it?"

(ooc to Brightpoint: Sorry, Brightpoint, I know it's long, but you left me no choice. Yes, everything here was said in Destini's presence. I'm pretty sure the logic of how she got from one idea to another is all explained thoroughly in its round-a-bout, stream-of-consciousness manner.

)
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked on with an impressed, appreciative air.

"Well done, m'lady!! His Grace was certainly correct that you have a keen intellect and are worthy of high purpose and great expectations.

In all transparency you have certainly hit on parts of the truth in clear measure. I will tell you that some items you perceived as dead ends are perhaps not quite as dead as one might think....

Please feel free to ask clarifying questions over dinner, then..."

Destini

Her ears perked at the deacon's words. "His .. Grace..?" said Destini, unable to quite finish the question. "Then ... ye knew. All this time? Ye knew the cardinal an' I had traded missives." She turned back to her stirring of the porridge and muttered something under her breath that may have sounded something along the lines of "scoundrel."

The porridge she'd been stirring the whole while was now done. Destini, in a sudden realization that she'd best remove their supper from the fire lest it become ruined, used her hood to shield her hands from the heated metal as she moved it safely from the fire onto the dirt floor. Casting her hood aside - which had started to steam from the evaporation of melted snow and application of sudden heat - she dug in her satchel to produce the wooden mug she often used when she came upon a clear stream in her travels. She spooned some of the porridge into her cup, left the makeshift utensil in the pot for Brightpoint, and used a nearby scrap of leftover tinder as her own eating spoon.

She stirred the porridge in her cup to cool it, and thought again of the danger that could befall her kin. She was suddenly not hungry, despite not having eaten for much of the day. A thought occurred to her. "Is yer mission to see this 'Knight Commander' in England also part o' this?" she asked Brightpoint quietly. She hoped not. Because if it was, that meant things were more dire than she'd already supposed.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled as the porridge was served. He thought of something and went back over to his pack from which he extracted a soft leather roll. Untying the knot he rolled it out and selected a pair of spoons from it. Offering one to Destini, he mused,

"Some might say I am a bit of a scoundrel. See earlier comments about my potential for high service in the church--or lack thereof.

To answer a question directly--and doubtless amaze you, Yes. My mission to the Commanderie of St. George is very much a part of this whole thing."

Destini wrote:

Destini

She took the offered spoon with a smile of thanks for the utensil and amusement at his first sentence. But her smile fell when he confirmed her fears. "Then this does stretch beyond the shores o' Eire," she concluded. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather went down her spine.

But ... no," Destini said, as a new thought occurred to her. "I've got it backwards, haven't I? after all, ye came from England, so this threat could just as easily have originated there."

She watched the deacon carefully. "Deacon Brightpoint, from whence comes this threat? Who is behind this?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"To get to origins, I think you'll have to travel a bit farther into Europe to arrive.... That's where the rumors and then facts began to surface.. As to who? We have many leads, and a few major suspects, but the Cardinal would have to be the one to explain what conclusions have arisen, for I have been chasing the bits and pieces non-stop for months."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini nodded solemnly at Brightpoint's words and absently ate a few spoonfuls of porridge. It was surprisingly flavorful and filling. Plus, it had the added benefit of being hot, perfect for a bone-chilling winter's night and conversation that froze the blood.

Her thoughts were racing about her head. Each new piece of the puzzle made her head spin. She placed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes a moment. "All this supposin' an' guesswork is makin' me dizzy," she said to Brightpoint with her eyes still closed. "Serves me right fer bein' a busybody. I don't even know what I'm goin' to do with any o' the information ye've given me ... save worry fer my kin, o' course. I doubt there's anythin' productive I can do. Not my place to go o'er the clan chief's head. Ye've given the information to Padraig an' he'll see to it that Zan is kept safe, as he would do fer any o' the clan ... with or without threat."

She sighed. Once again, there was a danger to her kin and she could do nothing but watch it happen. She opened her eyes to stare into the flickering flames of their fire. "It was like this durin' the war with Springtime, ye know," she said quietly, setting her half-eaten bowl of porridge aside. She reached for her satchel and softly untied the wet strips of leather that held the top of the satchel together. The long strips of leather ties left streaks of moist leather dust suspended in glistening paths of melted snow on the palms of her hands. She continued speaking as she busied herself with drying and warming her hands in the fire's heat. "I didnae go to war with the rest o' my clan. I'm no fighter. I've no skills that way. Nay, I stayed at home until the silence an' empty streets grew too much. Then I wandered to the North an' back, applyin' my trade away from the battles that raged on fer months an' months. Nothin' I could do to help, though all my kin were in danger. Every one." Satisfied her hands were dry enough now, Destini reached her right hand into the satchel and gently pulled forth her harp.

Rough, waxed wood glinted dully in the firelight. The harp emerged into the gloom of the room in the same way a butterfly might have emerged from its cocoon. She was astonished no strings had broken in the cold elements and difficult journey they had just endured. Shedding the now unimportant satchel, the harp’s strings glistened in the firelight. She balanced it gently on her lap and began to tune the instrument as she continued her story. "My skills with a harp are o' no use when skills with sword or axe are needed instead. 'Tis as true a statement now as 'twas then. The months passed when all I could do was wait, an' listen fer news, an' hope. Then one day, they came back ... in small groups o' three or four. They were battered, beaten, scarred -- both emotionally an' physically. An' still I could do nothin' fer them but play my harp an' hope all would return to normal."

She finished tuning and shook her head at Brightpoint. "It never did though. It never does. Not really." She sighed and set her fingers to echo the same haunting melody the deacon had played earlier upon his whistle. "An' now 'tis happenin' again."

The harp's song echoed her quiet frustration.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan ate his excellent porridge and listened to Destini tell of her times of waiting. It rather struck a chord with him. He remembered how his Mother hated waiting when Da was away at the troubles. The tale also reminded him of something he had been taught.

"Master Zhan taught me a fascinating lesson that seems to apply a bit here. He took me out to the walls of the town where I was studying his ways, and pointed down at a boy herding some cattle.

'Young one,' he said--had the most annoying tendency to call me that--' see that child herding the cattle?'

'Aye!' says I.

'Well, that child is suited to his task and will always keep the cattle where they ought to be. Do you see the falcon in that tree?'

'I do!' says I.

"well that Falcon will never go hungry for it can catch a meal, and can be taught and used to hunt game birds for a wise master. It can even strike an enemy if trained...Do you see that Pigeon sitting on the sill of the Vestry window by the church?'

'Indeed! Clear as day..'

'Well that pigeon can carry words of great import if taught well and used wisely.

The child is not likely to catch game birds in flight, and likely cannot bring back from the wilds dinner to his master.

The falcon cannot be trusted to carry words of import to stop a war or launch a fleet of ships.

The pigeon would be a poor cattle herd and entirely hopeless in the attack of enemies,

Each is brilliant when set to the right task.

Let the herder watch the herd, the hunter face the kill, and the messenger carry the message.'

"Then my master Zhan walked back down the walls, and into his cottage, leaving me to ponder the wisdom shared as a cold rain began to fall.

Perhaps your frustration is well appropriate because you are not meant to watch a herd and wait. If the hunt and the fight is not your task, perhaps it lies in the finding and the listening, and the telling."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini gazed at the pigeon that had climbed out of Brightpoint's cowl some time ago. The little bird had been rather quiet since the storm had set in and was remarkably well-behaved.

Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Still, she doubted her skills were equal to the task he was proposing. Then again, skills could be taught. Although, it would most assuredly mean giving up the life of a traveling minstrel that she'd always loved ... wouldn't it?

She looked back at the pigeon and decided not to immediately address what appeared to be Brightpoint's intended conversation.

"Deacon Brightpoint," she said with a pleasant twinkle in her eye. Her harp's melody picked up a tone of levity. "Are ye comparin' me to the pigeon?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan failed to mask the grin that flashed by before he looked off into the distance considering the query.

"Oh, I dunno.... how are you at flying a message across a hundred miles of cold sea and delivering it in the dead of night?"

Destini

Destini laughed at his retort. "Cannae say I've tried to fly an' carry messages any more than yer pigeon there has tried to play the harp.

"But still, now, let's be fair, ye had to teach the pigeon to do that, now didn't ye? It surely didnae jump out o' its egg with the ability to blindly carry messages 'cross the sea."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan laughed, "To be fair, the Cardinal had the pigeons trained by a master of the craft. You can be trained to do most anything if you put your mind to it.

To be honest, I have listened to many an important tavern conversation whilst sitting in the corner and playing a melody or three..."

Destini wrote:

Destini

She had been expecting another jest. When it didn't come, the smile faded slowly from Destini's face. Her hands ceased their movement upon the harp strings and the tune halted sharply without reaching tonic. Her eyes were wide when she looked at him cautiously.

"Ye're serious, aren't ye?" she asked him, stunned. "Oh, aye, this matter o' life an' death has me worried fer my kin. But ... are ye seriously suggestin' I take up yer line o' work?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well," answered Allan Evenly, "You seem less than content to wait in silent towns while others succeed or fail. Some are well armed with swords and bows. Others make their impact with keen wit.

I have simply pointed out that you need not be content with waiting for tomorrow to happen to you.

There is a degree of satisfaction in finding a way to happen to the morrow instead..."

Deacon Allan took out his silver flask and held it up in offering

Destini wrote:

Destini

"How is it ye know me so well, so soon, when I know ye not at all?" She peered at him for a long while, considering him. "But then, I s'pose a man in yer line o' work was trained to do that ... to pick up on others without givin' away yerself," she said, answering her own question.

She set down her harp and took up his flask with a nod of thanks. This had been a night of conversation requiring stronger fare than porridge."Ye're right, o' course." She took a sip and handed the flask back to him. "I'm one fer the road. Have been, an' always will. I amnae one to sit idly by."

She took up her forgotten cup of still-warm porridge and ate the final spoonfuls while deep in thought. Setting her cup aside, she said, If ye're tellin' me -- e'en in the face o' threats like this -- one o' my meager quality can help to save my kin," Her stormy, grey eyes fixed his gaze with a firm, determined glint in the firelight. "Then I'm tellin' ye, I'm listenin'."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded at Destini..

"The threat we are both interested in stopping comes from unknown parties, but the tools for the attack are coming through Holland and England it would seem.

With warnings and antidotes delivered here, there is not much else to be done in Ireland. We have information to gather in England and hopefully be able to help stop the entire thing before it gets moving.

Eyes and ears in taverns and towns can spot things the King's men or the Cardinal cannot. That is where attache's or operatives come in.

You are welcome to join me en route to England and the next phase of the Cardinal's instructions. I hope his other attache's have dug up a more clear picture by the time we get there.

With luck there will be ships in Port Lairge to take us to England straight away.

Are you up for the trip?"

Allan too a sip from his flask and put it away again.

Destini

Destini nodded slowly. His reasoning was sound. Though, it would mean leaving her homeland and her kin, she had always gone her own way. "To England, then," she agreed softly. She moved to pull her bedroll from her satchel and put her harp away while she was at it. "I s'pose we'd best rest while we can," she said. "It appears we've a long journey before us."

Destini removed her cloak for the first time and hung it on a protruding nail beside the fire to dry. She hung her wet hood on top of it and laid her leather shoes beside the hearth. As undressed as she was going to be in the cold weather with a relative stranger, she pulled down the top layer of her bedroll.

The wind kicked up again and battered against the abandoned way-house. The fire shivered in a draft of air that snuck through an unseen hole in the weathered wooden walls. "One thing I amnae goin' to miss is the Irish weather, that's fer certain," she said, though it was a lie. Eire was her home. She knew she'd miss everything about it -- most especially her clan. She laid back and tried to calm her racing thoughts and fears ... doubting she'd be successful at all.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Rest is surely called for, " Allan agreed, "And I too will completely fail to miss the weather. I wish it would consider missing us.

I should tell you though, that in England, as the great sage Lord Moore once said unless otherwise specified, conditions may be considered damp.

Destini wrote:

Destini

(ooc: rolling this forward, since we have a boat to catch ...)

A day later...

The exterior walls of Port Lairge rose up before her as she walked amicably at Deacon Brightpoint's side. So close to the sea, the smell of salt was in the air. After her meeting with the deacon, it had been an uneventful journey. Which really was the best kind. Still, her arrival at Port Lairge was only the beginning.

As they approached the city's walls, a gruff gate guard asked their names and business. "I'm Destini MacKenzie, minstrel by trade. I hear the port here is the busiest in all Ireland. We're seekin' travel to England if any ships are headed that way..."

The gate guard took down her name and waved them through without answering her.

Once they were through the gate, she sighed and turned to Brightpoint. "I s'pose our first order o' business is to find a ship, then."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan grinned...

"Well the port seems to have a fair lot of ships in. I also need to send old Peck here off with an update for the Cardinal. And to tell him he won the bet. He'll have to wait til I get back to Sussex to collect the Shilling though, Peck might think it is a treat and have a go at it."

Destini wrote:

(ooc: rolling this forward, since we have a boat to catch ...)

A day later...

Destini

Destini looked sharply to Brightpoint. "So, ye're a gambler too, mm, Deacon? Yer 'unremittin' worldliness' certainly comes in many shapes an' sizes. Though, it surprises me that the cardinal would encourage ye." Although, she very much wanted to know what the bet was about, they had a ship to find and board. Once aboard, they would have plenty of time to talk during the crossing. Her questions could wait.

She turned to look at the port city and noticed for the first time that banners proclaiming Winterfest hung on every block. The streets were crowded with men, women, and children alike all in thier Sunday best and enjoying the festivities. "Seems we've arrived durin' a city-wide celebration," she noted, turning back to Brightpoint with a smirk. "I trust ye willnae gamble away yer fare fer the ship on yer way to send the pigeon off."

Grinning, she turned away in the direction of the harbor.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan laughed aloud, "Aye...but just a little bit of a gambler. Cardinal faheud and I have given more shillings to the Hospital of St. Thomas by solving disagreements with a shilling bet....The loser has to withstand Reverend Mother Mary Persephone's staring and glaring when she learns where the donation came from...

I'll meet you down near the docks... mind the sailors on leave...they can be.....rambunctious..."

Allan turned and walked towards the Abbey with peck on his shoulder...

Destini wrote:

Destini

As she dodged through the crowd of festivital activities and merry-makers toward the port, her thoughts wandered back to all she'd heard the previous night. She couldn't stop herself from sorting and re-sorting the details she already knew about the threat to her kin.

Although Brightpoint had never specifically mentioned the word 'poison', the word 'antidote' implied it. In her mind, poison was a coward's method to murder. But it was also a tool of a very patient and careful murderer. Whatever she might learn and be able to deduce by listening in taverns and towns, she doubted very much that whoever was behind this would be discovered by waiting them out, hoping they'd make a mistake.

At least there were vials of the antidote near Zan should she and Brightpoint prove unable to stop the attempt on His Majesty's life. She paused at that thought. Vials. Plural. Why would the cardinal send more than one vial of the antidote to Padraig? Unless he was expecting more than one attempt. Or unless more than Zanditin were threatened. She did not like that thought at all.

But the more she thought about it, the more she was certain that was the case. The cardinal had sent Brightpoint to Eire when Padraig had been duke. That the King and the current dutchess of An Mumhain were both of Clan MacKenzie likely simplified matters for Brightpoint. But that did not mean only those of the clan were in danger.

The matter of Brightpoint's needing to see a man about a bishop came back to her mind. Was that why Brightpoint had gone to the abbey? He could have sent the pigeon from anywhere. And what of his mission to this Order of Saint George in England? All she knew was that it was connected to his mission in Eire. Were there people in England threatened as well? Or was it just because this threat came to Eire through England? She made a mental note to ask Brightpoint when she got the chance.

Her thoughts had seen her all the way to the harbor. Destini was jarred from her ponderings by a large, tanned sailor on his way from one of the ships. She dodged out of his way just before he would have bumped into her. With a thanks to whatever grace had given her lightness of feet, Destini went back on her way. The harbormaster's office was straight ahead. Smiling at her luck, she entered the office to inquire about passage to England.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan made his way to the Abbey of St. Eillis and asked at the gate for a moment of the Abbot's time and a place to write a short letter.

The brother manning the anteroom today showed him to a small cell, and went off to inform the Abbot that he had a guest.

Allan began writing on a small strip of parchment.

"Your Grace,

it seems it will be me passing a shilling beyond the stern gaze of Mother Mary Persephone this time.

I will see to it when I arrive back in Sussex. Also, the first part of the mission is a mixed success--packages delivered, but received with something other than a sense of urgency. It looks like prevention will be more powerful than the cure.

We may have a budding new attache in the mix--she is off arranging our passage back to England.

Someone really needs to sort the church out over here. This level of general apathy cannot be coincidental.

In Service

AB"

Destini

Destini emerged from the harbormaster's office. Daubigny had been exceedingly helpful in securing passage to England. All that was left now was to wait.

With Brightpoint nowhere in sight and there being some time before the ship left port, she decided to wander the city. She'd never been to Port Lairge before and the festival was an excellent excuse to see what the city had to offer.

Deciding on a nearby street, Destini set out to see what she could see.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan had been pacing for what seemed a near eternity. This whole lack of patience thing was yet another aspect of his worldliness that was forever an opportunity to improve. He scowled at the bare walls of the Abbey's reception area, wondering what kind of mud-daubed decor lay within.

His time for wondering vanished though as the Abbot himself glided into the entrance hall, extending a hand

Allan kissed the ring and inclined his head

"Father Abbott, I have been unable to locate Bishop Albrecht. I have a letter and a package for him that is quite urgent and I must take ship back to England. Can I leave it in your care?"

"Rushing off so soon, Deacon Allan?" disapproved the Abbot with a frown.

"It seems I must, Father Abbott." Allan agreed.

"Leave the materials with me and I shall send someone to the Cathedral with it tomorrow or the next day, " commented the Abbott in a bored tone.

"I expect.Father.Abbott.The.Cardinal.will.prefer.today. Kindly see that I do not need to report otherwise."

Deacon Allan thrust the package into startled hands and left the hall without further comment. He hated throwing names around, but good lord, what did an attache have to do to effect a sense of urgency in this country?

Just then he looked farther down the street and saw Destini disappearing into the bazaar area.

"I wonder what she's up to?" murmured Allan as he followed a discreet distance behind to avoid startling her.

Destini

The streets were crowded with a multitude of festival-goers here to see the sites. Those from out of town were easily spotted as they were usually pulling at one another with a pointed finger and shout of "Ooh! Look here!" Certainly, there was much to see here. The foods that stocked the merchant's shelves were more varied than any she'd ever seen. Doubtless they were brought to this port town from far beyond the sea.

Those who called Port Lairge their home were not as easily spotted as those who were visiting. They were more subdued, paying more attention to the specific activities of the festival and less to the general comings and goings. A general hum of happiness was in the air from all who were about the streets.

Or almost all ....

In the midst of the hustle and bustle of the festivities, she caught sight of a slow-moving figure out the corner of her eye. It was behind her, weaving in and out of the crowds. Unlike the others, this figure did not appear to be paying attention to anything the town or festival had to offer. She suddenly wondered how dangerous this mission was. Could Brightpoint have been followed to Eire?

She dared not look on the figure directly. She didn't want her tracker to know she had noted him ... at least, she guessed it was a him by the way he moved. She endeavored to remain calm as her heart pounded in her chest.

She casually stopped at a women's clothing merchant and admired a lovely crimson bodice. She made a show of grinning at the merchant and peering into the small window to see the wares inside. It was an excuse, really, to look at the reflection in the glass and see behind her. Unable to locate the figure in the reflection, she settled on a new plan. She stepped inside the merchant's shop and kept keen watch on the open doorway and the crowds sweeping by beyond. She stood, tensed to strike at the shadowy figure with her staff should he walk in behind her.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As he walked down the crowded street, Allan noticed Destini up ahead looking more and more agitated and restive. Eventually, the darted into a shop.

"Wonder what that is about?" Allan muttered, but stopped short when he saw the dark cloaked figure stroll into the door behind Destini a moment later..

Allan removed his own cloak and handed it with a small coin to a child near a fruit stall. "Hold this for me and there is 5 more coins to come!"

Allan padded silently through the crowd and went into the shop to see what was going on...

Destini

The sunlight in the doorway was suddenly obscured as a dark, cloaked figure cut off the only exit. Destini suddenly wondered if she'd chosen poorly by taking this confrontation into a shop where she couldn't escape if she had to. She made a mental note to pick a shop with a back door next time ...

... if there was a next time.

She was about to take a swing at the figure, when he swayed on his feet and pulled a bottle from beneath his large cloak and took a long swig.

"Oy!" called the merchant-woman from the back. "If Ah've told ye once, Ah've told ye a thousand times NOT to bring that devil's drink in mah store! Out! Out wit' ye!" She shooed the man from her doorway and looked to Destini with an annoyed expression. "Oh, Aye, festivals bring in the cash, they do. But they also bring in the dregs o' society!" She harumphed loudly and went back to stocking her shelves.

Destini blinked. Had she been so engrossed in thoughts about this mission that she'd taken a drunkard for a part of the threat? She looked back to the doorway where the dark figure had been and saw Brightpoint standing in the doorway.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Ello there....how's the shopping?"

Before he could go on, a merchant woman bellowed from the back of the shop.

"OY and BLOODY Ell! I said OUT WI YE!

O.

Wait.

Ahhhh Deacon Allan, a pleasure to see ye again....was just chasing the scurvy drunk out of 'ere and you popped up..."

Allan chuckled

"Well, it would not be the first warm reception I have received in this country..."

Destini

Destini wasn't sure whether she should relax her defensive posture or not. She looked between Brightpoint and the merchant woman a couple times before finally settling her gaze on Brightpoint with her eyebrows raised.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled lightly at the unasked question. "Mistress Maihri here was kind enough to direct me to the Cloak and Tackle across the road when I stumbled in here fresh out of the Irish sea with only half a cloak--the other half probably still snagged in the rigging of a pirate's ship.

My work in the Abbey is as done as done can be, so I am ready to leave as soon as you find passage. Any luck at the docks?"

Destini

Brightpoint's adventures -- or were they mis-adventures? -- never failed to amaze Destini. She softened her stance and smiled at him genuinely. "Aye, actually. 'Tis a ship scheduled to leave fer England before sunset today. Given that 'tis past midday now, we've time to board, but not much."

She stepped through the doorway of the clothing merchant's store and back on to the street. Stopping, a thought occurred to her. "Deacon Brightpoint, if ye wouldnae mind a slight detour, I've a mind to send a letter to my clan from the town hall before we leave. Pagan especially will want to know what I'm up to. An' I did promise her I'd write. Given that I willnae get another chance fer a bit ...," she trailed off. Who knew when she would get a chance to write her best friend again? Her brow furrowed at the thought of leaving her kin to fend this threat for themselves. But if she could stop the threat before it reached them, so much was for the better.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well that seems perfectly fair. Lesson one of Attache field work: have a mind not to put anything in a letter you would not mind the enemy intercepting and having a quick read, though...Lead on!"

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini frowned at Brightpoint's final statement, but nodded her agreement anyway. Turning, she led the way through the city strees to where she had seen the town hall in passing on her way from the gates of the city to the harbor.

Inside, she explained her need to the clerk and he gave her paper, pen and ink grudgingly, which was understandable given how precious such commodities were. Destini, with a sigh at Brightpoint's stern instruction, placed pen to paper.

~ Port Lairge, An Mumhain, Eire ~ 16 February 1459 ~

Pagan,

I'm writing this letter to you at the town hall of Port Lairge. The clerk tells me he'll run it down to the taverns as soon as I'm done writing it. I told him the taverns are the best place to find you. I wish I could have shared one final pint with you before I left. But, alas, it was not to be. Drink a pint for me, lass.

As soon as I post this letter to you, I will be boarding a ship for England with Deacon Brightpoint. I think you probably remember him from Oddman's and Airiana's wedding. I'd tell you why I'm going to England with him, but he's reading this letter over my shoulder right now to ensure I don't give away any information that could be used against ... well, anyone. I think he's worried that it could be intercepted.

Know that I'm not leaving you, my clan and kin, or my homeland lightly or easily. But this is something I feel I have to do.

Be sure to share this letter with the rest of the clan and give them my sincerest well-wishes. I'll write to you as oft as I can in my travels and make haste back to Eire as soon as I'm able to return.

Please be safe, all of you.

I remain yours in clan-oath and sincerest friendship,
~ Desti ~

She folded the paper and handed it to the clerk. Turning to Brightpoint she said, "Let's be aboard. Onward to England."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan nodded and said quietly, "By the way, we have known each other for only a very short time, but I sense you have stepped out of your comfort zone for the betterment of those you care a lot about in your Clan. That is well done and I am impressed. I hope you are proud of yourself.

Let's to ship, then, and I can fill you in on more of what one in my ...perhaps our...line does for Kin, Crown, and Cardinal.

Destini

She blushed and bowed her head at his unexpected compliment. True, she was leaving everyone and everything she knew behind. But what choice did she have? She could either stand and watch and wait while the worst happened or she could -- how had Brightpoint put it? -- happen to tomorrow instead. She left the town hall with Brightpoint and walked with him to the port.

She hesitated as she stepped on the gangplank to board the Venus. Looking back on the snowy hills of her homeland, she allowed a silent moment for her leaving. "I'll be back," she whispered to the cold, Irish air. Then she turned to board the ship bound for England.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan followed Destini up the gangplank and also paused at the top. he grinned impishly at Destini and turned to face the land

"I'll be back as well, Ireland! Though, to be fair, in my case it is more of a warning than a promise..."

He then turned and followed Destini to meet the crew of the Venus.

Destini

The crew were soldiers, bound on a campaign of some kind. They were efficient at their work and Destini gathered it would be best to stay as much out if their way as possible.

The final call for boarders was shouted and, when noone else boarded, the gangplank was hoisted in. The ropes binding the vessel to the pier were untied and hauled aboard with a speed and efficiency that impressed her. On a cry from the captain, the anchor was raised and the men took up oars, rowing the ship out of the harbor.

Destini leaned against the side rail and watched as the shore of her homeland moved away from the side of the ship. When they were far enough out of the port, the white canvas sails were lowered and tied down. They billowed as they caught a perfect wind from the west. The ship creaked and groaned under the new force, but eventually the ship glided foreward on wings of canvas.

Destini, still leaning on the rail and trying to stay out of the way, looked to Brightpoint. "So, Deacon Brightpoint, we're on our way," she said. "Since we've some time to wait, how 'bout that bit o' explanation on kin, crown, an' cardinal ye promised me?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan basked briefly in the rising salt breeze that was caressing the deck of The Venus once she hit open water. It was a fine sunny day today, and the water was as blue as he'd seen in non-tropical waters.

"In the service of Kin, Crown, and Cardinal, is a role both more and less complicated than it sounds.

It can be very simple, do what is best for all concerned.

It can be very complicated, as what will please a clan will not necessarily help the King and what serves the King will sometimes underwhelm a cardinal.

The key is to look to look at the core needs of all involved. They boil down to very simple things.

Your clan wishes to be healthy, happy, grow stronger, and keep its members safe. A King wishes to stay alive, his reign to be secure, to have an heir, and to have peace and prosperity enforced and enabled across the land. The Cardinal wishes people to treat each other well, the church to prosper while serving the needs of the people, and war and/or chaos be prevented.

Thus, when news of a plot surrounding new, oriental poisons reached the Cardinal's ears, he took it very seriously--worrying that chaos and mayhem would ensue if Kings and nobles were assassinated. This war and chaos would invariably worsen the lot of the many parishes in the English-speaking lands.

There are inevitably powers that would not want a mission to succeed that revolves around saving the intended victims and exposing the plotters.

Such would explain the extraordinary amount of ambushes from highwaymen and pirates I encountered all across England and the Irish sea.

"I mean, really...three pirate ships attacking a small merchant vessel? A bit much unless it was *very* important to stop, destroy, or intercept that particular ship, passengers, and cargo."

"In the end," Allan continued, "One has to be willing to find a way around *any* obstacle or challenge in order to complete a mission accepted."

Destini

Destini listened to Brightpoint's explanation. "I s'pose that," she said, furrowing her brow in thought, "that explains why ye have so many oaths that bind ye.

"But how do ye keep so many thoughts an' goals in mind whilst still accomplishin' the mission ye were set out to achieve? In addition to avoidin' those at odds with yer mission, surely, at times, clan, king, an' cardinal donae see eye to eye."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Because, my dear, I do not have the intellectual range of a teaspoon..."

"Seriously, I keep them all in order because I have to and nothing less will suffice..."

Destini wrote:

Destini

She shook her head, still frowning. He had answered her question right enough. But he hadn't answered what she really wanted to know. She paused a moment, trying to figure out how to ask her question in a different way. "But there have to be priorities. Should one naysay the other, whom do ye follow?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The light of understanding flashed across Allan's face.

"Ahhhh... yes. The precedence of law would dictate priority.

The Laws and will of Jah

The Laws and will of the Rightful Crown

The laws and will of the County

The expressed will of head of family, house, or clan.

Fortunately, these levels of conflict are rare enough, and when they have happened, I have always been able to find a solution that accomodated the needs of all involved....eventually.

Oh, and Forgiveness is a lot easier than permission at times..."
Allan walked to look out over the rail

"My various missions have been everything from listening to talk in taverns to delivering messages, to spying upon troop movements, ensuing a soldier survives in battle, bringing an unwilling guest to speak with the inquisition, ensuring that information the Cardinal needs dispersed becomes well known without being tied back to any source....bringing him a bottle of mediera from Rome..."

Destini wrote:

Destini

She nodded, considering the deacon at her side with a sideways glance. That her clan was at the bottom of his priorities was not surprising. It wasn't his clan, nor his kin. She didn't know if she were in his shoes that she could make the same decision so easily. "Well, fer my part," she said, "I hope it doesnae come to a conflict o' priorites."

She considered his latter statement. It all sounded very important ... except for one thing. "Information gatherin' an' dispersin', troop movements, escortin' important persons to safety an' whatknot. It all sounds like reasonable requests fer the cardinal to make o' those in his employ." She paused a moment to figure out how to address the part that didn't make sense. "But explain to me how a bottle o' mediera ends up on a list o' such important tasks?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan grinned, "Important....not always...though I suppose his point was important.

I once short-cut a little more than he was happy with on something, so he sent me to Rome for a bottle of Madiera. When I returned he accepted it with a smile and the words, 'What? No glasses?'
"So I went back and returned with Roman glass goblets. He smiled, accepting them cheerfully, and inquired....'Have you learned your lesson, or shall I send you back for cheese?'

Interesting and clever man, the Cardinal."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini laughed at Brightpoint's story. "I look foreward to meetin' him someday," she said in complete honesty.

The ship was picking up speed, catching a new, stronger breeze from the west. Destini's hair wafted in the wind. She ran her fingers through her black-brown locks to tame the stray wisps that fluttered in the sudden breeze.

In the quiet, comfortable pause in conversation, Destini's mind wandered to the uncertain future. Brightpoint had said that she was welcome to join him for the next phase of the Cardinal's instruction ... whatever that was. In her mind, she replayed the information she'd gleaned from her conversations with the deacon.

It occurred to her that Brightpoint had finally confirmed her suspicion that this threat was, indeed, a case of poision. What was more, he had mentioned it came from the Orient. "What do we know 'bout this Oriental poison?" Destini asked, her mind attempting to fill in blanks in the information she'd already gathered from the deacon. "How is it ministered? Concealed in food or drink, or is it somethin' else entirely?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan mused a span on Destini’s question before motioning to a couple of barrels that might make for comfortable sitting. “Have a seat my friend, this could take a while…”As the ship rose and fell on the waves encouraged by a freshening breeze, Allan stood by the pair of barrels, and allowed Destini to make first choice…

Destini

Brightpoint's reference to her as a 'friend' caught her attention. She barely knew the man, but somehow they'd forged a friendship in that short span of time. She smiled at the deacon and settled herself on one of the barrels. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her cloak about her to keep her warm in the February air. "Turns out, Deacon Brightpoint, we've a while to spare. Go on."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan commented blandly as they sat, “Poisons are nothing new. We have recorded stories of their use in ancient Greece, Rome, Egypt, the far orient…Apothecaries today carry many elixirs and extracts that can be applied as medicine in some ways, and as deadly poison in others.”

The deacon’s face was more-intense as he went on. “The bane of leaders in the church and of the kingdoms is the problem of the countless ways lives may be shortened or ended with the unseen poison in food, drink, clothing, candles, and what not.”

“One can never be too careful, especially when some very harmless things can combine into deadly peril. This ancient Chinese would combine as many as 5 ingredients in order to slyly eliminate a target. There were ancient charm coins that explained in pictures how to combine things

The charms like this one pointed the educated man towards specific plants, minerals, and animals..

Allan shook his head as he spoke.

“Sometimes the poisons would be all combined into one elixir to add to food or drink, to put on a sword or knife or arrows keen edges… but sometimes it is delivered over time, as separate ingredients.

We have been hearing rumors of a trinary, or three part poison delivered in several ways. Painted into barrels used to age whiskey is one ingredient that half the English-speaking world may have already been exposed to.

Another is melted into candle-wax, to impact people close to the altars at high mass—such as clergy and nobility…

We are unsure of the third element, and have thus gone for the antidote option as protection. The Asphiras flower from deep in China, along the Great Wall’s length seems to defeat one or more of the poison ingredients. An elixir of this is the antidotes now prepared at the Hospital of St. Thomas.

Allan held up a tiny clear vial, capped with silver and filled with a radiant blue liquid. These will save so many lives until we stop the poisoners…

“Who would think that this tiny thing could save a King or a Cardinal?”

Destini

Destini watched the deacon intently as he told his tale. Her eyebrows arched in surprise as he told of the two known ingredients. "Barrels o' whiskey?" Her breath caught in her throat as she thought of the connotations of that. "Brightpoint," she said carefully, "There was whiskey at Oddman's and Airiana's weddin'. Ye an' I both drank there. An' e'en if those particular barrels werenae poisoned, drinkin' is a way o' life in Eire ...."

She considered the second of the two known ingredients and added, "Perhaps the church's nigh absence in Eire will be the savin' grace o' my king. If the second part o' the poison is in church candles, 'tis likely willnae reach many in my country."

The vial sparkled like a gemstone in the shimmering sunlight. Destini peered up at it in wonder. "How did ye discover that this Asphiras flower was the true antidote fer this poison?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded, "one would think Eire safe, no? Sadly, beeswax is used in many types of candles for many purposes, be they of Jah's work, the druidic faith, or to light a table for Duke or Duchess or King. Or at a wedding table and or...I dunno...glade..I suspect that element is well and truly used throughout the realms of England, Scotland, and Ireland." Allan paused for a moment, considering before moving on, "They *can* light candles in Scotland, yes?"

As to the antidote, Master Zhan sent a collection of Asphiras plants to the Cardinal and instructions for the maintaining of them and how to use them. he has had them cultivated now for years at the Histpital of St. Thomas.

While investigating the illness of Sir Falcie Norton, the Cardinal himself was stricken ill and the elixir produced at the hispital rid him of the dire symptoms in a day.

Destini wrote:

Destini

The deacon's point about the candles made perfect sense, though she didn't like that it meant her kin were still in danger.

The story was becoming more extraordinary with each new fact she learned. "The cardinal himself was stricken?" she gasped.

It suddenly struck her as strange to her that a cardinal would perform the investigation in person. Surely, such a high ranking churchmen would have important things to attend to. Not that such an investigation into illness and death wasn't important. But as Cardinal Primate, Faheud would have duties to attend to throughout the English-speaking world. Where would he find the time to also perform the investigation? She looked up to Brightpoint with a narrowed gaze as if she might see the truth of his tale by peering at him in a certain way. "Tell me, deacon, was it the cardinal who performed the investigation? Or one o' his attaches?" She gazed deeply at Brightpoint, wondering. "Who is this Sir Falcie Norton?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan grinned at the inference in 'or one o his attaches?'

"well, m'dear, the head of the Hospital of St. Thomas is one of the Cardinal's most long standing associates, the very Reverend Mother Mary Persephone. When she told the Cardinal to come quickly for dire news, you can bet he took to horse, tearing across two counties to get there.

And he was indeed stricken, but as I said, the antidote saved him straight away.

Sir Falcie Norton was a General, former English Earl Marshal, and Knight Commander of the Order of St. George. Much of the prowess at strategy and arms that led England to defeat Anto at Carlisle was due to Sir Falcie.

Small wonder that powers wanting England a bit less agile and effective in matters of war might target him, eh?"

Destini

As a poet and minstrel, the change in tenses was not lost on Destini. "Was?" she said past a knot in her throat. "This Sir Falcie is dead then. So, there have been fatalities." she concluded. She stared at the deck of the Venus and followed the woodgrain below her feet with her eyes. She had known this was no idle quest, that this was life and death. But now she knew that at least one death had already occurred at the hands of those who preferred chaos to order. It placed things into a new, more urgent perspective.

"If the cardinal took ill with this same poison, how is it that ye donae yet know the third piece o' this trinary poison? Surely, if ye looked at everythin' His Grace came into contact with, ye'd find the third ingredient."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan sighed. "When you have met the Cardinal, you will come to appreciate how much territory he covers, and just how hopeless using him as a key to the third ingredient is...

Would that I could examine his larder and turn out the guilty...but no..."

Destini

That was a fair answer, and Destini nodded to indicate she understood. The Cardinal Faheud was not just any cardinal. He was the cardinal of the entire English-speaking church. The same reasons that made it seem strange for the cardinal to do his own investigating likely also made narrowing the poison's final ingredient impossible. Even Brightpoint had said that His Grace had 'ridden across two counties' when the Reverend Mother had called. Such travel would inevitably make for a very large haystack in which to find a very small needle.

But what of the late Sir Falcie?

"How did ye come across the first two ingredients, then?" Destini wondered, then added just as quickly, "Perhaps ye matched the Cardinal's an' Sir Falcie's - Jah rest him - activities?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Excellent question. I remember how the Cardinal sighed when I asked it myself. It seems one of his late attache's stole the information from Anto Capone's lady friend during a frolic. Anto found out and dispatched him later, but not before Captain Wilkins sent a pigeon."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini stiffened and looked directly at Brightpoint with eyes wide. She kicked her feet off the barrel to dangle down towards the deck she'd been staring at. "Deacon Brightpoint!" she said, alarmed. "Are ye sayin' 'tis Anto behind this?" She wasn't sure she believed it, and her expression showed it.

What was more, in the past several minutes he had told her the threat she'd joined him to stop had already been carried out ... at least in part or in practice if not in whole. "Ye've told me now o' two men's deaths an' the cardinal's attempted assassination. Oh, I knew 'twas dangerous when I agreed to join ye. But this?"

Agitated, she hopped off the barrel and walked away from Brightpoint. She turned back to him, trying to keep her voice down lest the sailors overhear. When she spoke, her voice was a harsh whisper. "Just how dangerous is this mission o' yers, Deacon Brightpoint?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's face took on a stony expression.

"Dangeerous enough that good men have died

Dangerous enough that more will die unless this is stopped.

I did not say Anto is behind it--although for him to be a tool in the cause would not astonish me, but the whole is rather a bit more organized and evil than his lack of attention span could muster.

This is not a pastime or a pleasant thing. It is far from safe. But it is a chance to make one amazing difference in the world..."

Destini

Destini narrowed her eyes at Brightpoint. "I didnae think 'twas a pasttime, Deacon," she said evenly. "Ye've offered me a chance to save my kin, an' I've accepted. Ye'll recall that amongst my beliefs is that when I say I'll do somethin' or commit myself to a cause, I'll see it through. I didnae join ye on yer mission lightly."

Turning away from him, she leaned on the railing to look out at the endless horizon. "I only wish ye an' the news ye carry had made it to Eire before any had died." The edge was gone from her voice.

She didn't look over at Brightpoint as she added, "Life is far too important."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan almost whispered "Of all the afflictions that plague this world, perhaps the most irksome is mankind's tendency to not believe a threat is real until there is suddenly an abundant supply of bodies about the place....."

Destini wrote:

Destini

The chill of truth went down Destini's spine when Brightpoint spoke. "Aye," she agreed. "I s'pose that's so."

The riptide below them churned in the wake of the boat's progress to England. Destini watched it for a moment before a thought occurred to her. "Brightpoint," she said almost absently.

She turned to the deacon, leaning on the rail with her right arm. Her expression was a mask of deep thought as she continued, "Given what ye've just said, an' that no one has yet died in Eire ... how did my clan take the news o' this threat?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan grimaced. "Clear incredulity. Very polite, but it got all of the urgency one might apply to protecting a pigeon. At least that is how their reaction landed with me..."

Destini wrote:

Destini

She frowned at his words, thinking about how the conversation had looked to her from across the clearing. "But," she said, speaking her thoughts aloud, "the parchment, the vials o' the elixir ... they believed nothin'?"

Mention of the antidote reminded her she had another question about the conversation. "Then why give Padraig three vials o' the antidote? E'en if he did believe ye, why three? Are ye expectin' more than one attempt upon His Majesty's life? or are there others in Eire directly threatened?" If the threat wasn't heeded -- and it appeared it may not be --, how many in Eire would die if they failed? She didn't dare ask that question aloud.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Three vials," said Allan, "protection against breakage, opportunity to ensure one is somewhere around likely victims...I too noticed they did not ask for more, did not try to clarify how to use them, did not ask where the plot was coming from. They in fact talked just long enough to get me out of their day. For all I know the vials are at the bottom of a cistern, or handed off to a functionary in case someone decides they are needed later."

Destini wrote:

Destini

"I hope they willnae be needed at all," Destini said softly. She was beginning to realize with every question answered that the fates of so many were depending on the works of so few. The fact that she was part of that group of 'few' was a little daunting. She'd never wanted more than to travel and share her music. Yet here she was on a boat to England.

"We must find out who's behind this," said Destini seriously. "Given what ye've told me, I fear, against this threat, the cardinal, yerself, an' I will be the only ones lookin' out fer Eire."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked out to sea and pondered the problem a moment...

"Well if it is only one to look out for Eire, they chose well enough methinks.

I wonder...this trip is going in a smooth fashion and I note the lack of piratical incursions into my immediate vicinity.

I have to say that without the constant threat of imminent death hanging about my head and shoulders, I feel a bit under-dressed...."

Destini wrote:

--Raven_in_the_foregate

Seeker flew out over the bland water, farther than he had ever gone in one go. Find Ship. Wait. Bring Master when ship get to feeding place.

Was that speck in the far distance? Boat?!

Must see.

Strong wings glide on river of air.

Destini

Destini shook her head at Brightpoint. "We've at least four days o' this journey to go ... or so I was told by a member o' the crew when I signed us up. I hope ye willnae be holdin' yer breath the entire trip waitin' fer somethin' terrible to occur."

She thought a moment before also adding, "At the same time, I hope ye willnae be relaxin' yer guard either. In Eire we've well learned that if ye donae watch fer trouble, trouble will certainly find ye."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded, "Ahh, well. There you are then. They've four days to catch up with me then.

I have found that watch for it or not, it will tend to keep turning up. The key is to be ready for it. I'll consider it a victory to get to walk ashore this time.

Well, Sun has nearly gone in. I think I shall explore below-decks and see if the rumors of a tavern on-board are actually true...

Destini

Favorable winds made for a rapid trip and the Venus made an early and safe arrival in Egremont only three days later.

There was a fog on the sea as the Venus pulled into the port waters to wait for the harbormaster's permission to dock. The early morning sun had thus far failed to shine, leaving the world enshrouded in shadow. The landscape was obscured from Destini’s sight as she emerged from below deck. The misty shapes of ships, shops, and shore melded together to form her first glimpse of England.

The frigid, moist air clung to her skin like a fabric with a high fiber count, soft and smooth. Destini raised her hood to keep the gentle mist as much at bay as possible. Sounds from far away were hard to hear in the heavy air. So close to shore, she should have been able to hear the hustle and bustle of the dockworkers. Instead, she heard nothing but the gentle lap of shallow water against the hull of the Venus. Even the gulls were quiet. The only bird sound was that of a single raven.

She shivered.
_________________

--Raven_in_the_foregate

Crow nesting, pigeon man questing
boat seeking, sails finding
swift flying, master calling
wait shortened mischief managed

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Stepping up from the Galley, Allan too a look out over the rail. This did not really smell like Egremont, but perhaps it was the oily mist that hung about everything.

He rather wondered when they could get solid land under their feet and stop being holed up on a ship with few comfortable or convenient exits.

Things never really went well when he was out of exits...

--.elias.

Hand over hand I climb the rope ladder from my rowboat to the deck. The captain offers me his hand at the top to help me aboard. I do not accept it. I pull myself up on my own power. My men clamber up behind me. They fan out along the railing and wait for my command. I have trained them well. "Captain," I say. My voice is smooth as ink. "I trust you have the cargo manifest and passenger roster for Port Egremont’s review?" In the silence of the muffling mist, my voice seems loud although I’m barely raising it. I care not. Let them overhear me.

The captain hands me two parchments. I ignore the cargo manifest and scan the list of passengers and crew. I spot the name I’m looking for. "No … this will never do," I say. I thrust the papers back at the captain. "I cannot let your ship dock."

He makes an excuse. They always do. "Why? We’re not carrying anything we haven’t before!"

I see a cloaked figure on the deck... a woman. I recall the only female name on the roster. I fix my gaze on her. "Are you … wholly certain of that ... Captain?" I ask him. He follows my gaze and says nothing. He gets my point. Good.

My shoes click on the moist deck as I walk toward her. "Miss MacKenzie, is it not?" I ask with a smile that never reaches my eyes.

_____________

Destini

She had been listening to the conversation. How could she not? The mist that blocked sounds from the port amplified them on the ship. She had watched the men climb up the boat. Far too many of them to be coincidental. She watched the man in charge carefully, wondering what he’d seen on the papers to deny them permission to go ashore. When he looked at her, she turned her hooded head away, pretending she hadn’t been listening. Her ears were hyper-aware of a single set of footsteps walking across the deck to her.

Quote:

"Miss MacKenzie, is it not?"

Destini stiffened. That he knew her name was no surprise. After all, he’d just been looking at the passenger roster. But it unnerved her nonetheless. She wondered if that wasn’t the point. She turned to face him. "Aye, my lord," she answered, curtseying low and bowing her head. He carried himself as a man of station. Her curtsey showed her respect for that station. If it also allowed her an excuse not to look into those cold eyes, so much the better. "What can I do fer ye?"
_________________

--.elias.

She curtsied. How quaint. I do not return her gesture of respect. I have none for her. "I am searching for a man ... a traitor.... against the crown of England. The roster says you ... boarded this ship ... together ...."

I watch her face carefully. Her expression will tell me if she knows him. "His name is ... Allan Brightpoint. Perhaps ... you know him?"

________________

Destini

Destini attempted to keep her face blank as she pondered the man's words. If there was ever a time for a performer's skill, now was the moment. Traitor? Brightpoint? She couldn't believe it.

She crossed her arms across her chest, using her singer's skill to sharpen her voice. "Aye, my lord, a man boarded after me," she said with a note of frustration, putting on the guise of an irked passenger who had just been stopped from reaching a pressing appointment. This man didn't know she was a perfomer. No need for him to find out, either. "But we werenae together," she said, continuing. "Oh, aye, I've seen him now an' then 'bout the ship, but, well, I donae associate with traitors. What's he done that ye cannae let us dock?" Perhaps if she could convince this man to allow the ship to dock, Brightpoint could get to shore a way other than the gangplank. He might not thank her should he get wet on his way to shore again, but at least he'd not be arrested.

She sighed as if in exhausted frustration. "We've had a long journey, lord. An' I notice ye've not e'en introduced yerself. Who are ye that ye've the power to deny us passage to shore?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan went through the chakra's to maintain calm and poise. *That* offal...that fraud... was here.

He watched from the shadows, listening with preternaturally keen detail. Just when the moment was right....he would act...

--.elias.

I wonder at her hurry to reach the shore. She's an inquisitive wench. Her questions try my patience. I want Allan Brightpoint. The sooner the better. This irksom girl seems to be a dead end. Yet I cannot ignore the cooincidence of the deacon boarding directly in her wake. "I am ... Lord Elias ... charged by the crown to find this ... traitor." I circle the wench, watching her carefully. If I unnerve her enough, she may tell me what I wish.

"He calls himself a deacon ... earning himself the prestige of the church .... He is nothing of the kind ... a cunning charlatan. He has caused mass panic across the king's lands with his ... fictional accounts .... the poisoning of kings. It is my ... duty ... to stop his antics before they cause further ... mayhem."

I stop circling her to meet her eyes with my silver gaze. "I ask you again, Miss MacKenzie .... Do you know .. where he is?"

_____________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan listened to the conversation as he walked up from the galley, unseen by the man speaking to Destini. He knew the voice and was appalled that the enemy would choose such a ham-handed agent. Didn't he merit someone who actually had talent? Ah well, no sense letting him creep out Destini any longer.

In a voice that cracked like a whip, Allan spoke from athe shadows as he approached...

"Elias...Elias...Elias.... Lords, can't the Nameless One's folk find someone better to throw in my path?"

"Lord Elias, Eh? Lord of what?! Serving what Crown? You have a warrant I trust?"

Allan stepped up the gangway from the galley behind Destini, the fraud and his minions all in front of him.

--.elias.

That voice. I know that voice. I turn stiffly. The snap of his tone is as an actual whip to my back. Let me see my quarry! "Brightpoint...." I hiss at the shadows from whence the voice comes.

He steps forward. I watch him carefully with a steely gaze. I listen as he babbles. I wait impatiently until he is done. I shake my head from side to side. A smirk teases the corner of my mouth. "The Nameless One holds more sway here than you know ... deacon .... You have been gone from England for .. quite a long time. Much has changed since you were last home. Your church is weakening. Your faith is a ... dying breed. The order you once knew here is ... gone." My smirk becomes an outright grin. The hopelessness of his situation amuses me.

"You have ... no idea ... what you're walking into...."

__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded sagely.... "Aye...much has changed indeed if you are still stumbling free about the lands in search of relevance.

And Yet.

Since you admit you are NOT under authority of the Crown--or any other actual entity with rights over this port--I suggest you get yourself and your knuckle-draggers off this ship before the Captain decides to chuck you and your lot over the side, attached to a rusty anchor.

As for me? I have not been gone that long and *you*--as usual--fail to merit my attention."

Allan turned on his heel and walked back down the gangway towards the galley, disappearing into the shadows....

--.Elias. wrote:

--.elias.

Insolence! My patience is wearing thin. I? Not worth his time?

Very well.

Let him fight his way through my men to safety. "Find him! Bring him to me!" I order my men. They thunder past me into the shadows.

Allan Brightpoint will fail. I am certain of it.

___________________

Destini

She looked between them, startled into watching as the pair hurled insults at one another. It was clear that they knew each other. It was frighteningly apparent that they were old enemies.

What should have been obvious, but wasn't, was that standing between them was unwise. She realized her sudden danger as Brightpoint faded into the shadows and moved to follow him, hoping to go unnoticed.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Two sets of cloddish boots stomped past Allan down the hallway into the galley.

One set lagged behind. Bad news for him really.

In a motion that could not have been seen in broad daylight, Allan darted out of the alcove and slapped a stifling cloth across the mouth of a surprised thug.

It was surprising how heavy these thugs could be when knocked unconscious against a bulwark.

No matter, in short order the fellow was dozing away, oblivious to the odd sight he created-all trussed up like a holiday pheasant in the boat Elias had brought over from shore.

One down....two to go.

--.elias.

I see the wench is anxious to be away. I cannot allow her to get in the way of my men.

I reach out. Almost gentlemanly, I take the wench's arm. I pull her back from following my quarry. "Take care, my dear. I should not wish you to be harmed in the struggle below decks. You are far ... safer here."

A loud thump sounds below me. I smirk. Allan Brightpoint's end is near.

________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stood over the pair of men tied up like hogs to market in the small boat tied along side the Venus. It was now time to find the last of the henchmen before send Elias to inspect the hull for new barnacle infestations

"You lads sit tight now...mmm?"

He needed to make sure Elias got back to his owners sufficiently intact as to be able to deliver a message....The deacon was no longer traveling alone, so he needed to put these sorts of idiot attempts to rest for a span....

Ahh...wait....he heard a pair of boots slinking slowly up the steps from the hold by the Captain's quarters. Just as he saw the hood coming up the steps, Allan also spotted a *very* handy belaying pin....

Destini

Destini tried to pull away from Elias' surprisingly strong grip. Despite her nimble fingers, she was unable to pull free. "Unhand me!" she cried defiantly. She wished her staff was in her hand rather than with her satchel below deck. She could give Elias a fight with it in her grasp. But, as it was, she was powerless to do more than struggle.

A second thump reverberated across the wooden ship. Sounds of a struggle reached her ears. She hoped Brightpoint was faring better than she was.
_________________

--.elias.

She struggles. Why do they always have to struggle? I pull my dagger from my belt. Its tip glints as ominously as my gaze. I aim both at her."Silence your tongue! Or I shall ... silence it for you!" My stern gaze says I am jot joking. I do not strike, though I want to. Let her force my hand. So much more satisfying if she forces my hand.

Now, where is my quarry?

The sound of a second scuffle worries me. The deacon should be mine by now! Why isn't he mine yet? "Bring. Me. Brightpoint!" I bellow to my men. My patience is all but gone.

_____________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Having finished depositing the last thug in the off-board vessel, Allan walked quietly across the deck, towards where Elias could be heard bellowing for his men.

Allan's heart stopped a moment as he saw the psychopath holding a knife up to Destini's throat.

The Deacon leaped into motion, still silent as the grave, deploying a side-sweeping, leaping tiger at the knife hand.

Boot met wrist and hilt, sending the knife flying over board, Elias stumbling back, and Allan to land in a crouch in front of Destini.

"Excuse me, sirrah. One must be careful with sharp objects or one will tend to get seriously hurt. Right now I recommend two things. First, get off this ship before the Captain realizes you are a fraud. Second, next time select thugs that are more....durable.

If this goes a moment further, we will all find out how durable YOU are..."

--.elias.

My cold eyes glare at my opponent. I pick myself up off the deck slowly. The wench and my knife are now both beyond my reach. I have an assignment to complete. Allan Brightpoint must not get to shore.

A growl sounds deep in my throat. I release it in a shout of fury. My men are worthless now. I will deal with the deacon myself! I lunge at my quarry. My hands reach for his throat.

Allan Brightpoint must die!

_____________________

Destini

Destini landed hard on the deck when Brightpoint kicked Elias down. Her heart pounded in her chest. Fear raced through her veins. Her life had never been threatened before. Elias's cold, soulless gaze chilled her. Within that look was a spark of anticipation at killing her. She believed he might have actually stood by to watch as the life faded from her eyes.

But Brightpoint had stopped him. She looked back at the two men as Elias stood up. The fury in his eyes was clear. She saw his intent on the deacon's life and her eyes went wide. "Allan!" she screamed.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan saw the lunging hands and stepped aside in a fading lantern movement. The deacon whirled in a stop-kick that slammed his attacker sideways into the railing on his knees.

"Get off this ship, Elias. You'll find your carry-on items already loaded onto the boat you arrived in. Go with Jah...but Go! "

Allan grabbed Alias' ankles and helped him up and over the rail in a flowing toss.

Turning back to Destini he asked, "Are you unharmed?"

Destini

Was she unharmed? Yes, she thought so. Her heart was still pounding in her ears and she wasn't sure she could trust her legs to hold her, but she was alive -- and so was Brightpoint. That was the important thing. Unable to find her voice, she nodded to him slightly with wide eyes to indicate she was alright.

Her own shout still echoed in her ears. In the height of the moment, she'd screamed a warning to the deacon. It was an understandable thing to do, but what bothered her was that she had used his first name. She had never used it before and he had never asked her to use it.

Still seated on the deck, she brushed aside the long strands of hair that had fallen in her face during the scuffle. Shocked tears pricked at her eyes. She bit her bottom lip to stop them before Brightpoint could see. Realizing she was shaking, she clasped her hands together in a vain attempt to maintain what little composure she still had.

They were alive, and lucky to be so.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan beamed a grin.

"Well, m'lady, I am delighted you are not injured. Apologies that trouble continues to try to prevent success in these endeavors. I am well relieved the enemy continues to hire agents that dwell blissfully free of the ravages of intellect.

What say we gather our belongings and hie for the nearest tavern before some other unfortunate soul decides to have a go?"

Destini

She picked herself up off the deck. Wringing her still-shaking hands, she found her voice and replied, "Aye, deacon, let's," With events returning to as relatively normal as things were around Brightpoint, Destini returned to calling him by his appropriate title. He hadn't commented on her use of his first name. Perhaps in the heat of the skirmish, he hadn't noticed.

A light on the shore pierced the fog and the ship moved forward under the power of the sailors' oars. They were likely cleared to dock by the real Harbormaster. Destini turned to gather her belongings below deck.

She snuck a look at the deacon as she passed him, wondering how he remained so calm about constantly having his life threatened. A drink at the tavern sounded delightful right now. She desperately needed a drink after this endeavor.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan walked down the gangplank towards the docks with Destini and the steady flow of passengers. Solid ground felt rather odd, but then it always took him a few minutes to warm up the land legs as it were.

The Deacon looked over at Destini who seemed to be roaming a field of her own thoughts and left her be for the moment as their path seemed to be heading right towards the dock-side tavern.

Allan kept his eyes subtly moving, looking for any sign of that idiot Elias--no sense letting that fool stumble into coincidental relevance by ignoring even the small risk Elias created for them.

"Ahhh Tavern ho! First round is on me!" Allan exclaimed as they went in the door

Destini

They entered the dock-side tavern. Given the darkness of the misty day, the candles on the tables were still lit. The atmosphere was dark but comfortable enough after the cramped mess aboard the ship.

Destini took a seat with her back facing a wall. If Elias entered the tavern, she wanted to see him coming. When the bartender set their drinks before them, Destini took a careful sip, recalling what Brightpoint had.said about the trinary poison. The whiskey didn't taste different, but then, neither had the drinks at the wedding. There was no way to know what was safe.

"How do ye do it, deacon?" she asked after a pause. "How do ye live every moment o' yer life in constant danger?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan sipped at his drink with a sense of contentment before he answered Destini's question.

"In the end, I believe I am addicted to overcoming danger and foolishness. The certainty of facing danger is greatly outweighed by the satisfaction of success and overcoming the power of stupid."

He looked at Destini appraisingly.

"I sense a wonderful lack of patience with evil intent or crass stupidity in you. It is one of your many fine qualities. What else but seeing a threat unchallenged or a need unanswered would have brought you here from Eire?""

Destini

Destini smiled for the first time in quite awhile. Her eyes sparkled softly n the candlelight as she met the deacon's gaze. "Curiosity," she admitted with a slow grin.

"I cannae leave a question unanswered ... try though I might." The last part was added with a note of disapproval at that aspect of her character. "Whether ye'd come about or no, I'd have likely ended up here anyway ... though perhaps not as soon. I'm afraid wanderlust is also part o' my nature."

She sipped her drink, lapsing into deep thought a moment. "Speakin' o' unanswered questions, who was that man back there? An' what did he want with ye?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan scowled...

"Now there is a topic that needs a refill..." He motioned to the barkeep for another round.

"Elias Barnabas...failed deacon....fired after his first mission as an attache to Bishop Faheud of Brighton. It seems he tried to use information he gathered from His Eminence for personal financial gain and word got back to Brighton Cathedral. Well, that was the end of that. Sacked and sent off in disgrace.

He has spent the intervening years doing everything he possibly can to aid whomever opposes the church. Turns up constantly.

Happily, he is beyond incompetent, impatient, unsubtle, and without any finesse whatsoever.

He was likely hired by whomever is trying to kill off some kings and nobles, but fortunately he is a poor agent. There are many worse that have turned up in the last couple years.

Do you folks in Eire not have intrigue? What was all the ruckus with lady Springtime?"

Destini wrote:

Destini

"Oh, Aye, there's ingtrigue a plenty everywhere, I s'pose. But in Eire ye either fight or ye stay home." She frowned into her refilled cup.

"I'm a poor fighter, deacon. I'm sure ye noticed back on the ship. Durin' the war it was just assumed I'd stay home an' help to protect the homes o' those who went into battle. I did what I could. No revolts succeeded 'till the bitter end o' the war, at least." She smiled wryly. "One cannae hold the walls o' a city alone."

She thought on her poor fighting skills and the ordeal back on the ship. "By the way," she looked up into Brightpoint's face sincerely, reaching across the table to touch his hand in a soft gesture. "Back there - on the ship, I mean -- ye saved my life. Thank ye."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan fave Destini's hand a gentle squeeze and smiled

"Well you're very welcome. Though I daresay if you'd had your staff with you, Old Elias would have found it upside his head at some point.

I seem to recall mum once saying,

"never jilt an English girl for she has brothers...
Never jilt a scottish girl for she has the keys to the tavern
Never jilt an Irish girl for the has a shillealeagh"

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini's laughter resounded on the wooden walls of the dock-side tavern. "True enough! I was given a lesson with a shillelagh once. Oddman taught me one afternoon last summer. Pagan was there -- Zanditin too. Zan taught me a little 'bout listenin' fer danger in a forest full o' sound. That was well before he was king, o' course." Her laughter faded to a chuckle and the chuckle to a sigh. That day had been one of those good days that stood out in her memory like a rainbow against the clouds. Before obligation, danger, and threat.

"Now, it seems I'll need those few skills more than ever before."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"It could very well be," answered Allan, who took a moment to glance over at the door at a sudden noise of a drunk patron leaving.

"I think, though, that your skills at charming a tavern with song will also be needed. I am decent enough background music, but not one to capture an audience.

If you ever wish to polish your arts of self defence, there are some fairly basic things you can do without a weapon to pull yourself out of many dangers."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini followed the deacon's gaze and watched the drunk out of mild curiosity. She nodded gravely at Brightpoint's words. "If ye think 'twould serve well in whate're's ahead, I'm willin' enough to learn." she answered.

The realization that she had no idea what to expect in the coming days or weeks struck her suddenly. "What is ahead o' us, deacon?" she asked. "Ye said the cardinal ordered ye to a meetin' with the Order o' Saint George. I trust that's where ye've to be next. What o' me?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled again.

"You are welcome to join me on my travels. I will end up back in Hastings in Sussex as I'll be reporting in to the Cardinal when all is said and done. It would feel right to be able to tell His Grace that since he could not get to Ireland, I brought the best part of it back with me."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini sipped the last of the drink from her glass. She nodded absently at the deacon's plan. It was a little daunting that someone of her low class would end up meeitng a great cardinal. The thought gave her pause. Plus, unlike Ireland, she had no picture of how long the road to Hastings would take. She was grateful, at least, to have a guide.

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

It would feel right to be able to tell His Grace that since he could not get to Ireland, I brought the best part of it back with me."

Brightpoint had spoken the last part of his sentence so fast that it had looped around her head a few times before hitting home. She looked at him sharply with a surprised but pleased gleam in her eye at the unexpected compliment. "Wait. What did ye just say?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stood up.

"I remarked it would be good for the Cardinal to make up for missing his trip to Ireland by the fact I brought the best part of it back to England with me.

Shall we be off, then?

Without waiting to see what her reaction might be, he turned and headed out of the tavern.

Destini wrote:

Deacon_Allan_Brightpoint wrote:

It would feel right to be able to tell His Grace that since he could not get to Ireland, I brought the best part of it back with me."

Destini

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came to her mind. The deacon turned and headed for the door before she could respond. Blushing at his compliment, she was grateful for the dreary darkness of the day. She grinned at the deacon's back.

"Unremitting worldliness, indeed..." she muttered under her breath with a smile.

She grabbed her staff and satchel and followed Brightpoint to the street leading out of Egermont and onto the open road.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Evening was taking a passing lordship over the forest road as Allan and Destini walked on. Silence had cloaked them briefly after their brief stop at tavern for dinner and the warmth of a fire. Egremont was far behind and Keswick was but scant miles along the road. They could stop for the night and not spend another glorious evening the a luxury snow-drift.

Crossing the Deckham bridge brought them into the vales leading down into Keswick town. Still miles to go before they might sleep and parcels of promises yet to keep.

Deacon Allan turned to Destini and asked genially, "Tuppence for your thoughts, Miss?"

Destini

She had been walking alongside the deacon on their journey East. Her walking stick kept metered time with their soft footsteps in the powdery snow. Sometime over the last couple hours, conversation had died into an amicable silence.

After many hours, her eyes and feet had grown tired of wandering over the snowy countryside. Instead, her thoughts and eyes had wandered to her companion even as they continued to walk. His occasional compliments hinted that perhaps he was glad for more than just her company. She found him to be daring, witty, and he had saved her life. It was not something she would lightly forget. But nor did she think it was appropriate to mention that she was appraising him.

When he asked, she spoke the question that had been on her mind since they'd docked at Egremont, "Why did ye save my life, Deacon? I'm naught but a minstrel. Ye're important to the cause, the mission. Ye placed yerself in danger when ye neednae have. Why?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan considered the question and kept coming back to a simple answer. He really needed to just say it as he would otherwise patronize her and well, a fellow did that at great peril when speaking to an irish woman....

As they walked in the moonlit forest...Allan finally answered in a matter of fact voice

"One must always protect Jah's greatest treasures when one identifies them in proximity. In short, you are a Best One."

He smiled as her expression began to form.....What a lovely evening

Destini wrote:

Destini

There it was again. That subtle compliment that answered her question, but hinted to something else. Or was she reading too much into it? She blushed, uncertain what to do with his answer.

Unsure as she was, she changed the subject.

"Given that this is my first time in England, Deacon, perhaps ye might tell me o' this country?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan mused, “well there is certainly a lot to this country that could set a traveler to the short road to confusion. Folk here have high passions but often forget to assume there might be a viewpoint or set of circumstances other than that which they experience. The roads can be lonely, but the towns welcoming…

Half the political mayhem in England is no more than someone creating drama where there is no actual problem. On the other hand there is not a bunch of folks I would rather have at my back when real danger arises.

Allan paused to stifle a sneeze, and then went on.

“Recent bouts of plague have made some locations and towns unfit for habitation and thus a lot of people are on the move to new homes. This creates political challenges, as well as a great mask to any strange persons traveling the roads on missions of malice. I am told at least two of the Sussex towns will be forever vanishing from the face of the land, including my home in Canterbury. I expect the Cardinal will have to re-locate to Sussex Cathedral.

“One aspect of England you will like. Taverns are often quite lively, and entertainers who can play, write, sing, and/or tell stories are quite popular.”

Destini

The mention of plague set Destini's expression in a frown. "Aye, plague struck Eire as well -- many months ago, durin' the war with Springtime. The two towns to the north o' my hometown were lost ... my house too." Her voice was soft, distant. "My parents an' I lived on the Northernmost side of Imleach. To prevent the plague from reachin' town, my father burned the house. I wasnae there. I'd gone a-wanderin'. Much like ye, I returned to a burned husk o' a home." She fingered the silver locket around her neck. Why was she even telling him about this? It was personal. It had no bearing on their task.

"'Twas a long time ago," she said shaking off the memory.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"we all have subtle shadows of the past that lurk just out of sight and sound. I feel mine whenever i see a building aflame.

I get better memories pushing there way up whenever I see a town's lights at night, just visible over the crest of a hill. Behold....Keswick..

"What memories bring you comfort?"

Destini wrote:

Destini

She looked up at the lights of Keswick. It stood like a shining earthly version of the Garden of Eden nestled amongst the larger hills in the region. The village spread radially around the stone towers of the Bailiwick, spilling out onto the hill and countryside surrounding it. In each of the windows, a candle or fireplace was burning, spilling light out into the world, making the snow between them and the village glisten like the sea. Within those rooms, she also knew, there was shelter from the cold evening.

"Music," she answered the deacon's question, "not mem'ry. Music brings me comfort. I prefer to live in the moment."

The current moment brought them to the first cobblestone-paved roadway leading into the village of Keswick. "Let's find the inn. I think an eve out o' the snow sounds delightful right now."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan beamed a smile, "Capital idea! There is a very nice Inn not far away from the gate that should do nicely. If memory serves, they have a lot of rooms, beds, and bar-stools...all things that bode well for chilled travelers."

As they walked down the lane through the Bailey of the gate, Allan pointed at a tavern a few dozen yards away.

"There it is....The Peppered Peacock...."

Destini

She reached a cold hand to the door and it opened with a creak. Four men and one woman within the inn looked to their entrance.

The air was smoky from the fire, but delightfully warm. The travelers walked in, shutting the door behind them. Walking to the bar, Destini motioned to the man behind the counter. "We'll be needin' a couple o' yer rooms fer the night," she said when he approached.

The innkeeper was a stout man and balding. His black-brown hair stood out in tufts on either side of his balding head. He wore a linen apron that might have been white at one point in time but was now so stained with all manner of grease and spills that it was now a dull beige. He eyed her and Brightpoint with large, round, brown eyes that glinted tiredly in the light of the fire. "Yes, we have rooms. Two pounds a piece will pay for them fine."

"Two pounds?" said Destini with a note of surprise. "Ye're jokin'. Not e'en the capitol city in Eire charges two pounds!"

"This ain't Ireland, missy. And I've got other travelers to worry about. They'll pay two pounds per person right enough. So can you."

Destini looked to Brightpoint. They'd shared one room before on the road from Imleach to Port Lairge. She doubted the deacon would mind if they did so again. She knew she could sleep happily on the floor so long as it was out of the cold. She turned back to the innkeeper. "One room, then. One pound a piece," she haggled.

The innkeeper narrowed his eyes at her, clearly angry with being cheated out of two pounds. He must have found no reason to argue with her since he responded, "Done," and slapped a key on the bar.

Destini placed two pounds on the bar and took the key in one motion, before the innkeeper could change his mind. Turning to Brightpoint, she said, "We've a room fer the eve. Shall we retire, or have a drink before bed?" She smiled at the deacon.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan walked over to the bar and leaned in so there would be little chance of the fat oaf mishearing him. He slapped some silver onto the bar and addressed the man with ice in tone and expression.

"Here you go. Your sign says a pound for a large flagon of your finest. I *trust* the flagon is included without extra charge. Please do not delay in a beverage for each of us."

He went over to a table and pulled out a chair.

"Miss Destini, shall we await our beverages?"

Destini

She joined the deacon at the table, pulling a chair out to sit beside him. It was only moments before the innkeeper brought over their drinks. He lingered a moment to cast an unshielded glare at Brightpoint then turned and left without a word.

"Lovely fellow," said Destini with gentle sarcasm after he'd gone. She sipped her ale, which actually wasn't the worst she'd ever had. "But then, I'm sure ye're accustomed to all manner o' folk in yer line o' work."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"You have no idea.....One never knows when one will encounter a soul in desperate need of a good dirking....

Allan lifted his mug, "To our safe crossing!"

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini raised her glass to echo the toast. "Safe crossin's, Aye. We've crossed the seas well enough ..." Her voice trailed off as she recalled Elias. A shiver ran down her spine when she remembered he was still out there somewhere. She looked to the door as if he might appear there just because she'd thought of him. When he didn't appear, she shook her head and turned back to the conversation. "well, mostly well enough. I, too, hope we'll have safety crossin' the land."

"E'en so ..." she continued, sipping more of her ale to stall her while she gathered her thoughts. "I cannae help but be constantly surprised to hear a deacon o' the church say the things I've heard ye say. 'A good dirkin'? Is there any such thing?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well you have *met* Elias. If ever there was a candidate for a good dirking...

Do you know what a deacon says when required to use deadly force?"

Destini wrote:

Destini

She had never seen the deacon use deadly force but, looking at him now, she believed he would if he had to. "I shudder to ask." she said in response to his question.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The first thing is to consider that you are still around to say it...

But what you say is...."Bless me Father for I have sinned..."

Destini

Perhaps she was supposed to laugh, perhaps she wasn't. But the response was so very not what she was expecting that she she burst out laughing whether she was supposed to or no. Two of the patrons in the tavern turned to look at them. She took a drink and tried to get herself under control. "Aye," she said, wiping away the tears of laughter. "Aye, I suppose that's so."

Deciding not to make more of a scene than they already had, Destini finished her ale and stood, gathering her satchel and staff. She clutched the key to their room in her hand. The direction of the rooms was clearly marked by a sign beside the stairs. "We've an early start tomorrow, I trust. So, I'll adjourn fer the eve. Unless ye're followin' me directly to the room, I'll leave the door unbarred fer ye." She turned toward the stairs, then, leaving the deacon to his drink and decision. She wasn't his keeper. He could stay up if he chose.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan watched Destini head up the stairs a moment and then drained his mug and set it down with a hearty "Right Then."

Passing the innkeep who stood with eyebrow raised, Allan explained in strict confidence, "Unremitting Worldiness." and headed up the stairs.

Destini

The room was small, but could easily accommodate two. There was a single window covered in oiled cloth to keep out the worst of the winter's cold. It did better than no cloth at all, but still the room was a bit cold. "No colder than outside," she said to her self with a satisfied nod as she looked about at the room. "Not much warmer either. But certainly not colder." It would do. She set her satchel and staff against the wall and her cloak and hood near it.

She looked at the smallish bed. Despite its meager size, the mattress was made of clean, fresh straw. While it was no feather bed, it was beyond better than a simple bedroll. She smiled and dug her own bedroll out, deciding to give Allan the bed. He'd been on the road far longer than she had. Allan would appreciate it.

She paused ... Allan? When had she started thinking of him as his first name? The danger on the ship, maybe. She shook her head. It was inappropriate. She was a minstrel. Little better than a servant. As deacon, he was classed well above her. She rolled her bedroll out. As a member of a higher class, the deacon would have the bed. That was that. She continued to ready for sleep.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan came into the smallish room and noted that the bed was unoccupied and Destini was kipped up in a bed-roll on the floor.

"Excellent choice, dear," Allan remarked as he set up his own bedroll on the opposite side of the room, "One never can tell what bedbugs might lurk in a tavern's straw. Of course I would never find out in this case as no gentleman takes the bed whilst a lady takes the floor....pleasant dreams!"

He blew out the remaining lantern and smiled at the darkness

Destini

The morning sunlight through the oiled cloth woke Destini some hours later. She emerged from her bedroll stiff from being curled up in a ball all night. The evening had been far colder than she had anticipated and she had curled up as tight as possible to maximise the use of her own body heat. While she'd slept fairly well, the morning stretching took several minutes to work out the kinks and crimps that such a night of sleeping in cold inevitably caused.

At least Brightpoint would have been fine in the bed. She looked to the bed and saw it unoccupied. She was confused only as long as it took her to spot the deacon in his own bedroll across the room. She sighed in frustration, but smiled all the same. "Ye're a scoundrel an' a gentleman, deacon," she whispered to him, uncertain if she should wake him.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Hearing the mutter drifting lazily across the room, Allan smiled to himself and said loud enough to hear, "You're welcome, dear..."

Destini

They broke their fast quickly and packed quicker in an effort to get out onto the road all the faster. For Destini's part, the haste was more about avoiding a second encounter with the innkeeper than for a specific want to be away from the warm inn and out onto the road.

She pulled her cloak about her tighter. The night's rest in the cold room had left a chill in her bones that she had not been able to dispell with breakfast beside the inn's fire. But now that she was out on the open road, she realized the clear day was far more frigid than yesterday's travel under cloud and fog. She looked back at the city walls of Keswick and noted the lack of tradesmen she would have expected to see in a city of its size. "'Tis an odd town, Keswick," she noted as she turned back to walk the road beside Brightpoint. "I'd expect more fer its size. It feels .... somehow, well, empty."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"The King is re-locating folk from some towns to others, not just as a barrier to plague, but to create strong cities. In the end, some places feel very very empty. I expect that is why the locals in Keswick were a tad short...

Destini

"As short in tempers as they were short in hands, aye," said Destini, nodding in understanding. "That makes sense."

The wind brutally tore across the land. Sure, she had experienced winds before. These gusts were nothing new. Still, the icy grip of this wind seemed something tangible, something almost alive. It was as if the wind itself wished to rip through her cloak and snap her bones in sunders. As a weaver, she knew her cloak was secure enough, but the fibers of the fabric simply weren't close enough together to stop the gusts from reaching her skin. She shortened her stride in order to take more steps, hoping the action of moving more would keep her warmer. It worked only marginally better than before. "I cannae say I've e're experienced winds like these," she said to Brightpoint. "The cold is as a knife to the soul."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stood, facing into the wind, enjoying the cooling sensation. He had felt way too warm at the Inn and was appreciating the reverse.

"These cutting winds score across the plains of the lowlands in ways that are not possible in the churned hills of Eire. When the wind can run without hindrance for sixty miles at a go it can achieve some fairly impressive speed.

That said, I am liking the cooler air. Bit hot and stuffy in that tavern room last night."

Destini

She looked sharply over at the deacon. Her eyes peered out from her wool hood. He seemed to be strangely enjoying the frigid air.

"How could ye possibly have been hot in that room last night? Drafty tavern window let that lowland wind o' yers in the room. It was freezin'."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Dunno really....perhaps I am over used to sleeping in the wilds... At any rate, I like the fresh air this morning. We need to get to Liverpool so I can get a pigeon sent to the Cardinal. If he or Canon Alberic have any updates for me, they'll have sent a pigeon there.

Do you think it will snow again?"

Allan pondered the problem before shrugging it aside along with the side of his cloak...

Destini wrote:

Destini

His response made sense, but she still furrowed her brow at him as he shrugged aside one side of his cloak. She shook her hooded head and pulled futher into her own cloak. His casual disregard for the chill in the air had a strange way of making her feel even more cold.

She ignored his question about the weather in favor of a question of her own. "Who is Canon Alberic? Ye havenae mentioned that name before."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"he is the first person I ever met who was not afraid of Cardinal Faheud in any way. Looks like a combination of Butler, father confessor, Grandpa, and the last soul you would ever wish to let down.

When he looks over his spectacles with the disappointed eyes you are halfway to the cliff needing jumped off before you realize what has happened.

Very wise man...can talk even unremitting folks off the cliff.

You'd like him."

Destini

Brightpoint was right. She did like his description of the man. She smiled, imagining him the way the deacon described. "An' just what did e're did ye do that inspired such grave disappointment?" asked Destini with a note of teasing amusement. "I only ask 'cause ye've clearly had first hand experience."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's face darkened.

"Ahh, yes. that. he had sent me to try to talk brother Elias out of being, well, a flatulent moron and I not only failed, but broke the king's peace (and Elias' nose) in the tavern during the attempt. Archcanon Alberic had a few things to say about the relative merits of deacons needing to be bailed out of the constable's care."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Her merriment at the deacon's expense died then and there. Whether it was the mere mention of Elias or only Brightpoint's tone, even the sunlight seeemd to darken through the whisps of cloud. She imagined the tavern brawl as Brightpoint described. "Ah ... hm.." she stuttered. Uncertain what else to say, she arrived at only two words. "I'm sorry." She was sorry. Sorry she'd asked, sorry she'd teased him. But at the same time, she was slowly piecing together the deacon's past -- and the future she was walking into.

"I gather Elias left a bit o' a wake behind him when he left the cardinal's service." she stated softly to the chill air.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled brightly, "no worries. That fellow left a trail of chaos behind him. In truth the only things that was left out regarding him was the need for a wake. Pity that..."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Their conversation had taken them many miles. The landscape had changed so little that Destini hadn't noted much of their surroundings save a building now and then.

She noted her surroundings now as they crested the next low hill on the road to reveal a small town of a few buildings settled around a single-steepled church. It was the steeple of the church itself that proclaimed more loudly the condition of the rest of the village. It was cracked and uncared for. The thatch of the buildings nearest it hung in tatters like cobwebs. She'd seen it before. The village was abandoned.

Harsh memories stopped her in her tracks. She had travelled through towns destroyed by plague before. They had looked much like this one did. She couldn't tell from their current distance whether this was plague or simply that the inhabitants had moved as Brightpoint had said was happening across England. She shook her head as if the motion could free herself of the memory of her own abandoned home. "What is ..." No, the tense was wrong. She started again. "What was the name of this town?" she asked her local guide.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan examine a charred sign by the edge of a cross of roads.

"Appleby. This was an orchard town. Looks like someone burned a lot of the buildings. Signs of fighting here and over there." Allan pointed at smudges of dried blood and chunks of wood missing from the side of a building.

This evacuation was not a smooth one.

I think we best have our eyes peeled for trouble for the next stretch of road at the very least."

Allan really hated the silence in this place. When he had last come through, it had been a thriving little community.

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini nodded in agreement. She was no stranger to keeping careful watch about her when she traveled. Irish roads were often unkind to lone travelers. She wasn't surprised to learn English roads were no different.

She gripped her staff closer to its center so it might be easier to bring to bear should the moment require it.

The village of Appleby had not been a large town at the end. As they passed through the city gates, she could see the gate on the other side of the town. The silence was deafening. The charred boards and splashes of blood were unnerving. She found herself anxiously watching the shadows for any sign of movement.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As they carefully headed out of town, Allan noticed a covered wagon off to the side with a shatter axle. There were no sounds of people near, but he motioned to Destini for caution and began to slowly approach from the ditch-side of the wagon. The team of horses that had pulled the wagon were not in evidence.

"This lot may be abandoned. Worth a search methinks... What say you?

Destini wrote:

Destini

"Aye, 'tis worth a look," she agreed, keeping the volume of her voice low. She decided not to follow Brightpoint to the ditch, but approached the wagon around from the street side instead. If anything did jump out, they could surround it from two sides. Better cautious than dead.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan set his pack down and crept up to the wagon, stopping to listen every few steps.

He paused near the back flaps and spoke loudly

"Hello! Is everyone OK?!"

Hearing no reply or movement or even a sudden intake of breath, Allan threw back the flap.

"Well! Someone was in a big hurry! Come have a look at this!"

--Raven_in_the_foregate

Silly humans...creeping callous round wrecked wagon when dire danger lies lurking later

Destini

Destini watched carefully as the deacon crept up on the wagon. She matched his movement toward it, ready should there be any danger. When he threw open the backflaps, she flinched a little, tightening her grip on her staff. A raven's call caused her to look over her shoulder briefly and search the shadows at their back.

From the sound of Brightpoint's chipper tone, their caution seemed to be for naught. She moved to his side at the backflaps of the wagon and peered within.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan rummaged through the crates and barrels in the wagon. heavens....corn, wheat, smoked pork....and JACKPOT!

"There's Whiskey from Imleach!" cried Allan, holding up a quarter cask so that Destini could see.

This was a life saver as they'd be assured food.

"Let's take as much as we can carry...no telling what towns are still populated on our way south."

Destini

She grinned widely at the whiskey and other supplies. Perhaps it was useful traveling with a deacon. Jah seemed to be smiling on them right now. "Trade 'cross the seas must do well indeed if whiskey from Imleach has made it all the way here," she said, smiling. "Though, I dare say Pagan might be a bit unplussed with havin' lost e'en a quarter cask." She giggled at that thought.

Placing her satchel on the ground, Destini adjusted what few items she was carrying to accomodate what they'd found. Between the two of them, it seemed they would be able to carry much of it.
_________________

--Raven_in_the_foregate

Darkwingswoopingdownwithoutwarningment!

Talonsgrabbingontoenemyshoulderpleasureincryofshockandpain

Beaktearingshinymedalfromcloak

Wingscarrydarkwingstomasterwithtoken

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"OI!" cried Allan in pain and surprise as an immense black bird swooped down without warning, landed on his shoulder in a painful death-grip, tore off his Deacon's medallion, and flew away again.

"That belongs to Elias....We're not out of the woods yet....sorry..."

Destini

A flurry of feathers startled her into falling back a few steps while the giant black bird tore the medallion from Brightpoint's cloak and flew away. His cry of pain and surprise brought her to his side again. Looking up at the fading black speck, she squinted, trying to see it more clearly against the sky. "Ye're tellin' me that Elias has trained ravens in his employ?"

She looked back at the deacon. "Are ye hurt?" she asked him softly.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Aye. He has one. It is almost as nasty a piece of work as Elias himself. I suppose that is the only way he'd ever come by a deacon's medallion, though."

Allan examined his shoulder for injuries and shrugged.

"Only damage appears to be to my patience and my cloak. Shall we pillage this cart a bit and be off?"

Destini

After the raven's entrance into a moment that would otherwise have been full of good fortune, Destini had no trouble getting as far away from this location as possible. "Aye, let's be away from here. The further we can get from Elias the better."

She packed a few more items into her satchel before sinching it up tightly and tying the strips of leather that held it closed. She looked at the tear in Brightpoint's cloak and thought of the thread she usually carried with her for emergencies. "Ye know, I am a weaver o' cloth as well as o' song. I can mend yer cloak when next we stop, if ye like."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled, "That will be welcome indeed. It will be fun explaining to the Cardinal how I lost a shiny bit to a not-so-random raven."

He heaved a heavy sigh and considered the road ahead as they walked.

"So what do you think the odds are of meeting whatever made people flee Appleby so fast?"

Destini

Destini walked with Brightpoint away from Appleby. "I hope we shallnae meet whate're 'twas at all," she answered, but her mind was still on the raven.

"Yer Deacon's medallion. Was it special to ye? Difficult to replace? I mean ...," she frowned in frustration at trying to express the myriad of thoughts that were going through her head at once. While a multi-track mind was useful for playing songs in taverns while listening or talking at the same time, it sometimes made it difficult to convey to others exactly what she was thinking. "What would Elias want with yer medallion?"

Her mind pondered her questions further before she added, "Or perhaps 'twas just a means to track ye an' anythin' o' yers would do?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Actually, " Allan replied, " tis a matter of the Raven being told to mark a target and it brings proof it found target and can lead them back to us. It is just a raven thing that it went for the shiny bit. Given that the raven flew due south, we may wish to consider a turn towards London in the east to lose any pursuit, rather than meeting it head on..."

Destini wrote:

Destini

"Ye're the guide, Deacon Brightpoint." she said respectfully. "This country is all new to me. Save fer a chill the likes o' which I didnae experience in Baile Atha Luain in Cuige Chonnacht, I wouldnae know we were currently further North than the Northernmost city in Eire." It was a partially true statement. The fact was, during the crossing to England she'd had a conversation or two with one of the soldiers aboard the Venus and he'd explained thier destination to her. She knew their general location in the world, but the roads of England were all new to her.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Sigh.....Why is it they always expect the boy to know the way or ask for directions?"

Allan sighed heavily and turned eastward on the fork leading towards London

Destini

As they walked, a thought occurred to her. A slow grin worked its way across her features. She paused her forward progress to shrug her satchel from her shoulders. "Allan," she said, using his first name intentionally to get his attention. "Back at the wagon, I picked up something. Just had a thought that ye could probably use it - an' appreciate it - better than I."

After unlacing the leather bonds of her satchel, she reached into it and pulled forth a pistol crossbow with a moderate amount of extra ammunition. While he had been stashing away the whiskey, she had collected the crossbow. She smiled at him as she handed him the weapon.

"In case the raven comes back," she said, "Or worse."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan cheered wildly!

"Excellent!!! I can only hope this comes to good use. Probably will given that the powers that be are determined to ignore the threat to their lives and will doubtless be dying of poison ere I find them...."

Destini

She smiled at his glee at the weapon's appearance. It fit exceedingly well in his strong hands and he looked to be immensely enjoying it. While she hoped they wouldn't need it, she feared the opposite. Trouble had become a frequent occurrance since she had met Brightpoint.

However pleased she was at his reaction, she was troubled by his cynical phrase. His words bluntly stated that there was no hope their mission would succeed. "I hope ye're wrong," she said quietly.

Brightpoint had turned their path along the left side of a fork in the road. She gazed at the Southern road as they passed it. He had said he wanted to check for a carrier pigeon in Liverpool, but their new course to the Southeast didn't line up with the map she pictured in her head. Sure, her map was full of holes and blank spaces, but could she really be so far off in her understanding? "How far is it to Liverpool?" she asked Brightpoint.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled as they took up the trail again.

"How far to Liverpool? Far indeed as we are no longer going there. It's over London way and Manchester to Sussex for us. We can bypass our stalking friend Elias and his merry medallion thief.

This should not end up adding time to the trip, but I am afraid there will be no pigeons I can use this side of the Hospital of St. Thomas...."

Destini

"Oh," said Destini, disappointed. She had hoped to send a message of her own back to Pagan and her clan via a ship at the port of Liverpool. Now, that was no longer possible. She frowned at that thought, wondering if she would have to wait until they reached Sussex to send a letter to her best friend ... and receive her letter if Pagan had sent a response. She so desperately wanted to know that her kin were safe, and that they weren't judging her too harshly for her disappearance. What would her clan chieftain think if Pagan had shared her letters with him? After all, Brightpoint had told him about the poison and the plot. He was an astute man. He might guess why she had left with the deacon. Would he also be upset that she was taking matters into her own hands?

She bit her bottom lip and tried to push the matter to the back of her mind. There was no use in dwelling on such thoughts. Getting a letter back to her clan would have to wait. In any case, not running into Elias again made Brightpoint's decision easier to deal with.

"What would ye have told the cardinal via pigeon?" Destini inquired as they walked.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan spoke in a level tone, though mischief sparkled in his eyes...

"well, among other things, that I bear with me the most inquisitive soul ever to arrive from Eire..."

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini, spotting the mischievous gleam in Brightpoint's eyes, grinned at him. "'Tis a gift," she said, mildly. Then added, "An' a curse ... though probably more curse to ye than me right now." Of course, that wasn't exactly true, now was it? She frowned at a new realization.

"But then, I s'pose, I wouldnae be here if not fer my inquisitive nature. 'Twas my curiosity that got me into this." She paused, realizing that this was a problem that went both ways. "At the same time, I doubt ye'd have me along otherwise as I wouldnae be any use to ye or yer mission if I werenae willin' to ask a question or four."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"I am betting we can safely go with the 'four' in that, " answered Allan, "I do worry that the Cardinal will be quite put out that he has not heard from me in a more-timely fashion, but there is nothing for it....."

Destini wrote:

Destini

She shared his worry, but elected to say nothing. She nodded rather than tell him that she was near frightened of what her clan might say about her leaving Ireland on an errand they didn't even know about. At the moment, it was far easier to deny her fears a voice than confide in him.

The icy wind, which had been from the North all day, suddenly shifted. The breeze from the South brought a new smell in the air. She turned her attention toward it, trying to identify it. "That smell," she said, pausing to sniff the air again. "Is that ... smoke?"
_________________

Penelope_rose

The Cardinal came into the tavern, worry lines creasing his elegant brow. Penelope, always attentive to the Cardinal's needs, immediately set off to gather supplies to write a letter to Deacon Brightpoint, hoping to find the man and help ease the Cardinal's worries.

March 5, 1459

Dear Deacon Allan Brightpoint,

I am writing on behalf of His Excellency, Cardinal Faheud. You were expected days ago and it is with some worry that mishap has occurred on your travels.

If it is not to much trouble, please do use the back of this parchment to alert me, Cardinal Faheud's personal secretary, Lady Penelope Rose de Grey, Viscountess of Hastings, when you shall arrive or, if you need assistance. I will endeavor to give you whatever you need to ease your travels so that our dear Cardinal may rest assured that you are safe.

Warmest regards,

Lady Penelope Rose de Grey
Viscountess of Hastings
Secretary to Cardinal Faheud

P.S. If the reader of this letter is not Deacon Allan Brightpoint, please do inform me that the letter did not reach its intended target.

Carefully folding the parchment, Penelope rolled it until it fit into the vial which could fit onto a fastener on the pigeon's leg. Knowing this pigeon was trained to find the deacon, Penelope released him and hoped she would get an answer soon.
_________________

CoH Herald

--Raven_in_the_foregate

A large Raven flies in the open tavern Window and alights by Lady Penelope. It drops from its beak a sealed parchment.

Somewhat startled as the large bird scrapes the table with cruel talons as it takes off again, Lady Penelope breaks the seal in confusion as small pigeon feathers fall from the letter--which letter is written in a harsh hand

"Lady Penelope. Brightpoint did not receive your letter. By the time this reaches you he will most likely have fallen into the tender caresses of some of my new... employees. Shall I have what is left delivered to you or the Cardinal?

I'd have delivered this myself, but some interests in London required my special spark of enthusiasm to reach their fullest potential. Perhaps I will wander down to Hastings anon.

Oh, and thanks for the Pigeon Pie.

Elias Barnabas"

Penelope_rose wrote:

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stopped walking and smelled the cool air. There was a barest hint of acrid smoke in the air.

"Aye. I do smell smoke...it is either a large fire far away or a cook fire nearby..."

Looking away to the east he squinted in the darkness. "Does the sky look brighter over there to you?"

Destini wrote:

Destini

Destini looked to where the deacon was pointing. In the darkness of early evening, she saw what he was referring to. A soft glow shined low on the horizon. If she hadn't known better, she might have said that it was merely the setting sun that caused the array of pan yellow light against the clouds. But the fact was, the glow was in the Southeast rather than in the West.

"Aye," she answered him. "I'd say that isnae a cook fire. What lies in that direction?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"What lies that way? In a word....London"

Allan quickened his pace considerably.

Destini wrote:

"Aye," she answered him. "I'd say that isnae a cook fire. What lies in that direction?"

Destini

The deacon was several paces down the road when what he said caught up to her. "London?!" she gasped and hurried to catch up with him.

"Ye're not sayin' ... Ye cannae mean that ... I mean ... London ...?" She couldn't bring herself to say it, though she knew it was the only possible explanation.

London was on fire.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

By the first hints of dawn's early light the pair made their way up to the crest of a rolling ridge.

In the far distance was a glow close to ground level and an ebony sheet of roiling smoke that covered the horizon.

While still thirty miles or more away, they were close enough to see that the enter west side of London was a blazing inferno. Something truly awful was happening here.

"We should go see if we can help...there will be people trapped and injured all over the city!" Allan looked back at Destini intently.

"Shall we?"

Destini

"But what o' yer mission to the Order o' Saint George?" asked Destini even as she followed Brightpoint toward the blaze. "Haven't ye also a duty to see yer mission through?

"Besides, what do ye think we can accomplish by goin' into London?"" she asked him. "Aye, I've two hands to help fetch an' carry water, but if there are injured -- an' there probably are -- I amnae a healer."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan kept heading resolutely down the rise towards the main road which would take them into London.

"At first light we will have to contend with people fleeing the city. For now the roads are clear because survivors will have huddled somewhere close to the city for the night. When the south side of Paris burned.......

Never mind that. There is much you can do, much that I can do. I need to make sure the elder statesmen of the church in Westminster Abbey are safe. The Order of St. George shall have to wait upon this more important work."

Allan looked closely at Destini

"You have a clever hand with making good food out of little ingredients, perhaps we check Westminster and offer our services to the Franciscans as helpers in the kitchens.

I just have a hunch we need to go down there, and my hunches are rarely wrong."

Allan stopped dead in his tracks, struck by a thunderous idea. "What if that fire down there is a distraction for a Royal Assassination attempt?"

Destini wrote:

Destini

All thought of avoiding London was gone the moment Brightpoint mentioned a possible assassination attempt. He was right. They had a duty to protect the king. After all, that was one of the reasons she was here. "What are we waiting fer, then?" she said to him. She pushed ahead of Brightpoint on the road toward London. The sooner they got there, the sooner they could do something.

As Brightpoint had anticipated, they met the first stragglers escaping the city as the sun moved from dawn to midday. They were bedraggled, soot-covered, and anxious to be anywhere but where they were. They had likely lost everything. Destini's heart went out to them. She, at least, had a home ... no matter how far away it was. Her family house was gone in flames like theirs was, but she still had a plot of land that was hers across the seas in Imleach. These poor souls had nothing. They moved like ghosts across the land away from the billowing smoke and raging fires that slowly consumed London as the day went on.

She and Brightpoint moved on. For her part, she was anxious about what they would find there. She did not want to face the charred ruins of homes and lives the way she had faced her own. Here, at least, she could do something to stop it, to help, to make someone else's life better than hers had turned out. She looked to Allan. What must he be thinking about all this? He told her that he had experienced much the same thing she had. "Allan," she said softly to him. Speaking to him on such a personal topic required the use of his first name despite that his station was higher than hers. "Are ye alright with this? The fires. These homes, I mean. Will ye be alright?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan shrugged as they walked, "I'll never be okay with buildings ablaze. It is especially true if the blaze is set intentionally. I am not built for standing idle when nature or man take a swipe at those who cannot fend for themselves."

As they trudged on through the day, the line of forlorn refugees became more congested and it became difficult to make headway. Finally, Allan moved he and Destini off the road as walking through the scrub to the side was just easier in the long run.

The smoke clouds from the burning city were making it increasingly difficult to breath easily, and the travelers on the road were a sea of coughing and hacking as they passed.

Destini

The smoke stung at her eyes and face. The combination of smoke and the motion of the passersby made it difficult to see much in front of them. Conversation was now impossible. Every moment of concentration had to be spent trying to see their way forward. In some places, hearing became more important than sight. She blinked furiously to rid her eyes of the acrid black smoke.

Destini reached out and grabbed Allan's hand, afraid to lose him in the deepening smoke and conjested roadway. She couldn't help but realize that his skin was far warmer than her icy fingers. How on earth did he manage that in the middle of the winter?

A mother herding four smaller children cut off her thought before she could analyze it. She weaved out of the way to let them pass. She stumbled on the uneven ground and tried not to lean on Allan too much for support as she regained her balance. Thorns grabbed at her traveling clothes and cloak like sharp fingernails raking across her garments. She understood why Allan had taken them off the road, but it made the going difficult when the brush grew dense.

The panic of the people escaping the city was as palpable as the smoke. If this was what they were going to face on the inside, how on earth would they manage to be of help inside the city?
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As they drew near to the once proud gates of London, Allan was astonished at the bedlam afoot. Streams of people were flowing away, carrying what they could. Cart drivers were lashing out with whips to inspire oxen to move and pedestrians to get out of the way. City guards tried in vain to control the chaos.

Allan noticed one young mother who had clearly fled from bed to get her children out of a burning neighborhood. They had no cloaks and were shivering and crying.

Without a thought, Allan strode over to the small family, whipping his own cloak off in a single motion.

"Here, take this, you need to keep yourself and you children warm. It will be cold and dark all day for miles around with all the smoke in the air."

The astonished, but grateful mother wrapped the fine wool around herself and the small children and uttered soft words of thanks, "Thank ye sirrah, I cannae possibly repay ye.."

Allan grinned, "You can repay me by surviving and making an offering at the church in your new home....come here moment."

Allan led the mother to a cartload of refugees that had stopped briefly.

"You, there, driver, where are you headed?"

The gruff driver barked back down, "Manchester as soon as you get your idiot hands off the reins!"

Allan, ever the patient sort, leaped up onto the cart. "I have three paying passengers for you. Take these shillings and these passengers to safety."

That said, he ignored the surprised driver and helped the family up onto the already crowded cart. Once they were settled, he hopped back down and shouted as the cart began to move, "Good luck in Manchester!"

Only then did Allan turn back to Destini at the gates and mutter innocently, "What?!"

Destini

She watched the exchange with a mixture of amazement and pride. That such kindness and generosity still existed in this madness was as the light of day in this darkened, smokey night. That she had chosen to accompany him and call him friend made her feel all the more certain she had chosen right in her decision to leave Ireland.

His actions gave her hope that there was indeed something they could do within. When such small gestures caused reactions of such overwhelming appreciation, there was no end to what good they might do this eve. "Men like ye are a dyin' breed, I think," she said to him and meant every word. A smile shined on her face as she said the words. Her eyes sparkled in the glow of the flickering conflagration beyond the city gates. "Let's see what good we might do within."

She turned and entered London through the burning city gates.

(ooc: We'll be taking the London fire portion of this story over to the London Commons thread "The Great Fire of London". Have no fear, we'll be back. It is likely other non-London plotlines may continue here in the duration.)
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan laughed aloud at the dying breed comment. "A dying breed you say? Yes, well, certainly if Elias has his way!"

Allan followed Destini into the city itself

Destini wrote:

Faheud

Cardinal Faheud walked into the tavern to see Lady Penelope holding a letter with a small shower of pigeon feathers falling about the table in front of her.

"Hello dear! Have you heard back from Allan Brightpoint yet? And what is with all the pigeon feathers?"

--Raven_in_the_foregate wrote:

Penelope_rose wrote:

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Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Penelope_rose

Penelope's head snapped up as she tried to cover the pigeons feathers and obscure the letter with her body from the Cardinal's view. How could she tell this kindly and Jah driven man that evil had befallen one of his very own?

Yet, she couldn't keep him in the dark. With a resigned sigh, Penelope gave the letter to Father Fatheud.

Giving him a moment to digest the information, she reached out to touch him. "We have to do something, Father. With your permission, I will call upon some others and we can go look for the deacon."
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CoH Herald

Faheud

Cardinal Faheud sat, stunned for a moment. His expression quickly evolved to determined as he sat resolutely forward on his chair.

"Permission granted. Send any folk loyal to Jah and England. Allan's mission is beyond important, and the attack by Elias is proof there are those who will employ great effort to stop my attaches from preventing a host of royal assassinations.!

Tell Alberic what you need and it is done."

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Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Penelope_rose

Penelope nodded at the Cardinal's words. Worried for the kindly deacon who had always been the Cardinal's right hand man, Penelope had to wonder what kind of intrigue he was involved in - until Father Faheud said something about Royal assassinations.

"Father Faheud, what, exactly, was Deacon Allan doing and where was he going? And was he traveling with anyone?"

Penelope suddenly worried she should contact someone else if the royals were being plotted against. Jah knew she was loyal to the crown and would be horrified if anything happened to either of them.
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CoH Herald

Faheud

What a long tale, but I shall give it a go, shall I?"

Cardinal Faheud pulled at his tea in a deep sip and a sigh of contemplation before continuing.

"Last autumn my attaches in Holland heard of traders bringing a terrible new poison to the continent and beyond from the far orient. They call it a trinary poison, made of three parts. One must have been afflicted with all three elements to be fatally affected. One will have no effect, the second will create a flux like condition, and the third brings about slow, agonizing death.

We do not know what the elements are, but suspect it could be hidden in food, drink, candles, ink, clothing, edged weapons.... Half a county could imbibe tainted whiskey or ale at a festival or wedding and be primed with the first part. Perhaps burn some incense or candles at a mass or a bonfire, and the second is applied.

No one has been able to detect the agents or powers behind the poisons, but we intercepted word on an antidote.

We also learned of a flower that could be redacted into an elixir that undid the damage and removed the poison. It is decided to get the antidotes made in quantity and out to the folks we worry are targets."

Faheud held up a smallish silver and glass vial, filled with a blue tincture.

"We heard that, in order, the Royal families of Eire, England, and Scotland would be attacked. I sent Allan to Eire to warn them. He did get delivered a supply of antidote, but not much enthusiasm for uncovering the plot. One member of Clan MacKenzie did elect to travel back to England with him. Presumably they are still on the road, headed back here after a stop at Wolvesey Castle to warn the order of St. George.

I sent him there, because of the odd way Sir Falcie fell from rigorous health to illness to sudden death without warning. I had a pigeon the King's court had arrived there as well, so hopefully Allan is getting antidotes into their hands."

Cardinal Faheud mused darkly, "I can only guess what these rumors of a great fire in London mean, but it is a very convenient way to hide a couple assassinations, is a fire."

The Cardinal paced, "The last I heard someone I threw out of the Deacons is working for the other side and hindering Allan at every turn. That would be the personable Elias who has a taste for pigeon pie..."

Cardinal Faheud whirled, leaning against a slab of table, "It would seem Elias wants a confrontation....Well...to the detriment of his employers, THAT CAN BE ARRANGED.!" With this last part, Faheud smartly smacked the table with a loud noise, as though punctuating his sentence.

His face softened. "I am sorry, m'dear, this all has me a bit out of sorts....

Penelope_rose wrote:

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Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Penelope_rose

Penelope braced herself for what was to come. Never before had she seen Father Faheud take such a long pause before he turned his kind eyes on her to answer a question. Now, he took a long dip of his tea and took a moment of silence before he revealed a plot that could only be considered maniacal because of the depth of planning and the cunning of all those who devised this plot.

Eying the vial the cardinal held up, Penelope at first marveled at the intricate ironwork before she realized what the vial contained. Her eyes widening, Penelope realized once again how real this threat was and moved her lips in silent prayer that at least her Cardinal had protection in case he, too, was a target of these hideous villains.

Just about to ask if King Viceroy and his consort, Queen Cordelia had an antidote, Father Faheud answered the question for her – like he anticipated the question. Nodding her head solemnly, Penelope lowered her head and brought her fingers to her temples to massage them while she attempted to make sense of all this information.

Penelope's head snapped up and swiveled to look at Father Faheud, “Your Excellency. Do you remember what this Elias Barnaby looks like? Could you possibly draw or have someone draw a picture of him so we have an idea of who to look for? Penelope looked at the priest hopefully. A clue would be needed to find this man, although, by now he could have disguised himself, but still, there might be some distinguishing feature that would be difficult to hide.
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CoH Herald

Faheud

Cardinal Faheud nodded and motioned to a guard.

"Go to Alberic and tell him to give you the sketch of Elias. He will know what I mean."

The guard clicked his heals smartly and said, "Right you are, Eminence," and quickly left the tavern.

Faheud turned back to Penelope, smiling, "Brilliant idea m'dear, we can use more people to search for him with the sketch out. One of the canons can sketch over more copies as well, and we'll send pigeons to the most likely places for him to turn up.

Now granted it is just a sketch, it is something--even if drawn a decade or more ago when he was studying to become a deacon.

His most remarkable feature would have to be the dead, emotionless, silver-grey eyes. You really get the impression that nothing is beyond him."

Faheud got up and fetched himself and Lady Penelope fresh cups of tea.

"The good news is that his lack of morality is well-accompanied by his extreme arrogance and sense of immortality. He really makes mistakes that are his own undoing half the time...."

At that moment the door opened and Alberic came into the Tavern.

"You wanted the Elias sketch, your Grace?"

"Yes, did you find it?"

Alberic walked over and handed the Cardinal a leather pouch. "Right here, Sir. Will there be anything else?"

The cardinal mused, "mmmm yes....could you send someone to the Hospital of St. Thomas and make sure all is well there?"

Archcanon Alberic smiled and nodded. "I'll see to it personally, Your Grace." The old churchman smiled at Penelope as he turned to leave, "Good day Lady Pen....I hope you are well...welcome back to Sussex...you come home in interesting times..."

With that Alberic departed and Faheud handed the contents of the pouch over for Penelope to examine

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Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Penelope_rose

“Thank you for the tea, Your Eminence,” Penelope murmured as Father Faheud came back with two cups of the hot amber liquid. A companionable silence ensued until the cardinal's deep voice caused her to look at him. His description of Elias reminded her of someone she knew, and she idly wondered if he was in league with Elias. Who knew with Marcus, he kept his own counsel, never confiding in another what his plans were until there was a need to know. Penelope shook her head. Marcus' eyes weren't always devoid of expression....

Penelope turned around as the door opened. Her fear heightened by what Father Faheud had revealed caused her to become aware of her surrounding like never before. Her shoulders slumped with relief when she saw it was the deacon. Picking up her tea cup, she looked over its rim as the two men talked. A brief smile adorned her lips as Alberic addressed her. “Thank you, Deacon, yes, I am as well as can be expected with all the tumult occurring within the kingdom. Yet, it's good to be back home... I should have returned and stayed several trips ago, but hindsight is 20/20, isn't it?” Penelope smiled wryly. “But things can only look up, I believe.” Just as soon as the words left her mouth she wished she could retrieve them. How could things look up when their was a complex assassination plot playing out across three nations? “Tis time for prayer, Deacon Alberic... tis time to pray like we have never prayed before.”

Taking the leather pouch, Penelope carefully withdrew the drawing. Holding her breath, she turned it over and looked at the drawing of the man. Exhaling with relief, for on some level she almost believed it could have been Marcus, she studied the drawing. Finally meeting Father Faheud's eyes, Penelope stated with a degree of certainty. “I will need more copies, but I can arrange for that. If I may be so bold, Father, I ask that you stay safe in Sussex so no harm will come to you. I trust Captain Teghanz and the Sussex Army to ensure your safety. I know what to do. And no one will suspect me for being involved for I am nothing more than a woman who satisfies her own needs – even at the expense of others.”

Penelope reached out to touch Father Faheud's arm. “No, do not worry and do not protest. I know very well what I am.”
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CoH Herald

Faheud

Actually, my dear, I have reasons I have to stay in the borders of Sussex at present, and preferably here. I have no doubt that your indomitable will shall carry you through any dangers that lurk. Do be careful though, we are dealing with one known evil and the unknown greater evil he is working for!"

Cardinal Faheud embraced Lady Penelope and made the sign of the cross.

"Take you this token and may its blessing bring you through dangers unharmed, and all who travel with you. In Jah's name"

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Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--A_carrier_pigeon

"like treats. see boss!. deliver message!"

The excitable pigeon flew in the open tavern window and bounced around on the table in front of Cardinal Faheud excitedly

Faheud

Cardinal Faheud broke the seal and unrolled the letter. It was from Deacon Allan, and he had sent it from Westminster Abbey.

"Your Grace,

We are here in London on a brief side-trip to help out during the fire. I have not seen the King or Queen, but the Speaker of Parliament and the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod are well. Lady Destini and I lent a hand to the healers in the makeshift hospital here in the Abbey.

London is all but burnt to the ground in many places, with a huge loss of life. There is not much more we can do here, so in the morning we will set out for the Knights of St. George at Wolvesey Castle

We have not seen Elias or any of the Others in some time, but rumors of fell incidents are everywhere. We will take great care and trust that you are doing the same

In Service,
Brightpoint.

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Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Destini

Destini stood beside the ashen gates of London, waiting for Deacon Allan. The fires were quieted now and the late morning sun was able to shine through the sky that had a day ago been clouded in smoke. She had spent the greater duration of the fire tending to the wounded that had been brought to Westminster Abbey.

She was exhausted. Sleep had been catch-as-catch-can. Whenever the nigh-constant flow of wounded through the abbey gates would ebb, she would get a moment to lay out of the way and close her eyes - but only a moment. The ebb of wounded would flow again. Her two hands, her soothing songs, and comforting words were required once more. There had been no time for a decent night's rest, as there was no time now. They had put off their journey to the Knights of St. George long enough.

Her gaze lingered on the devastated streets of London, wishing she could stay and help them further. There might be time to return later and help them rebuild. But for now, at least as soon as Allan showed up, they would be off again on their own quest.

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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan walked down the main street towards the gates, drifting ash cutting across in front of him. Someone was going to spend months cleaning this up and years re-building.

It would not be him though, he had places to go and promises to keep.

Seeing Destini looking out the gates, he walked up near and greeted her,

"Ello there. Pigeon sent, and dawn to be walking into then?"

Destini

"Aye," she said to Allan with a willing, if slightly weary smile. "Let's fer the road."

She turned away from London to the South, feeling strange without her walking staff. She'd scarcely entered the fire before she'd given it to an injured man fleeing the fire. It had been well appreciated, and better served him than it would have her. She hoisted her satchel higher on her shoulders instead and felt the comforting weight of her harp within it.

She glanced at Allan and considered him a moment as they walked."Pigeon, mm? Ye've sent a letter to the Cardinal, then?"
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan laughed as they set out.

"Aye I sent a pigeon to the Cardinal. It did not seem much use to send one to me. Not much is gained and it reallllly confuses the pigeons."

Destini

Destini looked over at Allan with an irked expression that was partially overshadowed by her own amused grin. "I see ye're still answerin' questions in a straightforward manner."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan grinned in mischief, obviously glad to be out of London and feeling a bit playful.

"Aye, 'tis true. Though your extreme unwillingness to ask questions can tend to leave me a bit rusty at answering...

I sent a note to the Cardinal to let him know we are alive, headed to the Knights of St. George, and altogether glad to be shut of London. And that his favorite tavern in town is now no more than drifting ashes."

Destini wrote:

Destini looked over at Allan with an irked expression that was partially overshadowed by her own amused grin. "I see ye're still answerin' questions in a straightforward manner."

Destini

She nodded, sharing little of Allan's current playfulness, and allowed their conversation to fall away for a moment. They walked beside one another in companionable silence while she contemplated the uncertain future.

The landscape here outside of London was so very different from her home in Ireland, though she couldn't quite place her finger on how it was different. She found herself suddenly homesick. She missed her kin. She worried for them. What were they doing to combat this threat ... or was Allan right and they didn't even believe there was a threat?

For that matter, what were she and Allan doing to combat this threat? That they were headed to see the Knights of Saint George was clear. But what good would that do? What could any of them do against such a vile plot? "Allan," she said, forming the question she wanted to ask as she asked it. "These Knights O' Saint George, what do ye expect they might do when they hear o' the poison? ... Or maybe I should ask what can they do. I expect there isnae a guarantee that they will help."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan had rather expected this particular question for some reason.

"Well, they are sworn to protect King and Country. And they may themselves have been targeted. That at least will gain me a full hearing. I also recall the Dame Hospitaler is a healer and herbalist, so there may be some assistance to be gained there. At any rate, I will make the attempt to get their support and assistance."

Destini

"Sworn to protect how?" Destini asked, trying to gain a clearer picture of the plan they were carrying out. The title of 'knight' conjured images of stately and noble people in full armor and brandished swords. "As in bodyguards fer His Majesty? Or are they more o' an army, like the NMA back in Eire?" She wondered if the organizations were similar.

"An' yet," she said as an idea occurred to her. "Nay, it cannae be like the NMA since ye said these Knights O' Saint George serve the whole kingdom. In Eire, the NMA serves only the county o' An Mumhain ... not the whole o' the country." She frowned as she tried to contemplate it. The unity between counties was a very new concept to her.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon pondered the question a bit as they approached a series of wooded hills the road wound through.

"Actually, the notion of no unified Kingdom Army is something I find troubling. Would that not mean that anyone...such as, I dunno, the NNGO, would have easy pickings at invading and cutting off Counties one at a time?

The Knights of St. George form both an army serving the King and Kingdom, as well as providing military expertise, protection, and counter-insurgency support."

Destini

"Unless His Majesty Zanditin has started up such an army since we left Eire, aye, the NNGO could well do as ye say," Destini agreed to Allan's question with a displeased scowl. "Dependin' on who is duke or dutchess at the time, the NNGO may e'en find allies amongst some o' the counties." She sighed, wishing there was less truth in her words ... or better yet, none at all. "In my experience, the counties o' Eire are like siblings. There are times they work really well together, an' there are times they do nae -- to the detriment o' all. Irish tempers run hot an' the peace there is fragile. Any major difference o' opinion or sudden surge o' military strength could lead to civil war."

She took a deep breath of the forested air and was reminded of her home. Imleach was a wood town, and in the spring, it smelled exactly like this. Buds were on the bare trees, promising leaves would not be too much further away.

"How does England do it?" she asked. "Surely the counties here have differences. How do they keep those differences from evolvin' to war with one another?"
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan scowled...."It is not that England is better, it is that it has had longer to pay for stupid rivalries and petty politics. Necessity is the mother of unity. So many times outside elements have laid waste to counties and towns when there was *not* a unified central response that the Kingdom finally forced itself to play nice and share the whiskey long enough to establish the common defence. It *still* takes a ton of work tho..."

As they approached the wooded area, signs of early spring were clear in the arming air and hints of green buds sprouting on trees and bushes.

"You only have to recover from a hard winter so many times before you think to put up more stores of firewood and food for the next."

Destini

She smiled wanly at Allan's comparison of their location and the warming weather to the political state of kingdom affairs. Her smile turned more genuine as she took his analogy to the next logical step. "Then I can only hope Eire is comin' out o' the woods rather than just now enterin' 'em."
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded agreeably. "As long as they come through unharmed then all is well in the end."

--.elias.

From the docks of Egremont, I have pursued my quarry. Through the fires of London, I tracked him where none of my informants could do so. Now, here in the wild I have him. My sojourn in London earned me a new toy, a crossbow with which to end his life.

Through the open sites of my crossbow, I take aim. Neither he nor the wench have yet spotted me. Good. Let them babble in whatever time Brightpoint has left. My mission is all but complete.

No final words. No last minute escapes. No mercy.

I depress the trigger.

The crossbow bolt leaps into the air.

Allan Brightpoint will die.

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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

No sooner than Allan had finished talking about coming out of the woods unharmed a sudden "KATHUNK!!!" sound emanated from about a foot away from his head. He whirled to see a crossbow bolt quivering in a tree at head level.

Grabbing Destini by the shoulder, he yelled "DOWN!!!" and pulled them both to the ground in the bushes by the road. Allan whirled and came up kneeling with his hand-crossbow at the ready.

"Stay flat!!!" he hissed, "I can't see the shooter yet..."

Someone had just tried to kill one or both of them and he needed to spot the attacker before a more effective shot came...

Destini

In her surprise, she let out an audible gasp as Allan dragged her to the ground. She hit the earth so suddenly that it knocked the wind out of her for a moment. Doing as Allan said, she laid flat against the dirt, taking in in small breaths of air until her breathing returned to its normal rhythm.

What was going on?

Allan's words echoed in her head. Shooter? She glanced up and saw the still-vibrating crossbow bolt in the tree next to where they had been walking just moments ago. Someone out there was aiming to kill.

Between them, Allan had the only ranged weapon. But if he couldn't see their attacker, he couldn't fire back. Keeping her head low to the ground, she vainly tried to see what Allan couldn't. Not being trained the way he was, she didn't know what she was looking for. Destini looked to her companion. Never a dull moment, she silently mused.
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--.elias.

I spit a curse when my bolt misses my quarry. Now, not only have I missed my mark, but Brightpoint is alerted to my presence. Worthless London craftmanship! I should have known better than to trust the crossbow's reliability.

Yet now that I know the drift of the sites, I can adjust my aim. I have lost the element of surprise, but my quarry is still within my grasp. Although I cannot see him from where I am, I know where he is. He is pinned.

Coming up from my prone position amongst the weeds and brush, I crouch low to the ground, adjusting my location so I will have sight of my quarry once more. If I can move silently enough through the brush, I will have another chance to end Brightpoint's life.

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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan peered out from the bushes...kneeling motionless....his heart sounded like distant thunder in his chest. How could he have been so lax as to nearly get them killed by some highway robber?

Gazing around slowly, moving only his eyes, Allan saw nothing.

No. It could not be a highway robbery as there would be more than one. single robbers never had the courage to attack multiple people.

Was that motion over there in the trees? Could be....

A criminal fleeing justice in the flames of London perhaps? They would not care how many people were there as long as they all ducked.

No. This assault came with no sound of approach and no warning and from behind. A dedicated, stealthy opponent.

Damn. A shock of white hair and black clothing.

Allan muttered a single word aloud so that Destini could hear it.

"Elias."

Motioning for silence, Allan took careful aim....Elias needed to come closer before the shot would have a chance.

He whispered "When I shoot, get up and run fifty paces down the road, then hide again. On my second shot I will come behind you. Hopefully one of them will stop him or chase him off."

Allan waited...yes...almost...

He fired

Destini

As Allan's bolt left his weapon, Destini leapt to her feet and ran. She counted the paces in her head as she went: one, two, three, four, five ...

Allan would be behind her. Surely, Elias would not risk dangering himself once he realized they were as armed as he was.

...eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen...

Elias. How had he found them? They had avoided Liverpool to avoid him.

...nineteen, twenty, twenty-one ...

It had been a trap. The raven stealing the deacon's medalion. London. They never would have seen London was on fire if they hadn't traveled on the eastern road.

... twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one ...

Her heart was thundering from the sudden exertion. Her breath came in gasps. She was not a raw sprinter.

...thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven ...

She called upon her vocal training and breathed as if she were performing. In through the nose, hold for a moment, out through the mouth. Her heart rate slowed slightly. She sped up her pace.

... forty-one, forty-two, forty-three ...

Almost there. She guaged the distance she would cover at fifty paces. What was there? What could she hide behind?

... forty-six, forty-seven ...

There! A large tree had been overturned by some past storm. Its roots were pulled from the ground. The perfect place to hide.

... forty-nine, fifty!

She hid behind the exposed roots of the tree and resisted the urge to look about to see what had become of Allan.
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--.elias.

The sound of a crossbow bolt's release is a very distinctive sound. I drop instinctually as the bolt flies overhead. Between the weeds, I look out. Ah, so my quarry has picked up a new toy as well.

A second movement catches my eye. The girl is running. I reload my weapon. Guaging my shot, I see too many branches in the way to bother. Why waste the bolt? Why waste the effort? Why show myself to my quarry before I am ready? Even if the branches were not in the way, she is not my aim.

I again search for Brightpoint. I have not seen him move. He must still be behind the brush. If he wants to fight me, fine. Let him bring the fight to me. I shoulder my weapon and crouch just tall enough above the brush so he can see that I am there. I take aim on his location. Smirking, I wait for him to rise to the bait.

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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan quickly and carefully reloaded the hand crossbow. Looking behind him he saw Destini diving for cover beneath an immense downed tree fifty paces distant. He was impressed at how fast she covered that distance.

Scanning forward, the veteran attaché looked for movement…letting his eyes drift unfocused slightly to better catch what should not be there. This was an old trick Master Zahn had taught him.

There it was! Movement and the shock of hair just visible. If Allan aimed just below the white hair, he should score a disabling hit.

Allan rose and fired

He did not wait to see if he had hit Elias. Instead, he whirled in a dive to the right, came up sprinting and heading for where Destini was. As he got close he stumbled and almost fell, but kept his balance.

--.elias.

My quarry shows himself. In one motion, I stand and fire after him.

The bolt my quarry must have aimed for my chest strikes at my leg as I stand. I wince but keep my eye on my own arrow, willing it to strike my quarry down.

He stumbles. A hit!

And yet he continues to run.

I look down at my own wounds. The gash is not serious, but it will need mending before I can pursue.

I smile in my quarry's direction, my eyes as cold as ice. "Only a matter of time, Brightpoint ... and time is on my side."

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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Leaping behind the fallen tree Allan paused to re-load and whispered to Destini.

“Are you all right? I should go ahead a ways and make sure there is not another ambush laid. If I spot one, we can cut through the woods here for a couple miles.”

Destini

"I'm fine," she answered his question. "An' yerself?" she asked worriedly. "I saw ye stumble. Are ye alright?" Despite her every intention of staying safely behind the fallen tree, she had peeked around the edge when she heard the two crossbows firing at once. She had seen Allan stumble. Only his quick recovery and subsequent leap to relative safety had kept her from going to his side.

"As fer yer plan, it's a poor one at best. What if Elias is headed up the trail to here? I willnae wait here fer him to find me -- leastways not without my staff. We go together or not at all," she said stubbornly.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was not pleased, but well....Irish. Sigh.

"Come on then, let's get out of here. If I did not hit him, I certainly made him duck for a while."

Allan got up and turned to leave

Destini

She moved to follow, but stopped just as suddenly with a sudden intake of breath. A crossbow arrow protruded from Allan's traveling pack. From first glance, it looked as if the arrow might have gone further than simply striking his bag. A slow trickle of thin blue and thick red liquids flowed through the hole in the tanned leather.

He hadn't answered her question when she'd asked if he was alright. He'd likely ignored her on purpose. Did he think she wouldn't notice?! "Allan!" she cried in alarm. "Ye've been shot!"

(ooc: condition of the arrow and such has been worked out with Brightpoint's player in advance)
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stopped and grimaced a bit.

"I see the Irish still worship at the altar of St. Gertrude, patroness of the bloody flipping obvious. But, yes, I have been tagged. It went through the backpack and a bit into my shoulder.

We can deal with it after we get farther away from Elias. If I did not hit him, we need to not be here when he grows some fortitude."

Allan turned again to lead them away, but stopped cold at a tinkling sound.

"What is that sound of broken glass?! Is there anything blue leaking from my pack?"

He turned again so that Destini could see the pack clearly.

Destini

How could he be so calm about this? The expression on her face was one of horrified worry. But at the same time, she admired his endurance and bravery. "Aye, there is," she answered his question. The red was certainly blood. She'd seen enough injuries in the makeshift hospital set up in London while treating the victims of the fire. But the blue liquid? From the sudden halt in their progress forward, she guessed Allan knew what it was.

"Allan," she began hesitantly, almost not certain she wanted to know. "The blue liquid. What is it?"
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan swore softly under his breath.

"That would be the last vial of antidote I had. Ahh well, nothing for it I suppose, lets get out of here."

Allan sighed and turned to lead them furtively along the road, just inside the wood-line to limit exposure.

Destini

She followed. Given that the arrow was from a crossbow and not a bow, it was shorter and did not protrude as far from his pack. Still, the blood worried her. "Ye cannae walk about with an arrow in yer back! Yer wound needs tendin'."

Stubborn Welshman! Traipsing about the woods with a serious wound was perhaps one of the most foolish things she'd ever seen. "Allan!" she hissed his name loud enough for him to hear ... unless he was ignoring her. Yet, even as she called his name, she also tried to remain quiet enough to hopefully remain unheard by Elias if he were still tracking them.
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan hissed quietly, "It will wait. I can tell from the lack of tearing pain that it is a puncture, not a razored point. That means it can wait a bit until we get a mile or so away. Then we'll go to ground and I will gratefully accept some tending as I have never seen myself as pin-cushion material."

After a minute of walking he turned to Destini and asked, "Have you ever removed an arrow from someone before?"

Destini

Her wide-eyed expression said clearly that she had not, but she responded with the words, "Talk me through it." Her tone was low but determined. Only the slightest quiver in her voice hinted at how uneasy she was at the idea of removing the arrow herself. Still, she was the only one here who could do it.

She met his gaze with a steady gaze of her own. She wasn't squeamish about this. She just didn't want to cause him the pain she knew he'd feel when the arrow was removed. "I can do it," she assured him, hoping when the time came she would be as confident as she sounded now. "Just talk me through it."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan kept walking as he explained what would be required.

"First we need to get the backpack off, but that is not happening with the crossbow bolt pinning it to me. You'll have to break off the Fletch end and lift off the pack.

Then, assuming the wound is no wider than the shaft (which means it is a puncture bolt, not a razor), you can put your left hand around the area that was hit to stabilize it and your balance. You grab hold of the bolt shaft with the other hand and pull it straight up and out.

And if you are feeling generous you can pretend not to notice when and if I shriek.

Did I ever mention I hate the business end of crossbows?"

Destini

She swallowed hard. Her mouth set into a grim line as she nodded at the steps he was talking her through. She refused to let him see how his pain pained her as well. Right now, he was being strong for her. He doubtless needed her to be strong for him in return.

"Nay, ye havenae mentioned it. Am I to conclude that ye've had other encounters with the 'business end o' a crossbow'?" she asked.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan managed a laugh.

"As it turns out I have, I have indeed. To be fair I generally am not there when the crossbow's lovely little messenger arrives, but on occasion I have felt its words land.

I, of course, remain astonished that anyone could encounter my demure and holy ways and want to shoot at me..."

Overhead there was a rumble of thunder from clouded skies.

Allan looked up with a sigh

"Always a critic..."

Destini

Destini started to chuckle at Allan's words, but her mirth was halted sharply when she heard how strained his laughter was. In the two months they had traveled together, she had found him to normally be so free with his merriment. To hear him now merely managing a laugh was disconcerting.

The smile that had begun to form on her lips died instantly in her worry for the deacon who had become not only her traveling companion, but her friend through a myriad of dangers. "How can ye make jokes at a time like this?" she asked him.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Destini wrote:

The smile that had begun to form on her lips died instantly in her worry for the deacon who had become not only her traveling companion, but her friend through a myriad of dangers. "How can ye make jokes at a time like this?" she asked him.

Allan nodded.... "Because I am not enthralled with the other options...."

Destini

"Allan." She ran ahead of him and stood directly in his path so he would be forced to listen to her.

"Stop." She put her hands out to stop him from walking. "We've walked far enough. If Elias were directly behind us, we would have seen some sign o' him by now. Meanwhile, ye're still bleedin'. Aye, I may be new to this attache work o' yers. But, I do nae think 'tis wise to leave a blood trail fer Elias to find if an' when he decides to follow us." She watched him sternly for his response, daring him to contradict her.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's persistent mirth withered under the stern gaze of a very insistent and determined Destini. He found a large rock to sit down on and motioned her to follow.

"Well, we'll need to get this bloody pack off before the wound will get much tending."

The deacon turned so that Destini would be able to get at the pack and the offending crossbow bolt.

Destini

Destini went to Allan, grimacing at the sight of the arrow. She removed her own satchel and set it to the side. The satchel restricted her movements slightly and she needed all the maneuverability she could get. Recalling what he said had to be done to get the pack off, Destini carefully wrapped her nimble fingers around the arrow's shaft just below the fletch. "Brace yerself." she warned him. "I'm going to break the shaft."

With a swift motion, she broke the fletch end of the shaft.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"SEVERING SOCKPUPPETS!" Allan growled as the quarrel gave an audible "SNAP!"

recovering, Allan turned his head and gave a reassuring smile.

"Well that was fun....let's see how the pack comes off then...."

Allan undid the ties in front so that the pack could be lifted off carefully.

Destini

She cringed when Allan cried out. His reassuring smile over her shoulder did nothing to ease her sympathy at his pain. The furrows in her brow remained where they were. She nodded three times in quick sucession at his instruction.

She placed her right hand under the pack to support its weight while her left hand grasped the top to steady it. Craning her head around, she looked to see how the holes were positioned in the leather pack. She'd have to lift it off at the exact right angle to keep the pack from catching on the arrow's course wood.

"Right," she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Let's get this off o' ye. Three ... Two ... One ..." she counted down. On the count of one, she lifted the pack up, angling it carefully to pull it off as quickly and smoothly as possible.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Several things all happened at once.

Destini lifted the pack off with gentle strength and there was a queasy grinding feeling in Allan's back. It did, however, completely fail to hurt very much.

A sudden tingling sensation began to flow outward from the wound.

The pack started leaking a steady stream of blue liquid which then slowed to a drip again.

"Well done, my dear. That actually hurt a lot less than the first step. Hopefully we'll be as lucky with the last little bit to do. Shall we, then?"

Destini

She set the pack aside next to her own satchel, watching the blue liquid drip onto the ground. She swallowed past the lump in her throat when she turned back to the task at hand. Now that she could see the wound more clearly, it looked more serious than she had initially thought. Her stomach knotted. This would be painful.

She leaned over his uninjured shoulder and placed her lips close to his ear. "I'm sorry, Allan," she whispered softly to him. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me for this."

Stepping back, she placed her left hand around the wound the way he'd described earlier. She carefully but firmly grasped the quarrel with her right hand. "Here we go. Three ... Two ... One ..."

She pulled the arrow.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan cringed as two inches of shaft and a steel tip was removed from his back....he remained still so that Destini could examine the wound. As she tended it he spoke quietly

" Thank you very much, that was smoothly done. One might think you a hardened battlefield barber.

Please take a look at the wound...Is there any blackening around the edges? I need to see the metal point of the quarrel. Is there a set of grooves in it?"

Destini

Destini let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It had gone better than she had expected. At Allan's instruction, she looked at the arrow's metal tip. She shook her head - although Allan was turned away from her and probably couldn't see it. She had no idea what she was looking for. "I think ye know arrows better than I," she said as she handed him the arrow.

"As fer the wound ..." she looked. There was too much blood to tell, plus the fabric of his tunic shadowed the puncture from the light. She would have to clean the wound to bandage it anyway, and to bandage it, she would have to get to it.

She dug in her pack, rummaging through, searching for a scrap of cloth with which to bandage or clean, but came up empty. Sighing, she knelt down and raised her skirt of her heavy traveling clothes to reveal the cloth of her soft under-tunic. It was one of her most comfortable pieces of clothing. She hated to destroy it, but here in the wild there was nothing for it. Destini took her knife from her pack and severed the seam along one side, tearing the bottom six inches from the underskirt all the way around. When she was done, she had a long strip of cloth suitable for cleaning and bandaging. She replaced the knife in her pack and pulled out her canteen of water. She soaked a portion of the cloth with it.

"Remove yer shirt," she said to Allan. Her tone was even and humorless. Despite the connotations the unremitting, worldly deacon might apply to her words, asking him to remove his shirt was no idle request. This was business, and not a business she cared for at all. "I cannae tell anythin' about the wound 'till it's clean."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint largely concealed a slight roll of the eyes as he complied as best he could. Removing a shirt that was recently pinned to your back by a crossbow is at the best of times a tricky business. The bit of numbness in his right shoulder did nothing to add either grace or elegance to the effort.

Still, remove it he did, and focused on the broken quarrel end Destini had given him.

There was a series of grooves all along the metal section. Grooves that had traces of a black liquid under the blood.

"Well this explains the numbness in my shoulder," sighed the tired deacon.

Destini

Her eyebrow slightly raised when Allan didn't offer a retort, but complied to her request without a response. It wasn't what she had expected. In the two months she'd come to know this man, he was more often quick with an impish comment than silent compliance. This new behavior unnerved her slightly.

Still, she turned back to the task. When his shirt was off, she placed the cool cloth against his skin and felt its warmth seep through the fabric. She wiped away the blood as gently as she could, blotting in places she guessed would be more tender than others. She listened to him as she worked. Numbness? Perhaps that was why he didn't appear to be in as much pain as she would have expected. But why was his shoulder numb?

With the puncture cleaner than it had been, she could see that the edges of the wound beneath were darkend slightly. "The wound does have a darker tint 'round the edges," she told him. "I'm not dim, Allan. Ye've drawn some conclusion to all o' this, haven't ye?" she asked as she finished cleaning and gathered the cloth to hold it against the wound. "What's goin' on? Why the discoloration? What do grooves in the arrow mean?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked back at her stonily.

"It means poison. Numbness spidering out from the wound, black tint to edges of wound and my fingernails looking like I have been out on a cold, rainy night.

That means not only poison, but the successful delivery of the third part of the poison I used to carry antidotes for. The same blue liquid making mud on the ground from my last (now broken) vial"

Destini

If the stony look in Allan's eye wasn't enough to blanche the color from her face, the words he spoke were. She glanced from the wound to the arrow to the blue-ish tint in Allen's fingernails to the antidote upon the muddy soil. Her mouth fell open and her breath caught in her throat as what he was saying struck home. "Jah! Allan! No!" she exclaimed when she found her voice again. She dropped the cloth she was holding against the wound and knelt on the ground in front of him to look directly in his eyes.

"What do we do? I mean - how long do ye have? I mean - where can we get more o' the antidote? How far is it? I - I - mean ... oh, Allan!" She was beside herself with worry and fear, and not making much sense at all. She knew it. She felt a fool for the tears that pricked at the back of her eyes. But there it was. She was afraid ... for him ... for her ... for their quest. What would happen to her if he died? To her kin? She had left everything she knew to follow Allan in an effort to save her kin. What would she do if he died? She was certain the Cardinal would never forgive her for the death of his attache. Damn Elais. Damn whoever he worked for. "No," she cried in a strained tone. "Ye must survive. Ye will survive." She looked him in his eyes and grasped his hand. "Ye have to live," she said to him. She looked at him deep in his eyes, daring his stony gaze in an effort to show him how determined ... how desperate ... she was. "How.do.we.stop.this?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled gently and stood up.

"Well, dear, we need to head to the Hospital of St. Thomas. The antidote comes from there. And I owe Reverend Mother Mary a shilling, if memory serves. Let's be off and quick about it. As best I can tell we should make it with hours to spare.

Allan turned and strode swiftly up the road

Destini

She was both warmed by his smile, and unnerved. Hours to spare? They hadn't much time, then. She watched him as he walked off ... biting her bottom lip as she watched him, allowing him to get a few paces away. If her gaze was a bit appraising, well, hopefully Jah would forgive her.

"Allan," she called, trying to hide her appreciative amusement. She held up his tunic. "Yer shirt?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The deacon stopped cold. Really cold actually, what with no cloak or shirt on.

He blushed a bit as he took the shirt.

"Ah. Right. Well, then. Good show. Let's be off shall we...

Oh...sorry about your skirt..."

Destini

Good show? ... well, yes.

At least he was acting more like himself, now ... for the moment. Before he put his shirt, she placed the fallen bandage over his wound, securing it firmly with a wrap of cloth around his chest. She nodded at him satisfactorally and handed him his pack.

She blushed as he mentioned her skirt. Under-tunics being naturally longer than the over-tunic, he was now able to see her ankles since she'd used the fabric to bandage his wound. "Do nae worry 'bout my dress. 'Tis fer a good cause." She lifted her satchel over her own shoulder. "Shall we?" she asked as she set forth upon the trail.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As they walked down the trail beside the road, there remained no sign of pursuit. Allan calculated how far it would be to the Hospital of St. Thomas. A bit less than two days walking, faster if they found a cart or some horses.

There probably was no source for the horse and cart option though, and he had no time for diversions to find them.

"You'll like the Reverend Mother Mary Persephone, " he commented to Destini, "she is delightfully straightforward and can read more out of a silent moment than many folk can get from days of conversation.

And she asks a lot of questions."

Destini

"The reverend mother sounds like an intriguin' person," she said, indulging him in his conversation for a moment.

She kept a careful eye on him as they traveled, not wanting to miss a subtle sign if his health should suddenly go from bad to worse. He hadn't told her what to expect or even how long he had. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he simply didn't want to think about it. After all, who wanted a constant reminder that the time left to live was slipping away?

The very real possibility that she might finish this quest alone struck her like a bolt of lightning from a clear, blue sky. Allan had been her guide this whole while. Would she know her way if he were unconscious ... or worse? She bit her bottom lip at the thought.

Whether he wanted the reminder or no, she needed to bring it up again. "Allan," she said hesitantly as they walked. "I cannae blame ye if ye do nae want to talk about it nor want the reminder o' the poison. An' I promise ye I willnae bring it up again after this if ye wish. But I think ye'd best tell me our road ... in case --" she fumbled with her words. She didn't want to offend him, but she knew she had to finish what she was saying. "... in case the worst should happen."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The Deacon smiled, his normal humor shining through the masque of fatigue.

"well, I had just been wondering how to try to slip you that information without sending you into a panic. We *should* have enough time to get to the Hospital and they ought to have antidote, but if the should and ought all go for naught, you need to be prepared."

Allan drew a smallish map in some dust of the trail.

"We are here and London is up there. This road we are on runs down through another evacuated town before striking towards Arundel and Sussex. Before we get to Arundel, we'll hit the Hospital of St. Thomas. I figure it is about 36 hours if we walk straight through."

He looked off into the distance.

"If I become unconscious, you will need to leave me and move on with word of what happened. You cannot carry me and victims do not recover without antidote before that point."

Destini

Well ... she just had to ask, hadn't she? She cursed inwardly at her sense of curiosity, but at the same time, she knew she'd only asked what she had needed to know. Allan had said as much.

A queasy feeling tugged at her stomach as she thought of what she might have to do. "Thirty-six hours, ye say." Her voice was strained with a trepidation they had no time for if Allan were to be saved. "We havenae much time, then." She stood and made to continue down the road with as much haste as they could muster.

"Leavin' ye to die beside the road isnae an option." she said to him firmly, trying to appear stronger than she felt. "Fer one thing, 'twould mean explainin' to the Reverend Mother an' the Cardinal Faheud what had become o' ye. An' what a way that would be to make my introductions!" She grinned a teasing smile at him, hoping he was still well enough to take her comment in good humor.
_________________

--A_carrier_pigeon

A very familiar carrier pigeon cam fluttering down to land on a rail-post in front of the travelers along the road.

It chirped expectantly at Deacon Allan and held up a leg for a small roll of parchment to be removed.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's face lit up as he recognized the bird.

"Peck! You little blighter....whatcha got for me?"

Allan untied the message from the bird's leg and broke the seal, murmuring "She has a treat for you I expect..."

Allan's eyes widened as he read the letter from his employer

Greetings Allan,

Things have gotten a bit festive here in Sussex where I have just been elected Count. Please get me an update, preferably a verbal update, at your earliest convenience

Faheud, Count Sussex.

Destini

She had never before been so happy to see a bird.

"Perhaps we can send fer help?" she suggested as Allan read the parchment.

She was in the process of petting the top of Peck's head when Allan proclamed that she would be the one feeding the bird. A mild-protestation began to form on her tongue but died when she decided her paying the pigeon was just and fair payback for her earlier tease. Shrugging slightly and nodding at the fairness of that, she fished some of the corn from her pack for the bird to eat.

"Is it from the Cardinal? What does he say?" she asked.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan grinned, "No so much with the Cardinal anymore it would seem. Sussex seems to have elected our employer as the Count of Sussex. He is now one of the four ruling Dukes of England.

And he calls me worldly and unremitting. Baaaaah."

Destini

She blinked at that, surprised to hear the news. Count Faheud? It sounded foreign to her. In her mind, Faheud had always been a cardinal. "Count Faheud?" she spoke aloud, hoping maybe saying it would have more impact than just thinking it. No, it still sounded strange to her. "Well... that'll take some gettin' used to."

She looked to the sky to judge the time. "We havenae the time to tarry here, Allan," she reminded him. "If yer intention is to send a response with Peck, we must do so quickly."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan nodded as he turned over the parchment and began to write

"Your Grace...Congratulations on being the Duke of Sussex. That will take a bit of getting used to as attache Destini says, but we'll endeavor to persevere despite any worldly influences.

I will be detouring from mission to the Hospital of St. Thomas in order to more thoroughly inspect the quality of the antidotes being made there.

I will have to send your newest attache along with a verbal report as I have been served a cocktail fit for a king and do require Mother Mary's stern ministrations.

regards

Brightpoint

He read to Destini, tied the parchment and attached it to Peck's leg, watching the bird flutter off into the gathering gloom

Destini

She turned from watching the bird's flight as they continued their journey southward. "What did ye mean by callin' me Attache?" she asked Allan. They were traveling faster now than they had to date. She had to adjust her pace to a jog every four or five steps in order to keep up with his longer stride. "I havenae e'en met His Grace."

She was grateful, at least, that the ever-useful term of your grace was proper for both Cardinal and Count.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The Deacon shrugged

"You did volunteer to come on this trip and are learning the ways of an attache. It seems perfectly reasonable.

And in one of his notes, the Duke allowed as he'd consider you a provisional attache for purposes of helping you deal with any obstacles on your path.

Did I forget to mention that?

Destini

... Wait ...

... What?!

"YES, ye forgot to mention that!"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Oops."

He walked on.

Destini

Destini stood stock still on the trail, watching Allan traipse along the southward trail without her for a moment while the idea sunk in.

Shaking her head, she broke into a run to catch up to Allan's side. "Scoundrel," she said in a low tone. A subtle grin completly overpowered the glare she meant to cast.

She fell into step alongside him.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan woke with a start, feeling the cold sweat of a fever beading on his face and arms. His wound ached with a radiating spasm and could that really be a herd of wild horses pounding hooves in his head?

It took a few moments to remember where, when, and why they were where they were.

He saw Destini sitting nearby looking at him.

"I suppose we ought to get moving again eh? Resting did not seem to help very much-"

His words ended with a coughing fit as he got up and shouldered his pack.

How was he going to manage another ten hours or so of this?

Destini

Destini hadn't slept at all. She hadn't even tried. She told herself that someone had to keep watch for Elias and Allan was certainly in no shape to do so. But if she forced herself to be honest, the reason she had stayed awake was to watch over Allan while he slept. She worried for him more as the hours dragged on and his condition worsened. His dirty blonde locks of hair were matted close to his head with a fevered sweat. Many times he'd cried out in his restless sleep. Each cry of pain was as a dagger to her heart.

She was beyond relieved when he woke, however suddenly. She had begun to fear he might lapse in to an unconsciousness deeper than sleep and be lost.

Her face was drawn with worry and exhaustion. The only response she made to his suggestion that they continue was a weary nod. After smothering the still-warm coals of their campfire with dirt, she stood. Her balance faultered for a moment before she caught herself. A deep breath of air and a quick shake of her head from side to side focused her mind again. She mustn't fall asleep! Allan needed her. She would be here for him!

She pulled herself together quickly, hoping Allan hadn't noticed her momentary fatigue in the midst of his coughing fit. She handed him her water canteen. "I'm ready whene're ye are."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

one step at a time

one more step

thud clomp

and another .

thud clomp

Allan must continue

He must survive

he must get word to the Count

thud clomp

He must get through with his mission

thud clomp

then the coughing fit to stop his bit of time left

thud clomp

one step at a time

Destini

She walked beside him. Worry morphed to fear as Allan's condition deteriorated. She did her best to urge him onward.

They had to reach the hospital.

When his coughing overtook him, she handed him her water canteen and urged him to drink.

"Breathe, one breath at a time."

When he stumbled, she supported his weight as beet she could and urged him to keep moving.

"Forward, one step at a time."

She gave to him the staff Faheud had sent to her in Ireland. When she could not support his weight, the staff served him well enough.

"Keep movin', Allan," she urged him gently. "Ye can do this. I believe in ye. We're almost there. Just a little further..."

How much further was it?

One step less than the step before.

"Keep movin', Allan. One step at a time."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Suddenly, in a last burst of energy and clarity, Allan looked up and saw the road leading down to the Hospital of St. Thomas.

Blooding amazing....he had actually gotten here on step at a time.

Where did this staff come from?

He really hated sleeping on his feet

Destini

The gates of a small complex could be seen from the hill they were cresting. Within the walls, black and white garbed figures walked about their business. She squinted, trying to focus her exhausted eyes enough to see what kind of people these were. The image cleared after a moment and she recognized the clothing as nuns habits. Had they at last arrived at the Hospital of Saint Thomas?

Allan's sudden clarity of his surroundings drew Destini's wearied gaze. He hadn't spoken a word in hours. When he looked at the staff she had given him from her satchel, she smiled at him tiredly. "'Tis the staff Faheud sent to me as thanks fer my attempts to coordinate his arrival," she explained in a soft voice. Her voice, when compared to the lack of conversation between them for so many hours, seemed harsh in nature's natural quiet. "Seemed a good use fer it."

His lucid gaze drew her to question him further. "Are ye feelin' any better?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The tired Deacon managed a smile.

"We have at last arrived at the hospital, and I hope for some antidote in my tea forthwith.

I *do* feel a bit better, but that is largely drawing on last bits of energy and the need to not appear entirely incapacitated before the Reverend Mother's stern gaze.

She is.....formidable.

Thanks for the staff...it has made it much easier to get along. You are well full of handy ideas, dear..."

He trudged down the trail towards the gate, where a slightly frazzled young nun seemed to be looking at them.

--Sister_jovita

Sister Jovita was trimming the verge around the gates of the hospital. It was something that had needed to be done for some time ... though Sister Jovita's assignment to the arduous chore was more out of punishment than the necessity of the task. Her invention of the tea cart (a rather ingenious idea made real by a small side table with two rolling pins attached to the legs) had gone rather awry when it had rolled out of her control and destroyed one of the Reverend Mother's tea sets ... in front of the Cardinal Faheud's personal chamberlain who had recently visited.

A cool breese gusted suddenly and Sister Jovita stood up to enjoy it. As was normal in Spring, the sun was all too warm though the air was still cool from winter. When she stood, two figures making a beeline for the hospital caught her attention. One of the figures was a man with a familiar determined gait. It had been several months since she had last seen him, but she knew him immediately all the same. "Deacon Brightpoint!" she called to him gladly. She ran to the approaching figures, the garden shears forgotten ... but still in her hand.

_________________

Destini

Destini's attention was caught by the sound of Allan's name being called. Seeing the young nun rushing them with garden shears, Destini took a defensive stance. The shouted call had not been one of anger, but the action was certainly not one of friend.

"Why is it everyone is always tryin' to kill ye, Allan?" she asked him with a sideways glance.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stopped trudging and leaned on the staff to grin at Destini

"Because they've met me?"

With that he slumped to the ground.

Destini

Her heart sank.

No!

"Allan!" She cried, dropping to his side.

Looking up at the young nun, she decided Aristotelian charity would have to overcome any malice the nun might have toward the deacon. "Ye there! Get inside an' bring help! We must get him in the hospital! He's been poisoned an' he doesnae have much time left! GO!" she urged.

Destini turned back to Allan and ran her fingers gently through his sweat-matted hair. "Hold on, Allan," she whispered softly but urgently. "Please."
_________________

--Sister_jovita

Sister Jovita gaped at the strange woman who so quickly barked orders at her. What was that strange accent? It was difficult for Sister Jovita to understand her, but she did understand two things: Deacon Brightpoint had been poisoned, and she was to fetch help. When the woman shouted 'GO!' in her accent full of strange vowel sounds, Sister Jovita dropped the garden shears and ran back to the hospital as fast as her feet would carry her.

Her slick soled shoes skidded on the cobblestone floor as she threw open the door to the Reverend Mother's study without knocking.

"Reverend Mum!! Come quick! Deacon Brightpoint! Poison!!!! Help!" she blurted in a panicked tone.

_________________

--Mary_persephone

The Reverend Mother Mary Persephone first looked up at young nun with vain tolerance. The girl was practically bouncing off the ceiling while trying to explain something that made no sense ... but that was more Sister Jovita's status quo than anything to write to the cardinal about.

The message Sister Jovita spewed had such force that the meaning was nearly lost. Nearly ... but not entirely. With the force of a papal decree, the message suddenly struck home. Mary's face blanched. The tolerant thin-lipped frown of disapproval vanished. Young Brightpoint was here and had been poisoned.

"Sister Margaret!" she shouted to the sister who was always at her beck and call. She often seemed to appear out of nowhere whenever Mary called. This time was no exception. "I need four of the soldiers His Grace stationed here for our protection. They'll finally be able to earn the bread they've been eating at our table. Have Sister Magdalene stand ready. We will need her herbal knowledge. Sister Jovita, I need a stretcher." Mary raised a finger in warning to the young nun. "No.Intelligent.Ideas. Just bring the stretcher as quickly as possible!"

In minutes, The Reverend Mother Mary Persephone was running out of the hospital gates with four men at arms hoisting a six foot stretcher. Her habit billowed in her wake in the March winds. A young woman stroked young Brightpoint's hair, gently tending to him. Despite how much she didn't understand, she had no time for questions. Her healer's glance told her the deacon was in dire straights indeed. "Get him on the stretcher!" she ordered to the men at arms when they were at last at young Brightpoint's side. "Take him to the main room of the hospital as quick as you can!"

Mary turned to the girl, kindness reflecting in her old eyes. There was no time for nicities. "Come inside. We will have questions."

_________________

Destini

Destini looked up as a parade of people exited the gates. The first was an older woman who faced the cold March winds the way a warrior to battle would face his foes. Behind her, four men carried a stretcher.

She stood back as they lifted him onto the stretcher and carried him within. The older woman had invited her to come with them. Destini nodded wearily that she would do so. She lifted Allan's pack and the staff and followed them within the hospital.

The grounds were beautiful. The rooftops were shingled in such a way that created bold, colorful patterns to the eye. This complex was clearly not designed to be a hospital, but it served the purpose quite well.

She followed Allan's stretcher as they carried him into a great hall. Red curtains adorned beds on each side of the massive space. An alter to Jah encompassed the entire far wall. Each of the beds were situated in such a way that even the most sick of those kept here would be able to view the offices of the church. Destini found herself looking upward in wonder at the spaces built to honor Jah. What she wouldn't give to understand more of Allan's religion.

She looked again to Allan, hoping that he would survive this enough to tell her more of what he believed. What if he should die? Did he believe in a life after this one? She didn't know what she believed. In a place as holy and as dedicated to healing the sick as this was, surely a deacon like Allan would be saved.

She looked again to the rafters of the large building and closed her eyes in a silent prayer to Jah that Allan would be saved. "Please, Jah, save him!"

It was the first time she had asked Jah for anything with an honest and true belief that He might grant it.

The soldiers placed Allan from the stretcher onto one of the beds. Destini went to the older woman who appeared to be in charge and spoke quickly and consicely. "Some days ago, a man named Elias shot Allan in the back with a crossbow arrow dipped in the final part o' the trinary Oriental poison. We traveled straight hence with little rest. He said ye had more o' the antidote. Ye must give it to him as quickly as ye can!""
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Little Allan ran through the pasture making the dandy lions puff white fluffs of seed smoke into the air.

"Allan, come back!" called Mama...

Allan ran cackling madly at seeing all the puffs rising higher and higher into the sky.

He, too was rising higher and higher into the sky, but he heard the voices calling him sternly to return...

would he? Could he?

--Mary_persephone

At the name of Elias and the mention of the trinary poison, the Reverend Mother stopped harshly and looked at the girl. She knew. Young Brightpoint must have told her. Mary looked over at the young deacon and saw that his fingernails were, indeed colored so blue they were nigh black. Rather than respond to the girl with more questions -- there was no time for that -- she looked up to Sister Magdalene who stood ready for Mary's orders.

As a boy in his early thirties, young Brightpoint was too young to die. With the girl's words and the color of the deacon's fingernails, Mary knew the only thing standing between young Brightpoint and death's door was the elixir. She uttered a prayer that they might save him in time. "Sister Magdalene, the elixir. Yes, you know the one I mean. Quickly, sister! Young Brightpoint is dying!"

Mary looked to the foreign girl again. "If it is Jah's will, young Brightpoint will be saved. Still, I need you to be prepared." She hated to utter the words, and yet, she knew she had to. "It may already be too late."

Sister Magdalene returned. A vial of the clear, blue liquid was in her hand.

Reverend Mother Mary Persephone took it from her and went to young Brightpoint's side. She uncapped the vial and raised his head. "Gently, young Brightpoint. Drink. This won't be the whiskey I know you're used to drinking, but it will save you." She poured the elixir into his mouth and prayed it would stop the poison before it killed him.

________________

Destini

Tears ran freely down her high cheekbones as she watched the older woman pour the elixir into Allan's mouth. Already too late? No! They'd come too far! They'd been through too much for it to end like this.

The second the older woman was away from Allan's side, Destini took her place. She held Allan's left hand with her right hand and stroked his blonde hair with her left.

"Ye mustnae die, Allan. Please! Ye cannae leave me here to battle this threat alone!" She choked on a sob. "I need ye here!"

.
.
.

"Allan?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Have you ever seen that perfect light, that calm and peace that beckons the soul?

Have you ever heard the song of heaven to bid you forget mortality's toll?

Allan sat on a bench along a path in a park. He was alone and not alone.

His father sat next to him now, wearing a simple white habit and murmuring without speaking

"I love you son, but it is not time. She needs you. Go back and finish your many quests."

Time passes and light fades.

Coughing

Spluttering

Jerking awake to see nuns. Destini. The stern, worried gaze of Mary Persephone.

Allan asked, "Why is breakfast late? Hullo Destini. You stayed in England then?"

Destini

She sobbed more freely as Allan awoke. "Praise Jah!" she cried aloud in relief.

"O' course I stayed in England! How could I leave ye in a time like this?!" she sobbed. Her smile shined through her tears like the afternoon sun through the rain. Oh how glad she was to see him alive! His eyes glinted under his weary lids. Right here. Right now. This was where she wanted to be. At his side. He was awake! He was alive!

Destini kissed Allan.

She blushed at what was surely a too-rare scene of affection playing out before the nuns of Jah. She turned to the older woman. "Thank ye," she said, bowing her head. Embarrassment? Shame? No, just thanks. She had been awake for more than two days trying to save Allan. All the energy she had left was transferred completely to sincere thanks that Allan was alive. "Thank ye fer believin' me," she said to the older woman.

Realizing that she hadn't introduced herself, she stood and curtseyed. "Destini MacKenzie, at yer service. Thank ye fer savin' him."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

freshly kissed, Deacon Allan could only say, "well then!"

--Mary_persephone

The Reverend Mother's eyebrows raised to her hairline. My! Young Brightpoint had found his adventure this time, hadn't he?

"I am Reverend Mother Mary Persephone," she introduced herself to Destini. "And whilst young Brightpoint is recovering, I hope you'll not be too much a distraction to him or to the rest of our house here at the Hospital of Saint Thomas." Her tone was admonishing, but beneath was a soft glimmer of amusement.

She looked at Brightpoint, her raised eyebrows falling to narrow her eyes. "As for you, young Brightpoint, I hope you'll behave yourself whilst you recover under my roof!"

Turning to the gathered sisters of her house, she turned away from young Brightpoint. "Come, sisters. Margaret, ring the bell for Compline."

She turned and left Destini and young Brightpoint behind her. Though none could see it, one side of her mouth tipped upward to a half-smile.

________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Ahh," began Allan, " I shall of course, dearest Reverend Mother, be the picture of sweet innocence..."

--Mary_persephone

She turned over her shoulder briefly to respond to the young deacon.

"See that you do!"

The bell sounded. There was Jah's business to attend to. The Reverend Mother walked to the alter to begin Compline.

_______________

Destini

Destini sunk down to Allan's bedside again. Her exhausted knees simply wouldn't support her weight anymore.

"I willnae ask yer forgiveness," she said, referring to her kiss. Her cheeks blushed profusely as she spoke. "I'm just glad ye're alive." She stroked his hair, looking directly in his eyes. She was exhausted, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that shone through her half-open lids.

"So," she said softly as the nuns of Saint Thomas began to sing Compline. "What happens now?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan considered her question...

"Two things come to mind.

One...I need to get feeling in my legs again.

Two...I need you to get to the Cardinal....erm...Count...and tell him what has befallen us along our way. I will catch up as soon as I may."

Destini

She smiled tiredly and nodded.

"I'll travel to Hastings first thing in the mornin'," she said wearly. She moved from kneeling on the floor to sitting in the chair beside his bed.

"I'll tell him we reached the hospital in time fer the Reverend Mother to save ye from the poison. An' Ah'll answer any questions 'e migh' 'ave." Her words slurred slightly as she leaned her head against the edge of his bed to watch him while she spoke.

Her eyelids closed while she thought of what else the Cardinal ... Count ... would need to hear. "Allan ..." she said, her words now laced with exhaustion. "Iss there anythin' else I ssshould tell 'im?" She was falling asleep. She knew it. She hadn't slept in two days ... hadn't slept a full night in more than that. Worry, fear, and adrenaline had kept her awake. Now, they were safe and would remain so for an evening. She tried to listen to Allan's answer even as her breathing started to even.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan stirred, and shifted the coverlet off his arms. Coverlet? When had he gotten from the hill overlooking the hospital to a bed?

It was dreadfully quiet. not a sound.

No not quite right. There was the sound of someone breathing the soft steady pattern of sleep. He looked down and saw the sleeper on a pallet by the bed.

Allan lay back down and wryly muttered.

"Imp. Who is the scoundrel now?

Thanks...."

Slumber again weighted down eyes and embraced his soul in peaceful arms.

Destini

Destini awoke when sunlight through the windows shifted across her face. Heavily, her eyelids opened to gaze at her surroundings. While she slept, she had been moved from the wooden chair at Allan's bedside to a small sleeping pallet near him.

Allan.

How fared he?

Unfounded panic gripped her and she sat bolt upright to look at Allan.

Her heart raced.

... But, no. Nothing was wrong.

After months of nigh constant life-threatening danger, there was suddenly nothing to worry about.

She took a deep breath of cool, quiet air to slow to her racing heart. Allan slept peacefully. His breathing was the soft, easy flow of one in deep, restful sleep. Good. If anyone deserved a quiet rest in which to recouperate, Allan did. Destini, however, had a duty to complete.

Before she'd fallen asleep, Allan had told her she must reach Count Faheud, must inform him of what had happened. Though she would prefer to remain at Allan's side until he recovered, he was counting on her to do as he had asked.

She stood and groggily gathered her things. How long had she been asleep? A glance at the high windows of the hospital told her it was late morning and quickly passing to early afternoon. There was no more time to waste.

Sitting on the edge of her sleeping pallet, Destini began to put on her shoes.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

without opening his eyes, or stirring from his bed, Allan murmured softly at Destini. he could tell she was rousing from her own rest.

"For a scoundrel you have soft lips...."

Destini

She looked up from her shoes to Allan's bed, almost not certain she had heard what she had heard. His eyes remained closed and he looked to still be sleeping. Could she have imagined it? Or was he talking in his sleep?

No, he was awake. His soft, even breathing had changed slightly. She blushed, but a grin found its way to her face as she finished tying her shoes and moved to his bedside.

Taking his hand in her own, she noticed his skin was not as feverish as it had been. She said softly back to him, "Kissed many scoundrels, have ye?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan murmured with a hint of a grin on his too-pale face

"counting you....one."

--Mary_persephone

"Ah! Good you're awake," said Mary, seeing that both young Brightpoint and Destini MacKenzie were awake and talking together quietly. Turning to her faithful shadow, Sister Margaret, she asked for the nun to quickly take Destini's sleeping pallet away before someone tripped on it.

She went to check on Allan's condition. "You're a lucky boy, young Brightpoint. Your fever's broken, but you have much mending to do if you are going to leave here." He was, indeed, far more pale than she would have liked to see. "Try not to be a baby while I check how your wound fares." she rotated him slightly to his side and moved the bandage aside so she could see the puncture wound in the back of his shoulder. She nodded firmly at what she saw, replaced the bandage, and lowered him back to his bed as gently as she could -- which was, perhaps, less gentle than young Brightpoint may have wished. "I will be sending Sister Magdalene to change your bandage within the hour." The phrase was more of a warning to him than the appeared courtesy of letting him know. Changing a bandage required moving the patient. A wound as severe as young Brightpoint's would be painful indeed when he was moved.

She looked to Destini and noted she had gathered her things. "If you're planning on leaving, dear, you are free to do so. But I hope you know young Brightpoint will not be accompanying you." Her firm manner softened some as she added, "But I will have one of the sisters give you a loaf of bread or two for your journey."

__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan made sure to neither flinch, nor allow any expression to pass his face while the Reverend Mother attended to him. She had never shown much tolerance for whiners and he was determined not to test that now. When she had finished he thanked her.

"My thanks, Reverend Mother, I owe you, your sisters, and Destini here a great debt of gratitude. I should also apologize for the loss of one of the antidote vials. It turns out that they serve well for healing poison but very poorly as shielding against crossbows.

And have no fears about my trying to sneak away early. I will clearly need to be here for a couple days before I can continue on to Wolvesey Castle"

--Mary_persephone

"A couple more days at the very least," said Mary with stern gaze at young Brightpoint.

She had wondered what had happened to the elixir. When the deacon had come to collect a number of the antidote vials, she had asked him how many he needed. Young Brightpoint had only requested three vials for the Duke Padraig of one of the Irish counties and three more for the bishops of the Irish church. Though she had lived in the church her whole life, she was a practical woman. Mary believed faith in Jah was a great deal more successful when combined with preparation and precaution. She had given young Brightpoint one more vial for his own safety. It seemed it had come to naught.

Mary turned to Destini and considered her a moment before calling again for Sister Margaret, "Sister Margaret! Bring one of the antidote vials if you will."

She looked at the Irish girl and explained. "I will do for you what I did for young Brightpoint. I will give you one of the antidote vials for your use as you see fit should you encounter the trinary poison either in yourself or in another." Sister Margaret returned with one of the vials and handed it to the Reverend Mother. With a glance at young Brightpoint, Mary gave Destini the vial of cerulean liquid.

"I give you this vial, child, on one condition. Do try to take better care of this than young Brightpoint did his."

________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan uttered a surprisingly--even to himself--heartfelt "Thankyou Reverend Mother!"

--Mary_Persephone wrote:

"A couple more days at the very least," said Mary with stern gaze at young Brightpoint.
. "I will do for you what I did for young Brightpoint. I will give you one of the antidote vials for your use as you see fit should you encounter the trinary poison either in yourself or in another." Sister Margaret returned with one of the vials and handed it to the Reverend Mother. With a glance at young Brightpoint, Mary gave Destini the vial of cerulean liquid.

"I give you this vial, child, on one condition. Do try to take better care of this than young Brightpoint did his."

________________

Destini

She accepted the vial with a slight curtsey and repeated Allan's exclamation. "I thank ye, Reverend Mother," she said with gracious humility. Overwhelmed with her generosity, Destini removed her mother's locket and placed the antidote vial on the chain in its place. She tucked the locket in one of the small pockets of her satchel where it would be safe.

Although her mother's locket was an irreplacable heirloom, it's practical significance was far outweighed by the vial of the elixir. The necklace chain was long enough that it hung beneath the collar of her shirt. As such, the vial was out of sight to those who did not know what they were looking for.

She looked at Allan's pale face and smiled at both him and the Reverend Mother. "I should be away," she said to them both. "There isnae much time to spare."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan sat up with some effort, risking a glare from the hospital staff, and said, "Travel safe, my dear scoundrel. We have already damaged one of His Grace's attaches this month..."

Destini

She cast him a wry smile for his jest and his risking the wrath of the Reverend Mother in order to sit up and say goodbye to her. Before she lifted her satchel to leave, she went to him and embraced gently him in farewell, uncertain when she would next see him again.

"Take it easy on yerself fer a bit, hm?" she said to him softly when they parted. "I willnae forgive ye if the Reverend Mother drowns ye in the well fer sneakin' out before ye're healed."

She grinned at him and turned to lift her satchel onto her shoulders.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan laughed and mostly hid a wince of pain. "I doubt Reverend Mother Mary would spoil a perfectly good well in such a way. Off with you then!"

Destini

With a final smile at Allan, she took up the staff that Faheud had sent her, and turned and left the room.

In minutes, she was exiting the grounds of the Hospital of Saint Thomas. Her step was light but swift. Count Faheud was expecting a verbal update on Allan's progress. She would not keep him waiting. Nor would she let Allan down.

Turning east, she set upon the road to Arundel and Sussex.
_________________

--.elias.

An embrace. A smile on both faces as they part. Laughter. And ... something more ...

Has Allan Brightpoint made a new friend?

I collapse my telescoping spyglass. My quarry may have survived the poison thanks to that infuriating herbalist. He may now sit in a fortress protected by the Cardinal's own guards. But I know without his allies Allan Brightpoint is nothing.

He will be weakened now from the poison ... easier now to deal with ... to put an end to. I only have to get inside ....

The Irish wench appears from the fortress gates headed east. What was her name on the passenger manifold back in the port of Egremont? Ah, yes ... Destini MacKenzie. I watch her leave.

... one less ally, Brightpoint ....

___________________

--Mary_persephone

The lanterns along the walls of the hospital were lit. The flames cast a golden glow on the nuns and patients of the hospital as Reverend Mother Mary Persephone led them in the office of vespers.

The soothing reciting tone of the plainchant blended the women's voices in echoing praise and devotion to Jah. The large space bounced the tones throughout the room and to the ears of the patients who remained in their beds to watch the office.

Mary prayed, as she always did, for the souls of the patients under her care. That their souls might be made whole while their bodies mended. This night, she said an extra prayer for young Brightpoint, whose unremitting soul undoubtedly needed an extra prayer or two, and for the child Destini who had set forth on the road to Hastings on her own.

As she brought vespers to an end, the nuns processed out of the hall, returning to their duties. After vespers, dinner was normally brought to each of the patients. The sisters shared this duty, rotating the chore through their ranks daily. Today, Sister Jovita was tasked with carrying the dinner trays and Mary, to spare the other sisters from Jovita's antics, had taken it on herself to distribute any medicine the patients may need to ease their ills so they might have an eve of restful and healing sleep.

Mary ensured Sister Jovita was headed to fetch the dinners from the kitchen then began to make her rounds through the patients.

At length, she reached young Brightpoint's bedside. She gazed at him kindly as she bent over him to check his bandage. "How are you feeling, my boy? And don't you give me any brush off," she added quickly to forestall any nonsense he might have spouted in an effort to make her believe he was fully healed and ready to leave. "I'll need a true answer if I'm to let you leave here as quickly as I know you'll want to leave."
___________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan nodded up at Mother Mary.

"Not to worry Reverend Mother. I am no good to anyone limping around the kingdom. I feel a lot better than the time I was laid up from a crossbow shot for two weeks, but a lot worse than the time it took me a couple days down time to get over a knife wound. I think your guess of a nearly week was fairly accurate."

He lay back down, but thought better and slowly sat up again, rummaging in his damaged pack for something.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot. I owe you this shilling."

Allan smiled and ruefully handed the Reverend Mother a shilling.

--Mary_persephone

Mary sighed, seeing now that she was right to have offtered an extra prayer to Jah on young Brightpoint's behalf. "I see that age does not necessarily come with wisdom," she said as she took the coin from him. She held the coin up next to her face so if he looked at his lost coin he would not miss her stern gaze. "I had hoped you had learned your lesson about betting against the cardinal, or need I remind you of the last time?"

She shook her head at him disapprovingly, and pocketed the coin in her front apron pocket. "Very well, out with it, young Brightpoint, what is this shilling for?"
____________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint blushed deeply...

"It seems that after having three ships shot out from under me en route to Ireland to I might have bet that I would get back to England without incident.

Turns out......down a shilling."

--.elias.

I wait. My mind wanders as I watch the patrolling guards. They bear Cardinal Faheud's badge on their tunics. Long years ago, I trained to be a deacon. Long years ago, I knew all there was to know of the Cardinal's house ... though he was but a bishop at the time. I knew how his house functioned, how he trained his men at arms, how long they would patrol before switching shifts to other, more rested soldiers.

I have watched the guards all through the day. Four hours ago, they switched shifts. Rested soldiers took the place of those that were tired. I expect them to switch shifts again soon. Four hours on, four hours off. That is how they were trained. Old knowledge comes in handy when allies are enemies.

There is no way I can enter through the front door. There are too many guards there. I make my way to the rear of the fortress. Earlier in the day, I spied a servant's entrance guarded by only one man. Now that dusk has fallen, that door is my aim.

Quietly, stealthily, I reach my new position facing the servant's entrance. My crossbow is loaded and in my hands. I take aim on the single guard. I draw a slow breath and hold it as I squeeze the trigger.

The string snaps against the quarrel. The fletching sighs as it sails through the air. The arrowhead strikes true, piercing the soldier's heart. He slumps to the ground without a sound, without shouting the alarm.

There is a gap now in the soldiers' carefully watched perimeter. I make my way, unseen, to the outer wall. I pull the guard away from the servant's door. Hiding behind the hinge side of the door, I wait for the guard's replacement to arrive. Four hours on, four hours off ... soon the shifts would change.

The door opens. He does not even see me as I slit his throat with my dagger. Silently, he falls to the ground. I catch the door before it closes and slip within.

Only the nuns now stand between me and my quarry.

All too easy.
____________________

--Mary_persephone

Mary's mouth was a grim thin line as she listened to young Brightpoint's explanation. She nodded once and withdrew the coin from her apron pocket.

She handed the shilling back to him. "Keep your coin, young Brightpoint. I think you have already been well-fined in hardship for your wager."

Before turning away from him and moving on to the next patient, she asked, "Have you need of anything? Something to dull the pain or help you sleep, perhaps? It's been some hours since you were given anything." She cast a scrutinous eye on him, hoping he wouldn't lie to her and try to tough out the night if he was truly in need.

_____________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Looking ruefully at the coin Mother Mary had returned, Allan returned it to the pack.

"I had planned to do some Shin meditations to relax for the night, Reverend Mother. The worst of the pain has settled and in a relaxed state I will be able to sleep without being groggy if I need to wake up fast for some reason."

--Mary_persephone

"As you wish." She nodded once to him and moved on. Though she didn't understand the rituals young Brightpoint had learned in the East, she did respect them. And since they seemed to work for him, who was she to say otherwise?

She administered medication to several of the remaining patients, then assisted Jovita with the distribution of the patients' suppers.

When they were finished and the supper trays were gathered, Mary extinguished every other candle within the wall sconces. The lighting in the hall dimmed.

"Sister Jovita, the trays must be taken to the kitchen and cleaned. Once you have done that, you may retire until Compline. Should you require me, I will be in my office." Satisfied all would be well so long as Sister Jovita did not do anything foolish, Mary turned and left the hall.

____________________

--Sister_jovita

"Yes, Reverend Mum," said Sister Jovita with a brief curtsey.

She wrinkled het nose at all the trays. Ugh! This would take forever to clean! She'd have to make several trips to and from the kitchen to even carry them all. Frowning, Sister Jovita began to stack the trays.

As she neared Deacon Brightpoint's bed, she recalled the conversation he and the Reverend Mother were having when she walked in with some of the dinner trays. "Deacon Brightpoint, sir," she began. Her nervousness made her overly formal. She always liked it when the deacon came to visit because he always had such facinating stories of dangerous far-away places. But at the same time, she was incredibly awe-struck almost to the point of being a little daunted by his mere presence in their humble hospital.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, or anything like that, but I heard you telling the Reverend Mum you'd rather meditate on your shins instead of having medicine. I'm confused .... How does meditating on your legs help you sleep?"

____________________

--.elias.

I pad softly through the corridors. I hear low voices echoing down the stone hall. Slowly, I make my way toward them. The corridor I'm in comes to an end ahead, meeting with another hall on the left. The voices are coming from a room on the right.

The infernal herbalist emerges from the doorway and sweeps down the left hall. I quickly press myself into an alcove. My dark clothing makes it easier to blend in. I was nearly seen! I must be more careful. The herbalist was talking to someone, so someone is still in the room.

I wait in the alcove a moment to ensure the coast is clear before I attempt to sneak closer to the room and see if my quarry lies within.

______________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Laughter echoes around the ward as Allan fails to contain his mirth.

"Sister Jovita you are a balm for the weary soul. I speak of the 'sheen' master of the orient, not of often painful parts of the human leg. The Shin masters teach that meditation brings peace and control--both of which I need on a daily basis....does this make more sense?"

--Sister_Jovita wrote:

--Sister_jovita

"Ohhhh," said Sister Jovita with wide eyes. She nodded her understanding. "Yes, that makes much more sense."

She grinned toothily at him, wanting to continue their conversation but having no idea what else she could ask him to make him keep talking. With a sigh, she looked about the hall at the trays that still waited for her to do as the Reverend Mother Mary had asked. Her smile fell to a look of general distaste at the chore of cleaning the patients' trays. "Guess, I should get back to work before the Reverend Mum thinks I'm shirking my duties ... again," she said reluctantly.

She lifted some of the stacked trays and turned away from Deacon Brightpoint, but swiftly pivoted back toward him again as something occurred to her. "Deacon Brightpoint, sir? Do you think you could tell me more about the sheen training? ... after my duties, I mean? ... if you're not asleep, I mean? ... or maybe tomorrow? I think could use a little control too ... probably. For some reason, things are always getting out of hand around me." She gave him an exaggerated shrug to show Deacon Brightpoint that she had no idea why things never went the way she envisioned.

________________

--.elias.

My quarry! I would know that voice anywhere! The infernal herbalist is gone down the hall now. I softly pad to the open doorway and peer within.

There he is! In a hospital bed speaking with one of the nuns. I look about at the other patients. Most are asleep already. The lights within the hospital are dimmed low. Shadows drift like whispers along the edges of the room. The hall is more brightly lit than the interior room. To avoid casting a silhouette, I quickly slip within the doorway and find a shadow behind a bed to cloak myself. I cannot see Brighpoint from my new location, but I can see the nun. Shadows line the long hall from my hiding place to his bedside. It will be easy for me to sneak within and plunge a dagger into my quarry's chest ... if only the nun was not speaking with him.

I load my crossbow. I could remove her as an obstacle in my path without ever raising the alarm ...

________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Deacon Allan smiled at the bright-eyed young sister.

"Well, you take the first path towards Shin mastery by realizing that you need control. Well done. By all means I would be happy to teach you some techniques to increase focus and breadth of vision."

Allan paused and cocked his head to take a better look at the strange table with wheels the friendly Jovita was loading trays onto. What in tarnation....

"So what *is* that contraption you are loading trays onto?"

--Sister_jovita

Sister Jovita followed Deacon Brightpoint's gaze. She had rescued the table from the store-room where it had been used as little more than a shelf. The wheels were not exactly wheels, but a pair of rolling pins that the sisters weren't using at the time. It's surface could carry more trays than she could on her own, and it rolled quite well on the cobblestone floor ... sometimes a bit too well.

"Ohhh, that. It was meant to be a tea cart, but, well, that didn't go over well with the Reverend Mum after it rolled away from me and destroyed one of her tea sets. So, the way I figured, it could be used for something less breakable like the dinner trays. This way I only have to make one trip to the kitchen!"

She beamed a smile at the deacon as she loaded the final set of trays onto the cart. "I'll be right back! Don't go anywhere!" With that, she pushed the cart out of the room and toward the kitchen. The faster she could get these trays cleaned, the faster she could get back and listen to more of Deacon Brightpoint's stories!

_________________

--.elias.

I wait impatiently as they speak. Making a new ally, Brightpoint? My silver eyes narrow on the situation.

At last! The nun leaves, pushing a rather strange contraption laden with wooden trays. I pull back into the shadows as she passes me. When I can no longer hear her or her strange contraption, I emerge from my hiding place.

The flickering flames of the candles cast a low glow about the hall. It is a dim, easy light that lends itself well to covert assassinations. I raise the crossbow to take aim on the third hospital bed where my quarry lies. I will fire the weapon, ensure his death, and exit without any knowing I have been here.

I am three paces from my quarry now. Close enough."Farewell, Brightpoint!" I hiss as I begin to squeeze the crossbow's trigger.

__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint was limping a bit as he returned from the hospital's privy. He had waited in growing discomfort for the chatty young nun to be on her way so that he could get some relief.

As he padded silently down the dim aisle, he saw a figure standing near his bed, aiming a crossbow down at the roll of bedclothes there, hissing words he could not hear. The figure was tall, gaunt, and dressed in black, with a familiar shock of white hair.

Allan went cold and then hot with fury. Looking quickly around, he saw a stone mortar and pestle on a table within reach. Silently snatch it up he hurled it at the head of the would-be assassin.

--.elias.

The arrow burried itself in the bed without striking a target. Movement to my left. A silhouette out of the corner of my eye. I look. "Brightpoint!" I hiss. I had not seen him leave! My mistake had been choosing stealth rather than keeping my eyes on him. He sees me. Recognizes me. A stone mortar flies toward my head. I dodge it in the nick of time. It shatters upon the floor behind me.

I pull the crossbow bolt from the bedlinens and reload my crossbow. I shall not leave my mission unfinished! I aim it at him, looking to see if he is armed. I cannot tell. This time, at least, I will have proper aim before pulling the trigger.

"Why.won't.you.just.die?" I ask him in irritation.

_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint stifled a curse as the mortar missed and shattered against the stone wall with a deafening crack.

He saw Elias reach down to retrieve his bolt and reload the crossbow. Allan began a movement to lift a chair as a shield of sorts, intending to block the bolt and rush Elias with the impromptu weapon before another reload was possible.

He answered Elias' snarled question with a grin, "Because Jah requires me here to stop idiots like you..."

--.elias.

I see the grip he has on the chair. He could block my bolt if I fire now. I hold my shot, waiting for an opportune moment to depress the trigger and send the crossbow bolt for his heart. If he were armed, he wouldn't have thrown the stone mortar at me. He wouldn't have a defensive grip on the chair.

Keeping one eye on my quarry -- I'll not make the same mistake again -- I glance at the shattered mortar upon the floor.

"Tell me. Did you really expect to take me out with a mortar and pestle?" I ask him. Amusement laces my tone. Keep talking, Brightpoint. I will have my opportunity.

_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan grinned wolfishly, "Well, yes. I generally reserve higher grade munitions for opponents that can cause lasting harm...

So what do you hope to accomplish here? By now all the noise will be drawing guards, nuns and such..."

--.Elias. wrote:

"Tell me. Did you really expect to take me out with a mortar and pestle?"
_________________

--Sister_jovita

A CRASH sounds from the hospital wing.

Startled, Sister Jovita dropped the wash rag and tray into the soapy water in the wash basin. She broke into a run for the hospital, grabbing a dry dish towel on her way out the door. Something was very wrong in the hospital and the Reverend Mother had left that wing under her care for the evening!

She ran faster, drying her hands as she went.

She skidded to a stop in the doorway between the hall and the hospital wing. A man with the most starting white hair she'd ever seen held a crossbow on Deacon Brightpoint. There was no doubt in her mind that he had every intention of using it.

She had to stop this! But how? She needed help. Deacon Brightpoint needed help. The rope that sounded the chapel's bell was on this end of the hall. Without a thought for herself, she dropped the dish towel and ran to sound the bell that normally called the sisters to the offices of the church.

She would sound the alarm.

________________

--.elias.

As my quarry finishes speaking, I mutter a curse under my breath. Though I'd killed two of the guards, there are more about the fortress that may have heard the shatter of the mortar. I glare at my quarry. I despise it when Brightpoint is right. It's worse now than when we were students together oh so many years ago.

I realize now that I will not get my opportunity to kill him this night. All he has to do is wait ... and he knows it. I must escape before the guards arrive.

The young nun returns, skidding to a stop in the doorway. For a moment, she stands between me and my exit. I am caught between Brightpoint and the nun.

She breaks into a run, the church bell is her aim. Even if the guards did not hear the shatter of the mortar, they would hear the bell. If I am to have any hope of escaping, I must stop her from sounding the bell.

... It occurrs to me ... she is neither armed ... nor defended ...

A slow, subtle smile crosses my lips as I meet Brightpoint's gaze directly. The lack of any sparkle in my silver eyes tells him exactly what I am going to do.

Let him know ... let him watch ...

In one motion, I run toward my exit and lift my crossbow to aim at the young nun's back as she runs. As I make my escape, I pull the trigger.

The crossbow bolt leaps into the air. It's path leads straight to the young nun. I don't watch to see if it strikes.

__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan watched with horror as Jovita ran into the hall and skidded to a stop.

He watched Jovita make a decision and turn to run towards the bell rope.

She intended to sound the alarm.

He saw Elias grin evilly and turn the crossbow on the young sister.

Suddenly, Allan was galvanized into action. He raised the chair and charged towards Elias, in order to bring the heavy bulk of it crashing down on his former brother's head.

Brightpoint screamed as he ran..."ELIAS!!! NO!!!"

--Sister_jovita

A pain unlike anything she'd ever experienced exploded in her back.

Must - sound - the alarm! she thought through the blur of pain.

Her legs would no longer hold her. She began to collapse forward.

As her gaze darkened and she fell, she reached her small hands to grasp the rope bell pull.

With her last act in this world, Sister Jovita sounded the alarm.
________________

--.elias.

The bell tolls.

Something strikes my head and halts my escape. The world tilts and the cobblestone floor rises to meet me. My vision goes blurry then black. I feel my heartbeat in the back of my skull. Brightpoint. I have underestimated him.

Even as I lose consciousness, in some dim part of my mind, I realize I have failed.

________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan felt Elias crumple beneath the impact of the chair, which had shattered from the force of the blow.

Elias was down and out of it, so the deacon hurled the wood aside and ran over to Sister Jovita.

The bolt suck out of her chest, a mortal wound, and he could see the amazing light in her eyes dimming.

Through a haze of regret at being just a second too slow, Allan began to speak the last rites...

"In Spiritum Sanctum, In Cristos Santum..."

--Mary_persephone

The Reverend Mother ran down the hall, her habit billowing in her wake. What in Jah's name had Sister Jovita done this time?! Annoyed, Mary chastized herself for leaving the girl alone to finish out the nightly duties. In all the years she had known the girl, she had never known Jovita to get through a task without destroying something. This night was apparently no exception.

"Sister Jovita! What in Jah's most holy name do you think that you are doing?! How many times have I told you ---" As Mary entered the hospital wing, her angered shouts died.

Young Brightpoint knelt beside the bloodied Sister Jovita. Mary looked about at the room's confused state. A man she knew very well indeed lied unconscious in the center of the hospital floor surrounded by wooden splinters of what had once been a sturdy chair. Elias Barnabas. How many years had it been since she had last seen him?

It was as if she'd been struck deaf for the few moments it took her to look around at the room. As if she could suddenly hear again, the Reverend Mother recognized the words young Brightpoint was speaking.

Last rites.

She turned her attention to the direction of the bell pull, leaning against the door frame for support. Young Brightpoint's regret was clearly written on his face. Pulling herself up and away from the door frame, Mary went to young Brighpoint's side and placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder. She stood beside him until he had finished, not daring to interfere in such a sacred act.

She silenced the guards with a glance as they entered, looking about at the chaos much as she had when she had first entered the room.

"Come, my boy," she said solomnly when young Brightpoint was finished. "Tell us what happened."

________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked up from where he knelt and seemed to notice Mother Mary and the guards for the first time.

He barked an order at a guard.

"You there! Give me your cloak." As the guard hastily removed it and handed it over, Brightpoint rose to take it and cover the still form of Jovita.

He moved over to Mary and the Guard Sergeant and began to explain.

"Jovita had just left with a cart of trays and dishes and I had headed off to the privy before trying to get some sleep. When I returned, there was a tall, shadowy figure with white hair aiming a crossbow down at my bed.

He snarled something and shot into the bedding when I called out his name. I snatched up and threw at his head a mortar and pestle but it missed. It was Elias Barnabas, alright. He quickly loaded the crossbow and made to shoot again when the young sister came back into the hall and saw him.

She must have thought to sound the alarm, but while turning, Elias was faster and made her his target.

I tried to run him down with a chair but made contact a fraction of a second too late.

He went down, but so did she and there was little I could do but offer the last rites while she still lived.

That was when you all came in.

I'd like to take him to a quiet room in the basement and see if we can get a few answers.

--Mary_persephone

Should she have felt remorse or guilt as young Brightpoint explained what had happened? Or perhaps it would have made more sense to feel angry - at Elias, at herself, at Jah ... even at young Brightpoint. Sorrow, maybe, sadness for the loss of such a dear girl as Jovita had been. Shouldn't she feel these things?

She didn't.

She felt ...old.

Jovita had been so young, so vibrant ... and in the end, so very brave. Her loss weighed heavily on Mary. She was staring at Jovita's shrouded form when young Brightpoint requested a room for his questioning. With a force of will, she pulled herself back to the present.

"Down the stairs beside the kitchen, then to the right." Her voice sounded parched, her tone distant. Mortality was nearly tangible in the quiet air.

Her gaze shifted to the unconscious form of young Elias. She tried to see the boy she had once known. Even Elias' hair was a startling mess of white. An oft too subtle reminder that age and death came to them all ... and for some, some like Jovita, death came before they had truly lived.

Fury gripped her as sudden as a spring tempest. How dare Elias take that which was not his to take! Life and soul belonged to Jah - not him! The force of her own anger startled her enough to forestall her own hand from violence. She clutched at a nearby chair and sunk into it stiffly. Silently, she vowed not to move until her rage had quieted.

"Brightpoint," she called without looking at him. "Do try to remember that this is a house of healing."

The reminder was as much for herself as for him.

___________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Watching the Reverend Mother for a moment, Allan answered...

"Aye, Mother Mary. I hope that the answers we get from this lot will provide some healing. I'll not have Sister Jovita's sacrifice be in vain."

He turned to the guards who had lifted up the unconscious form of Elias.

"Take that to the basement, I'll be along after I visit the tool shed and the surgery."

Allan turned and stalked from the hall.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan diverted from his trip to the surgery and the tool-shed for the equipment he would need, as he wanted to check the space out.

It looked like someone had used this to gain information before... He continued into an adjoining hall that looked like some kind of a small court or interview area. What had this keep been before a hospital?

At any rate, this space would do fine. Allan headed back out the door to his intended path and passed the guards hauling Elias down.

"Secure him to the chair and wait outside," he ordered, without looking back.

--.elias.

Cold.

A chill runs down my spine and floods over my upper arms in a shiver of goose flesh. Where am I? Why am I cold? Not just cold, but clammy. Heavy, moist air clings to my skin. Taking a deeper breath, a musty smell fills my nose. I cough, sputtering at the scent of mold.

Regaining more of my senses, I realize the back of my head feels warmer than my skin. It throbs dully. Stiffness encircles my shoulders. I attempt to move my dominant hand to massage my muscles.

I encounter resistance. My hand is caught somehow. I cannot raise it. Reluctantly, I open my eyes. A stone wall is the only thing I can see. Flickering light upon the walls tells me the room is lit with torches of some kind. In the light of these torches, I see now that I am restrained. I twist, trying to break free, but my bonds are expertly secured.

Memory returns as if I am emerging from underwater. Sneaking through the fortress, dodging the infernal reverend mother, exchanging words with my quarry, firing my crossbow at the young nun ... and then ... being struck from behind, darkness.

You should have killed me, Brighpoint, I think to myself as I glare into the wan light of my prison. When I am free, I will kill you ....
___________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan came into the room and saw it strapped to the chair in front of him, facing away, head lolling lazily. He saw wakefulness come. Good. One should be awake for certain things.

The deacon stood behind the chair drawing the whetstone along the blade slooooooooooooowly in a pleasing metallic hiss

The prisoner started. Good.

Brightpoint stepped in front of the prisoner briefly, carrying a myriad little tools in a belt at his waist, and a sicle and whetstone in his hands.

"I am glad you decided to join us.

Remember

The deacon only asks twice."

With that he returned to stand behind it, drawing the whetstone along the blade slooooooooooooowly in a pleasing metallic hiss

--.elias.

I look about the room, trying to find a window. There is none. Just the flickering of the torches upon the stone wall. I cannot tell what time it is. How long I have been unconscious?

A sound like the grim reaper sharpening his weapon sounds behind me. My back draws sharply taut. Bruised muscles quietly complain at their mistreatment. Perhaps Brightpoint has killed me already. Is this the afterlife I was taught to believe in as a child? Could all the metaphysical mumbo-jumbo truly be real? Is this the realm of the Nameless One?

I realize my error when Brighpoint steps into my field of vision. I glare up at him. The tools he carries at his belt and in his hands are meant to frighten me further. I know this. I endeavor to calm my breathing. I'll not give him the satisfaction.

My skin crawls as Brightpoint draws the whetstone over the scythe. This time, it is a physical reaction only. I understand what's happening now. Chuckling, I turn my head, trying to see him over my right shoulder. "This won't work, Brightpoint. Or do you forget that I have also been trained in these techniques?"

__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The deacon stood behind the chair drawing the whetstone along the blade slooooooooooooowly in a pleasing metallic hiss

"Yes, " Brightpoint whispered, "I know well what techniques you are trained in. I also know you were found unworthy of the Shin training I received. And so much of that training is useful in gaining answers...obtaining truth."

He paused, again drawing the whetstone along the blade slooooooooooooowly in a pleasing metallic hiss

Allan leaned in to be sure he was heard clearly, "I will only ask any given question twice before escalating.....consequences. And you KNOW how far I am willing to go...

So tell me... Who are you working for?"

The deacon remained behind the chair drawing the whetstone along the blade slooooooooooooowly in a pleasing metallic hiss

--.elias.

It was true. I had not sent been selected for shin training. Though I had been in Faheud's service far longer than Brightpoint, he had been sent and I had not.

But there was more to it than that.

I chuckle bitterly. Snide amusement colors my tone as I speak. "Your selection for shin training is not the high honor you seem to think it is!" I point out to him with a scornful laugh. "Do you know how close you were to being like me? Dismissed with dishonor from Faheud's service? Your inability to follow directions got you sent away to learn discipline, not your ... supposed virtues."

It is, of course, that same knowledge of Brightpoint's lack of dicipline that tells me how far he will go for his answers. But then, that was before his shin training.

Again, I try to look over my shoulder at him. This confrontation would be so much more satisfying if I could see his face ... which is precisely why he doesn't allow it. I know this. I was taught that same as he was. "Tell me, Brightpoint. How much of your discipline is more of a hindrance than a help in this situation? How far can you apply your methods before you have to stop for morality's sake?" I spit the word morality at him. Personally, I never had much use for the term.

Smirking, I turn to face the bare, stone wall before me. He may not realize it yet, but I have already won. "I'll tell you nothing."

______________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan chuckled...

"Ah Elias... you are so cute when you're missing the point....Cardinal Faheud sent me to training for discipline and increased capability. he stated that from the start, saying that I--unlike brother Elias--was redeemable."

He paused, again drawing the whetstone along the blade slooooooooooooowly in a pleasing metallic hiss

"Master Zhan trained me well in getting the most use out of a subject before they proved....fragile..

My only moral bounds are accomplishing my mission. Anything else has no relevance.

Now shall we continue before seeing how...fragile...you are?

Yes...

Who are you working for?"

He listened and waited, again drawing the whetstone along the blade slooooooooooooowly in a pleasing metallic hiss

--.elias.

The hissing sound of the whetstone upon the sythe is beginning to wear on me. I know that's the point. If I let him know it's bothering me, he won't stop. I try to push it from my mind. A noise cannot harm me. I force my tightening shoulders to relax.

Something Brightpoint says, a name, catches my attention. "Nothing but your mission has relevance?" I repeat his words, wishing for all the world that I could see his face right now. "Do you think so? What of your ever-dwindling allies? Do they also have 'no relevance'? As I understand things, your dear Master Zhan was one of the first to die of the poison I used on you. Isn't that so?"

I crane my head, trying to catch a glimpse of my captor. All I see is dark movement in the corner of my right eye. I watch that movement for any hint that my words might have some effect. "I wonder," I say, keeping my tone as light as if I were merely wondering if it would rain today. "I wonder if Master Zhan would have died in such dreadful agony if you had not trained with him."

In case he had already come to terms with his master's death, I add, "Or that sweet young nun who sounded the alarm. I wonder if she would have died if you had not been so focused on your mission." I give as much of a shrug as my bonds will allow. "Ah, but nevermind. They have no relevance..."

I smirk.
______________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan sighed at such a basic ploy.

"Jah giveth and Jah taketh away...

And since you did not answer my question....

Brightpoint taketh away"

The angry Deacon stepped around far enough for a sure strike, slashed down with the sickle in a lightening stroke, and trimmed the tip off the middle finger of his captives right hand.

Calmly, Allan pulled a poker from the brazier behind the chair and cauterized the wound, speaking in a deadpan voice

"Now, answer up or we'll see what Brightpoint taketh away next.

Who are you working for?"

With that he stepped back behind the chair and continued drawing the whetstone along the blade slooooooooooooowly in a pleasing metallic hiss

--.elias.

My captor shows himself. The look of anger on Brightpoint's face tells me that my words reached him on some level.

There is a sudden shock of pain. I cry out, pulling at my bonds. My body goes rigid as he finishes off by cauterizing the wound he just caused. Sweat from the pain beads on my skin. I slump forward when he pulls the poker away. Through the blood pounding in my ears, my captor demands his question answered. He disappears behind me.

"Brightpoint!" I bellow. Pain and rage is plainly heard in my voice. "Release me or you'll be to blame for the death of yet another of your allies!" I wait for the ring of my voice to die away in the small room before I speak again. I want to know he's listening to me. "If I don't report in, my associates will find the Irish wench! Mark my words, Brightpoint! Destini MacKenzie will die in agony!"

_____________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan came around the chair, holding up a red hot poker, over which his own burning gaze was visible to Elias.

"I have met the quality of your thugs before and frankly they couldn't handle Destini MacKenzie.

But, since you bring it up What Associates, How Many? Where?

and Who do you work for?

Slow learners make fast burners...."

Brightpoint brought the poker in close to the right cheek and let it sear a mark on the flesh...

--.elias.

I don't even hear my own scream as my vision fades to red then black. Somehow, I hold on to consciousness by a thread of will power. My breathing comes in labored gasps. I can no longer carry on the long winded sentences that have thus far made up the conversation between my captor and myself. The haze of near-unconsiousness dulls the pain slightly.

"The thugs ... aren't mine," I manage after a moment. "My ... employer ... hires far more capable ... more devious people. If he doesn't ... hear from me ...." I don't bother finishing that sentence. It's too difficult to talk, and my point has been made. I shake my head slowly -- almost sadly -- as if the death of one more person has a meaning to me. "Destini MacKenzie ... is no match ...."

I shift my weight in my seat as much as I'm able to meet my captor's burning gaze pointedly. "Release me, Brightpoint ... save her."

__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan scornfully waved aside Elias' babble.

"Good Jah man, are you even listening to the nonsense escaping your mouth?

Letting a psychotic dolt go to save someone he plans to kill anyway?

No, no. I think your employer must part-idiot or you'd never have got the job, eh?

Our quality time here must not be invigorating enough for you."

The deacon removed a small, razor sharp leaf-blade from his belt, and also lifted a smallish vial of amber liquid from a pouch.

"You seem to think this is a debate or an opportunity to negotiate.

It isn't."

Allan's eyes went colder than ever as he flicked out an inscribed a lightning bolt shape of the uninjured cheek of his captive.

Satisfied, he pulled the stopper from the small bottle, sending a vinegar aroma wafting about.

"I am going to let you think awhile about the next answer you give.

That is about when this will stop hurting like hell."

Allan poured the salted vinegar on the fresh wound, turned, and left the room, intoning

"Who do you work for?"

--Mary_persephone

The duties of the dead finished, Reverend Mother Mary Persephone had revisited the hospital wing only to notice young Brightpoint had not yet returned to his bed. She sighed, knowing exactly where she would find him.

Her age weighed heavily on her tonight and she walked slower than she otherwise would have done to the stairs that descended to the lower levels of the old keep. The building had not been a hospital before Mary had taken possession of it. With the closure of Canterbury, The Hospital of Saint Thomas had relocated to this old keep. As such, there were areas of the property that had served no purpose in a hospital. The rooms below ground level were some of those.

Why in Jah's most holy name had she told young Brightpoint of those rooms' existence? She loved him like a son, but she also knew him too well to make any pretense that she had no knowledge of his activities in the rooms that had once served as the keep's dungeon.

She nearly ran into young Brightpoint as she turned the corner to the right, heading for the chamber where Elias was certainly being held. She did not fail to notice the blood on young Brightpoint's dominant hand that came from no wound of his own. Mary was too tired to startle. Instead, she said simply, "Tell me he is still alive."
_______________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan realized he could not hid his bloodied hand from the Reverend Mother's keen gaze and thus did not even try.

He thought on her question a moment and nodded, "Aye Mother Mary, he is alive at present, and threatening the lives of various innocent bystanders...I need him to actually answer questions soon, or I will have to become a fair bit more....stern.."

--Mary_persephone

Mary glanced again at the blood on young Brightpoint's hand. More stern? "Deacon Brightpoint!" she said, sickened and appalled. Her reaction was perhaps intensified by her own guilt at the role she herself had played in giving him the perfect location for his work.

She grabbed the wrist of his bloodied hand and held it up so he could see it. "This is not the kind of work we do here. This is a hospital, for Jah's sake! I should never have given you directions to the room. For that I am sorry. May Jah forgive me my brief anger. But this -- this --" She could not bring herself to say the word torture. "This is unacceptable. It violates the Aristotelian friendship and the sanctity of Jah's house."

She looked him directly in his eyes. Her own gaze searched for the young boy she had once taught of medicine and healing. "It must stop. As Reverend Mother of this house, I am ordering you to end it."
_____________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan signed, having known this conversation would come. He hated being right sometimes. Sometimes.

Brightpoint withdrew a parchment from his robe and held it facing Mother Mary. it read:

"Deacon Allan Brightpoint is hereby appointed Arch-Deacon for Security matters for the English Speaking Church. he carries full letters of authority on security matters, and matters plenipotentiary. When he gives instruction with regard to security, it is as though I have given them myself.

Cardinal Faheud
Primate of the English Speaking Church."

Allan continued, "I am sorry, Reverend Mother Mary, but I need to inform you that this is considered a matter of Security of the English Speaking Church, and I am invoking the Cardinal's Authority forthwith. I will complete my interrogation, and forward the prisoner to local authorities on charges of murder in the deaths of two guards and Sister Jovita."

--Mary_persephone

Mary stood completely stunned at the document in her hands. The weight of what was happening caused her to re-read the parchment. The missive was written in the Cardinal's own legible hand. Having traded so many letters betwixt them throughout the years, she knew his style as well as she knew her own. There could be no doubt, no room for interpretation. Mary's authority had just been superseded.

Still taken aback by the situation, she handed the parchment back to the arch-deacon. Her head was held stiffly erect in dignified defiance. She would obey the order laid upon her, but she refused to do so idly. "You may note in your report to the Cardinal that I strongly object to this."

She met his gaze to add a personal objection. "This is wrong, Allan. And I think you know that." Her expression was one of disappointed sorrow that things had come to this, and that this, of all the courses of action he could have taken, this had been Brightpoint's choice.
_____________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint's brown creased in sadness and frustration as he addressed his most respected teacher from days gone by.

"Reverend Mother Mary, if there were ANY other way to get through to Elias and put a stop to the deaths of innocents I would take it. I am sworn to protect innocents, even if it costs the blood of a criminal.

This very night he has slain a nun and two loyal Sussex guards. How many more has he slain or harmed? How many more if I let him just walk out of here.

If I stopped the...examination...and sent him off to the constable for multiple murders, how many innocents would his associates and employer harvest unchecked?

I hate having to be the unstoppable force...but I have an unmovable object that needs moving.

I apologize for distressing you and/or anyone in your house. As soon as I am done here, I will escort the prisoner to the constable, and be out of your domain."

Alan bowed, and turned back towards the chambers below. he needed to finish this and begone.

--Mary_persephone

For a moment -- just the barest flicker a moment -- Mary could see the young boy she had trained in herbology. Then, in a shift of light from the hallway torches, the moment was gone and the man before her was someone she wasn't certain she knew. He bowed to her, something he hadn't done in many, many years. And with that bow, he turned away from her.

She watched him walk away until he was out of her sight, unable to move, uncertain if she really wanted to let go of the boy she had once known. Until this very moment, she hadn't really realized how much he had grown.

But what had he grown into?

Mary turned and allowed her feet to lead her back to her office. Her mind was lost in thought.

One summer day, years ago, two boys had come to her to learn. Two young men. Brothers in all but blood. What she wouldn't give to have those two boys back in her care. The years had changed so many things. Both had turned against her - each in their own way. Both indulged in violence and pain. Brother was set against brother. Where had she gone wrong?

She'd failed them both.

Her thoughts brought her to her study. She entered it and shut the door behind her without a word to the ever-curious Sister Margaret. Mary hadn't the energy to deal with Margaret right now. Right now, she had a letter to write. Drawing forth a piece of parchment, Mary began to scrawl upon it with sweeping strokes.

Unto His Grace, Faheud, does Reverend Mother Mary Persephone send greetings.

Your grace,

As you may guess from my opening, this is not a social letter, though I do pray it reaches you in fine health.

Elias is here, in custody, after killing two of your men-at-arms and one of the nuns under my care. Arch-Deacon Brightpoint is currently performing an interrogation in an effort to determine who Elias' allies may be.

Yes.

You read my words correctly. I know Brightpoint's full status. My attempt was to stop Arch-Deacon Brightpoint from causing injury and pain to Elias in persuit of his questions. I was forstalled when he withdrew a certain letter from his robes. A letter signed by yourself giving him authority on matters of security.

I think you should be aware that I believe the Arch-Deacon's actions are against the fellowship of Aristotle and an offense against Jah. Yet, this letter of yours forestalls me from interfering. Even in my own house - my hospital - I can do nothing to stop this butchery from occurring.

I can only pray you know what you are doing.

Jah give us all peace this night,
~ Reverend Mother Mary Persephone

She called for Sister Margaret. She would have her send the letter via carrier pigeon as soon as it was daylight.

__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's steps felt a bit heavier as he trudged back down to the examination chamber. He hated himself for pulling rank on Mother Mary, but he really had no choice, then, did he?

Life was all about choices, and not having any had always made Allan feel cornered and angry. He hardly acknowledged the guards outside the chamber.

Elias was right where he had left him a few minutes ago, and Brightpoint resumed his station behind the chair.

"So... Let's see how your doing after a little time to think, shall we?

Who do you work for?

--.elias.

My captor's first sight of me as he enters the room again is my body slumped forward against my bonds. My head shakes slowly from side to side in apparent defeat. "Come now, Brightpoint," My voice is muffled slightly against my tunic. I lean back in my chair with a slump and look over my shoulder in an attempt to see him. "We both know you won't kill me until you have your answers,"

If Brightpoint wants the truth, I'll give it to him ... and use the truth to my advantage in the process. "But if I tell you who I'm working for, I'm as good as dead. Even if He doesn't find me, I know you want to kill me. If I talk, you'll have no further use for me. My silence is the only thing keeping me alive."

I let out a slow exhalation of breath and make an effort to sit up straight in my chair. My posture is defiant as if I am willing to face my captor's torture in order to live. "Continue your ministrations if you must. I see no profit in giving you what you want."
______________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint walked around to look into Elias' deadpan eyes.

"You were always terrible at chess, Elias, as you cannot think more than a move ahead, can you?

The only thing that will keep you alive is the capture of your employers. I will make it common knowledge that you helped us and divulged numerous secrets when I turn you over to the constable for your little murder spree here. I will petition the Count to not execute you based on this great service. And I will make the petition publicly.

I expect you'll be killed in your cell within days.

So you really do want to tell me sooner than later."

Allan reached over to the brazier and pulled out the white-hot poker. He held it about six inches from Elias' right eye.

"Now then. Who do you work for?"

--.elias.

I make an effort to keep my eyes on Brightpoint, refusing to see the poker. "The way I see it, all my choices end in death," I spit my words at him. "If I don't tell you, you send me to the county gaol and set me up to be killed by my own people. If I do tell you, I either die here at your hand or at the end of a rope.

"My employer has spies everywhere. If you send me to the county gaol to serve a life sentence in prison instead of death, He will find me regardless of whether you proclaim my assistance or no. I'm a dead man any way you look at it.

"Forget it, Brightpoint." I narrow my gaze at him.

"If you want my employer, you'll have to do better. Release me ... and the name is yours."
______________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Right then," began Allan in a suddenly pleasant tone, leaning partly out into the hall, "You, Guard, come here!"

A guard in the Livery of the Count of Sussex stepped into the room and saluted.

Allan walked to where he was sure Elias would see him and gave the orders,

"You are to ride straight to the Count of Sussex and tell him that Elias Barnabas has given us the name of his employer and detailed information about the plans. Further, please ask His Grace to send out the constabulary to haul this trash away from the hospital."

"Right you are, Sir." The guard stepped smartly to his task, boots echoing on the stone floor as he went.

Brightpoint turned to the prisoner.

"You, at least, will be one less insane killer on the loose and I needn't break my promises to Mother Mary about killing you on the premises.

Goodbye, Elias..."

--.elias.

I listen as the door begins to swing shut. The squeak of its rusty hinges sounds like the lid of a coffin ... my coffin. "Wait!" I shout loudly over my shoulder so he can hear me. "I'll give you the name!" My tone is panicked, my eyes wide.

Have I played this game too far?
Have I lost my only chance to be free?
... To live?
______________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan paused outside the door and wondered...Did Elias actually intend to give up the name? May as well see. He walked back into the room

"What?"

--.elias.

I truly intend to give up the name. I think of my options, knowing Brightpoint will never allow me to go free, knowing my associates will never allow me to live if I speak. "I have one condition," I begin, hoping my request doesn't cost me Brightpoint's attention. "Hear me out! ... If you will not release me, promise me you'll kill me yourself. Don't lock me away in the county gaol or anywhere my associates will find me."

I wince at the injuries my former brother has caused me this night. "You may think you're skilled at interrogation." I shake my head gravely. "You have no idea what my associates are capable of."

With eyes wide with fear, I meet his gaze. "Don't leave me to their devices ... promise me you'll kill me yourself ... and I'll give you His name."
______________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan pondered the problem a moment and came to a decision.

"Fine. I will see to it myself after we get you off these premises.

The Name.

--.elias.

I close my eyes and issue a sigh of relief. Tension releases from my shoulders. It is done. Years ago, I knew that once Brightpoint gave his word, he never went back on it. I can only hope time has not changed that. I nod.

I open my eyes and give Brightpoint the name he so desperately seeks.

"Viscomte d'Argent."

____________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan knew that name, as did His Grace. It made a good deal of sense as well given the Viscomte's resources. There were probably other major players as well, but a little fish like Elias would not be privy to that.

"Very well." intoned the archdeacon. He stepped to the doorway and called out

"Come back in here."

The same guard as before entered.

"It worked. Send a pigeon to the Count to tell him I am coming there post haste. And have the constable come out and pick this fellow up. No word to anyone about who he is or what has happened here."

Allan turned to Elias, "If you are found guilty, I will keep my promise. If you try to escape or harm anyone else, we'll be sure your employer knows where you are and how we got his name."

--.elias.

Rage.

Instant fury burns hotter than the daytime star as Brightpoint reveals his deception and speaks his plans for me. What?! Constable? And was he talking about a trial?

"No!" I bellow. "You promised!" I try to get up from my chair but my bonds hold me fast. "Brightpoint! Why wait for a jury?! You know I'll be convicted! Kill me now! I gave you what you wanted!"

This cannot be happening!

"Kill me, Brightpoint!"
____________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked through Elias

"In a word... No."

he turned towards the door and started walking

"Goodbye Elias"

--.elias.

I watch my former brother pull the door closed. "No!"

I scream his name as the door closes and I see my brother for the last time.
I cry for vengence.
I decry whatever force allowed me to trust the man my employer had told me never to underestimate.

I am ... undone ...

_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan Brightpoint, Arch-Deacon and attache was a tired soul. He wanted nothing more than to walk back down to the wards and sleep until the season passed away. But that would not happen. He had promises to keep and miles to walk before he'd sleep.

Prepared to depart for Hastings, Allan veered from his path and made his way to a door that would not necessarily open in welcome.

He did, however need Mother Mary to know that he had kept his promise to not use terminal force in her house, and that Elias would depart it in the care of the Count's men en route to justice.

He arrived at the door and knocked...

--Mary_persephone

The rosy fingers of dawn graced the eastern sky with a pale aurora. The golden sun seemed almost hesitant to appear as Mary watched the emerging light through her east-facing window. It was as if the night had held too much sway here to be purged so easily by the light of day. So much had happened over these past nights. Too much to be forgotten ... but who could remember it all? In her mind, each detail was blurry, shadowed in grief and pain, bearing a reminder to things that would never again be the same.

A knock came at her door. She barely heard it, did not turn away from the window, did not answer it right away. She was watching the eastern sky intently, as if her sole sentry of the dawn was the only thing that could convince her that the sun would, in fact, emerge and grace the world again with light - as if the night would remain and the shadows would hold fast if she did not remain vigilent - as if the light might not appear if it went unlooked for, if she removed her eyes from the horizon.

The knock sounded again, more hesitantly this time, uncertain of welcome. "Enter," she called quietly, distantly ... hopefully loud enough to be heard.

She did not remove her eyes from the pale light of dawn.

_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan opened the heavy door and went inside, seeing Mother Mary gazing out the high windows that lent splendor to her office. He softly closed the door and went to stand in front of her desk.

"Good morning, Reverend Mother, I wanted to report that the prisoner Elias has been remanded to the custody of the Sussex Constabulary for trial on charges of three murders.

He has divulged the name of his employer without additional or more-stern measures. I was able to corner him with a fairly simple logic game.

I am off in a few minutes to get word to His Grace and wanted to be sure you were apprised of how matters stood.

My thanks for the kind care I received here..."

At that his voice trailed off and he paused a moment to see if she had been listening or would acknowledge the report.

--Mary_persephone

His official manner was yet another reminder of how much had changed here, how distant things were between the two of them now. She acknowledged his report with a clinical nod of her head. It was over. Elias would be sent to prison and probably sentenced to death for his crimes and Allan ... well ... he would go on admirably performing his difficult assignments for the cardinal, no matter the effect it had on his soul.

He thanked her then, seeming uncertain as his voice trailed off. "You have my gratitude for achieving your aim without further bloodshed," she said, echoing his practical tone. "Jah knows we have seen enough blood for years to come." Although the sun had not yet risen, Mary turned away from the window to look upon the boy she had loved as a son -- and still loved despite all that had happened. Mary shook her head. "But please ... don't thank me, boy," she said softly, her gaze faltered and she looked down at her left hand that still clutched the window sill. "I don't know where I went wrong. But I have failed you. And I am sorry my failure has brought you to this.

"Jah forgive me." She turned quickly to face the window again. Not because the conversation was over, she doubted it was. But because a part of her could not let him see her grief, even though she knew he could probably hear it in her shaken tone.
__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint weathered the indirect rebuke, knowing it was part of his lot in life. The good of the many outweigh the good of the Allan and all that.

"I will not trouble you again, Mother, but I will dispute one matter. It is circumstance and need that brought me down these roads. It is your teaching, training and support that lent me the soul to weather it with whatever compassion and dignity I may."

Sensing the dismissal in her turning away, he bade her farewell in the same words he had since he was a teen.

"Until again Jah blesses me by twisting the winding path this way, Walk you well, Mother Mary."

He turned than, and silently left the room in that eerie, soundless way he had of melting away from a place.

--A_carrier_pigeon

A familiar face on horse riding fast

satchel with treats on his back

letter to deiver

treats to devour.

horsie grumpy when peck lands on head.

TREATS!!

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan brought his horse to a sudden halt as a pigeon fluttered in and perched on its head.

Chuckling, he scrounged in his satchel for some bread and traded it for the parchment, inked in a very familiar hand

"Allan,

We have everyone from Parliament to the Royal Family coming to Westgate Manor in a weeks time for the spring ball.

Please make arrangements to take over security there and ensure the safety of all concerned.

I trust there will be no issues you cannot handle

F

Allan was glad the bird had arrived when it did. He only had to double back a half mile to take the main road to Westgate Manor.

(ooc: This thread will divert to the London Commons for the period 10-April - 19 April - Spring Ball at Wesgate Manor)

--Raven_in_the_foregate

Ravens flying fires dying curses sighing on the wind

Ever seeking, daybreak peeking...never speaking ever grim

Feathers sweeping vigil keeping widows weeping come again

I lite on the sill by the silent watcher

--Richard.grimthorn

The Silent Watcher did not bother to look at the raven. His left hand stayed in constant motion as he flipped a deacon's medallion over the back of his fingers in a continuous, cascading motion. "Subtle, d'Argent," he quipped sarcastically to the dawn. "Certainly, no one noticed a blooming raven flying over the Irish Channel." He turned to the bird. "I don't suppose you know why the idiot Elias has not reported in?"

--Raven_in_the_foregate

The Raven hopped on the sill and intoned, "Abandon Ship! Abandon ship!"

--Richard.grimthorn

"I thought as much," the Watcher said in a bored tone. He flipped the deacon's medallion to rest on his thumb, then skillfully flicked it into the air. He caught it as it came down and looked to see if it landed face up or down, heads or tails. He pocketed the medallion. "Show me," he ordered the bird.

--Raven_in_the_foregate

The Raven dropped a parchment on the table it had been holding in its talons.

The Parchment was a copy of a trial schedule, Showing "Sussex vs. Elias Barnabas, 3 counts of Murder"

"Spilled the beans! Sing like a choir boy!" croaked the Raven.

--Richard.grimthorn

The Watcher scowled at the parchment and the raven in turn. "Oh, do shut up! Good help is so hard to find these days." He rolled his eyes at the bird as he stood. Without another word, he lifted his sword and placed it on his belt. His cape billowed in his wake as he left the room.

--.elias.

I sit in the darkness of my Hastings gaol cell. My arms are wrapped about me in a vain effort to keep me warm. The barbaric guards have long since turned a deaf ear to my efforts to explain that I am in danger within these stone walls.

A screaching sounds in the darkness across the hall beyond the iron bars. I alert. My eyes peer into the shadows. "If you've come to kill me, do it quickly!" I shout.

A rat scurries from the darkness into the wan light cast by the torches in the outside hall. I hesitate, uncertain if I had just yelled my plea to a rat, or if there's still someone after me in the darkness...

I wish for the thousandth time that Brightpoint had kept his promise and killed me.
_____________________

--Richard.grimthorn

The prison guards were sleeping the peaceful sleep of the dead. Two throwing daggers protruded from their livery. He collected them and returned them to the sheaths in his belt at his back. Elias' frightened cry drew his attention. He rolled his eyes.

"You really are pathetic, Elias," his voice intoned from the darkness. He stepped into the light so the idiot could see him. "I did tell d'Argent not to send a boy to do a man's job, but do you think he listened to me?" he sighed at the injustice of the situation. "No, now you're here and I have to kill you in this dismal jail cell." He wrinkled his nose at the location. Shaking his head, he continued, "It's not very classy, but there you have it."

--.elias.

I recognize the figure that appears from the darkness. "Grimthorn." The name of my would-be killer comes to my lips. My eyes go wide. I step backward in my gaol cell, pressing my back into the far wall.

"I didn't tell them anything!" I lie."I have information! Something you can use against Brightpoint! Against Faheud! Let's get out of here and I'll tell you what I've learned!" It's a useless ploy. I know I am dead. But I have to try something.

______________________

--Richard.grimthorn

A wicked grin bloomed on Grimthorn's face. "Oh, Elias, you really are the most dreadful liar. Of course you talked. No, no don't deny it. Your bird is rather a much better associate than you are. Which is why he still has a job and you do not." He opened the jail cell with the keys he'd stolen from one of the two dead guards and stepped within. He paused then as if considering if Elias had any real information. "But I'm not entirely without mercy. Tell me what you know and I'll allow you to do us all a favour and kill yourself."

--.elias.

I must be mad. I consider his offer. I know what he will do to me if I don't accept. Brightpoint's ministrations will seem nothing next to Grimthorn's cruelty. I could take the information to my grave ... but to what end? No, I would rather cause Brightpoint pain whether I am alive or not. I decide to speak.

"Brightpoint picked up a wench on his trip to Ireland. Her name is Destini MacKenzie. I saw how they acted together in the infernal Hospital of Saint Thomas. Given what he did to me when I threatened to kill her," I turn my cheek to show him the burn scar, "I gather he fancies her. She's the key to destroying him."

I dare to take a step toward my would-be murderer. "Entrust me with the deed and I promise you'll not be disappointed!"

_______________________

--Richard.grimthorn

"I'm already disappointed in you, Elias. The problem is simple. Do try to keep up. It goes something a little like this:" Grimthorn pulled out one of his throwing daggers. He closed the distance between them and placed the dagger at Elias's throat. He hissed into Elias' ear, "You keep making that incredibly annoying breathing sound."

Grimthorn drew his dagger across Elias' neck and left him to die in that pitiful jail cell.

Destini

Destini returned to her apartment in Hastings after the Spring Ball at Westgate Manor. She was exhausted. She slipped her key into the lock of her door and entered her flat, climbing the spiral staircase to the second floor with heavy feet. She dropped her satchel at the top of the stairs and collapsed into one of the two chairs at her dining room table. It was so good to be home.

A knock sounded at her apartment door. Destini startled. She spun herself to a standing position facing the staircase, withdrawing the pistol crossbow Allan had given her. They had spent a great deal of time before the ball training on the Westgate manor archery range. Frowning, she looked down at her impeccably correct defensive stance. She had moved instinctually. In many ways, she was frightened at how quickly she was internalizing the lessons she was being taught.

The knock sounded again. This time, Destini would answer it. Ready to fire if her visitor was foe not friend, Destini carefully moved down the spiral staircase toward the door. She opened it swiftly and was in the process of aiming the hand-crossbow when she saw her paranoia was unfounded. A bored courier, oblivious to his near injury, stood before her with a letter in hand. Destini lowered the bow immediately and hid it behind the door. She took the letter and paid the boy a shilling for his efforts … or was it as an apology for almost killing him?

She gazed at the letter, recognizing Pagan’s slanted hand even in the dim light. She grinned widely and moved to stand under one of the capitol city’s streetlamps so she wouldn’t have to wait to read the letter until she had lit a flame of her own within her apartment. Her smile vanished as she read the words her best friend had hurriedly scrawled upon the page. The darkness of the Hastings evening closed in about her. When she looked up, her face was drawn and grave. It felt like she’d aged years in the moments it had taken to read the missive.

Dearest Desti,

the news are not good. Zan has taken ill and we have every reason to believe he's been poisoned. I was just there and he was all grey, blue tints, fingernails, the works! And there are vials there but I got the impression he's declining to take it for some reason. Zan is in and out of consciousness but Alys doesn't want to force it down his throat, she's made a promise. Paddy was there and they had an argument over it, I heard the whole thing.

I wish there was something I could do but I can't think of anything. I can't fight against faceless poisoners, I don't have a clue about anything! I don't know who, how or why, and I don't have the slightest idea about what to do to find out. All that can be done has been done already I suppose. All that I can do is rot here in my Jahdamned hostel room like a worthless bag of corn. I can't even stay with him in that room watching him slowly rot away, I just couldn't! So I'm totally useless.

I don't know when this letter will find you if ever. By the time it does everything is probably all over. I wish you were here, and I wish I could have some clue about who's behind all this.

I'm sorry that I don't have better news for you,

Pagan

The poison had reached King Zanditin of Ireland. She knew well how long it took to travel across the Irish Channel. As of the writing of the letter Zan was alive … but the letter had taken time to get to her. Now? He might be dead already. Or he might have taken the antidote and be in danger of a second attack. All she had was guesses. She needed more information. She needed to be with her clan.

She climbed the stairs of her apartment in stunned silence. She threw her cloak over her shoulders, hoisted her still-packed satchel on her back, and left her home again, locking the door behind her. There was much to do if she were to make the long journey back to Ireland. But an attaché to the Count of Sussex did not leave without informing her employer. Besides, this was information pertinent to her assigned mission. He needed to know.

She stopped in the street to look over her shoulder at her apartment with sigh. She loved it here in Hastings and hated leaving it for several months. But there was nothing for it. The road to the Hall of Government was before her. Count Faheud would be there. She turned back to her road.

Duty called.

(ooc: The poisoning of King Zanditin and Pagan's letter was written as mentioned in the thread A Toast To Endings here in the Glen.)
_________________

Faheud

Faheud looked across his office at Brightpoint is disbelief.

"Are you sure he was being truthful? Armand d'Argent is behind these plots? I suppose he has the means, but, really?"

The Count got up and paced as was his habit when agitated.

"If he had Elias tracking you, then where do you think he is now"?

Allan shrugged, "No idea where he is now, although I'd expect him to be in Scotland or Ireland, furthering the plans to poisons Kings and their kin. I am very sure Elias was as truthful as he could be. He was under a bit of ....leverage...at the time.."

Faheud's brow raised, " I see. And tell--"

He was cut off by a very flustered Alberic coming into the office.

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Canon_alberic

Arch Canon Alberic stood gasping in the doorway to the office. He looked at the Count and Allan Brightpoint for a moment before speaking.

"Sir. Elias and the two guards at his cell have been murdered!"

Destini

Destini entered the Hall of Government with Pagan's letter still in her grasp. Making her way quickly to Count Faheud's office was no difficult affair. She had been there once or twice before and knew the way. The staff knew her on sight by now and did not stop her entrance.

Voices echoed down the corridor from the Count's office. Although she couldn't hear the topic of their conversation, she recognized the voices, smiling briefly as she heard Allan's timbre. She was just down the hall when Arch-canon Alberic entered with urgent news. She stood in the doorway, listening to the information about Elias' murder.

"I have just received further grave news, Yer Grace." She curtseyed. Looking to Allan she added, "Ye should hear this as well, Allan." Her expression was grave as she offered up the letter in her hands. "The poisoners have reached King Zanditin o' Ireland."
_________________

Faheud

Faheud looked from Alberic to Destini and took the letter. He perused it's text quickly, tapping his fingers on the desk.

"Bloody hell this is getting out of hand. We finally find out who Elias worked for, but he is dead now and cannot further aid us. And we can presume that d'Argent is in Ireland if the poisoners have been successful there.

So who here shall we send with Destini back to Ireland?"

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Destini

She stepped further into the office, glad that His Grace realized that she would have to return to Ireland. "With all due respect, ye need nay send anyone with me, Yer Grace. As evidenced by Elias' death, we do nae know who all may be watchin'. One is less likely to be noticed.

"As fer who may be watchin', ye said ye discovered Elias' employer?" She looked to Allan, wondering if this was what he had meant when he had said he had been 'rough' with Elias. "Who is this d'Argent?"
_________________

Faheud

Faheud looked over spectacles he was not wearing.

"Last time I sent out three and one survived. barely. I will not send out solo missions, the price of failure is a bit steep.

d'Argent is the scion of a wealthy Flemish family, studied here many years ago and left about the time I sacked Elias. He is a very cold and calculating fellow. I had not thought to ever hear of him again. He does not seem like a criminal mastermind to me, much. I expect we will have to ferret this lot out one at a time.

Allan. I trust you are sufficiently recovered to take another field trip on my behalf?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stretched his limbs and rose from his chair.

"always ready for another jaunt in the service, Your Grace..."

Destini

Destini looked at Allan. He had never mentioned that others had been sent to Ireland with him. But then, she had never asked, either. What must it have been like for him to lose two of his comrades before even reaching the shores of Ireland? What would they face when they attempted to make that journey again? Realizing one or both of them could be killed in the process, she now understood why the Count didn't want to send her alone. She nodded her agreement to their assignment.

"I wondered if I might borrow one o' yer pigeons to send a missive to my clan-kin. 'Twould be best to ascertain the nature o' the sitation before we arrive." Her brow furrowed as she tried to envision all that they would need. "An' we shall need a ship, o' course. I'm afraid I do nae know England as well as I know Eire. Which port offers the best route 'cross the Irish Channel?"
_________________

Faheud

Faheud considered, "I think the north of England has the most active ports. Trying to sail to Ireland from Sussex is not an especially easy task.

Alberic, please make a pigeon available for use.

Allan, Destini is going to need a weapon for self defense. We have a stock of hand-crossbows just in. One of those should do.

When do you plan to depart?"

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Destini

Destini moved her cloak aside to reveal the hand-crossbow that hung from her belt. "Allan was kind enough to provide me with one such weapon before the Spring Ball. Though, additional ammunition fer us both wouldnae go amiss." She hoped to Jah it would not be needed, but it was best to be prepared.

She bit her bottom lip, realizing there was one final thing she really wanted accomplished before she went back to Ireland. "I am packed already an' set to leave at yer pleasure, Yer Grace, with sooner bein' better than later. However ..." here she trailed off, glancing to the Arch-deacon and Arch-canon in turn. "There is one additional thing ... though, I hesitate to speak it so openly."

It was a personal request, and not really required for the mission. But she found she wanted it more than she had wanted anything before. Blushing, she made her request, "I should like to be baptised before I set forth back to Eire."
_________________

Faheud

Faheud nodded, "That can certainly be arranged. Gather the two witnesses and it shall be so."

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Your Grace," began Allan, "I think we should not depart until Mother Mary Arrives with the new supply of antidotes tomorrow. We have no idea how many folk may have been poisoned in Eire."

Destini

Destini nodded her agreement to both men. "Aye, 'tis a fair point."

Curtseying to those gathered, she thought on the comfortable bed back in her apartment that she had not yet had a chance to sleep in since her return back to Hastings. She would not have a chance to sleep in her bed for many more months if things went according to plan. "I think I'd best find my two witnesses before the morrow, then." Softly smiling her thanks to Faheud, she turned to leave.
_________________

Faheud

Faheud smiled at his newest attache.

"Oh, Best One....well done for already deciding to go take care of home and checking in here before departing..."

Faheud went back to his duty roster to see who could watch the manor while his top agents were abroad..

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Destini

Destini smiled at his Grace Faheud and cast a final parting comment to Arch-canon Alberic as she left. "If ye'd send the pigeon to my apartment, I can provide parchment an' ink there." She thanked him and exited the room.

As she walked back to her apartment through the streets of Hastings, she wondered what had become of her kin during the time that she had been away. She had come to England to stop the threat from reaching her kin. How had she failed? Had the threat been there all along? If so, how had she missed it?

And what was happening now? How long had the letter taken to reach her? Had Zan finally taken the antidote? Or was he dead already? Her stomach felt like it was tied into knots. She entered her apartment and went immediately for her pen and parchment.

~ Hastings, Sussex ~ 16 April 1459 ~

Pagan,

Your letter reached me today via courier. I am sending my reply via one of Count Faheud's carrier pigeons so we may converse whilst I am en route home to Ireland. 'Twill be faster than courier as His Grace's pigeons have been trained to fly quickly o'er the Irish Channel.

Please tell me His Majesty has taken the antidote. If he has not and is still alive, he must take the elixir Deacon Allan gave to Padraig immediately. There is a point when the antidote will no longer cure the poison. I only pray to Jah that it is not too late already.

I am coming home as fast as may be. Please send the carrier pigeon back with word of the current situation.

~ Desti

The carrier pigeon that arrived moments after she had finished writing turned out to be an old friend. Destini smiled when she saw the name on the anklet. "Hullo, Peck," she said with a smile. "Please get this to Pagan as fast as may be. Ye'll find her in one o' the taverns o' An Mumhain for certain." Destini rolled up the parchment and attached it to Peck's leg. As she released Peck into the night sky, she prayed he would return with good news ... but worried more that he would not.
_________________

--Canon_alberic

Alberic walked down the row of flats until he saw the correct number. Pausing only briefly, as if reconsidering, he knocked upon the door to Destini MacKenzie's flat.

Destini

Destini looked up when she heard the knock at the door. After a night of rest, she was less on edge than she had been the night before. However, recent events still made her wary enough to ensure her hand crossbow was readily accessible on her belt as she descended the stairs to answer the door.

Opening it, she saw the kindly figure of Archcanon Alberic. A smile graced her features. She drew her hand away from the crossbow and opened the door wider to beckon him inside. "Archcanon! 'Tis a surprise to see ye. Come in! Can I offer ye anythin'? Tea, maybe?" Destini had taken a liking to some of the English pastimes, tea being one of them. She led the way up the spiral staircase to the second floor and reached for the kettle.

Glancing at the Archcanon, her performer's gift of reading an audience sent out a soft warning. He seemed ... not agitated, that was too strong a word for the normally completely collected archcanon. Perhaps hesitant or anxious were more apt terms? "Or maybe somethin' a bit stronger?" she offered instead.
_________________

--Canon_alberic

Arch-canon Alberic smiled at the young attache and entered the simple but elegant townhouse.

"You have done well for yourself, dear, good.

A bit of tea or brandy or both would be delightful indeed..

There was a matter I wanted to inquire about without causing anyone untoward discomfort in a group setting."

Alberic looked over his spectacles.

"Is there any reason to be concerned that whatever....chemistry...is between you and young Brightpoint would impact either of you with regards to capacity to remain objective during a crisis?"

Destini

She froze.

For a brief moment, the hand holding the filled kettle hovered six inches over the hub of the iron stove. What rumors were flying about the halls of government? Yes, since her appointment to the position of Bard of Sussex, their social status was somewhat equalized, but Allan was also a co-worker. To have any personal involvement would be impossible ...especially in their line of work. Danger and death were all too frequent bedfellows to mix in a relationship. Yes, she'd kissed him, but - at the time - he'd just been saved from death. Surely that exempted her from any untoward comments. Did Faheud doubt her? Did he think her incapable of performing her assigned mission? Had he sent Alberic to fire her? No, that didn't seem to be the way His Grace did business. It was one of the reasons she agreed to be in his employ ... well, that and the fact that he and his attaches were privy to information that could save her kin.

Her thoughts turned suddenly to Zan, wondering if he were alive. She pushed it away to the back of her mind. No sense in worrying over what couldn't be helped ... yet.

Well, whatever the reason for the archcanon's question, she would prove herself. Calling upon every ounce of her not inconsiderable performance talent, she assumed an easy manner and laughed, placing the kettle on the hub at last. "Ye must be mistaken. I assure ye, archcanon, there is nothin' goin' on twixt Archdeacon Brightpoint an' myself." Here, she made absolutely certain to call Allan by his appropriate title. She went to the cupboard and pulled out a pair of meager tea cups and saucers. These she set on the table before turning back to the archcanon quickly as a thought occurred to her. "I'll bet Reverend Mother Mary set ye up to this. The kiss was nothin' but that o' gladness that he was alive. Ye'll remember he was minutes from death by the poison, I hope."

She went to the free-standing pantry and pulled forth a bottle of scotch. In England, Irish whiskey was harder to come by than scotch, but scotch had enough similarities to be pallatable. "'Fraid all I've got is scotch ... which isnae bad in tea, really," she offered, doubting the archcanon would go for it. She shrugged and placed it on the table anyway and went back to the pantry for her loose tea leaves. "If 'tis objectivity in the face o' danger that concerns ye, I'll invite ye to recall that the archdeacon an' I made it from Imleach, Eire to Hastings, England alive enough despite multiple such dangers. An' now, the main cause o' those dangers is dead," she pointed out, referring to Elias' murder the night before. It was a practical argument, sound in all ways save one: whom had murdered Elias?
_________________

--Canon_alberic

Arch-canon Alberic smiled and put some effort into transforming amusement into concurrence.

"Aye, Scotch is lovely in tea...I am from Glasgow you know..

I am delighted to hear nothing stands in the way of clear minds on a hard road.

A Kiss you say? I am not surprised the Reverend Mother has not commented to me about that. She would likely not comment upon it to anyone. Brightpoint is a layperson and unlikely to take a Priests Oath. What was it that His Grace calls him....Unremitting.

My question is not one of having been told or having been sent. I have not gotten to this part of the road by being entirely unobservant, dear one, and I can see a chemistry there. If you say it is the connection of brilliant minds on a common task, that is excellent."

Alberic changed tone and topic to something of a lighter fare.

So where do you get your tea from? I find Madam Bowbrudges on Court Street to be quite excellent."

Destini

She was glad she was turned away from him with her head in the pantry when he mentioned that he had not known about the kiss. She pretended to have difficulty finding the canisters of tea that were not three inches from her forehead. She used the borrowed time to take several surreptitious breaths to calm the hot blush on her face. Damn! Of course His Grace had hired Alberic for his wit and intelligence. She didn't know any in Faheud's employ devoid of intuitive brilliance. Why hadn't she just kept her mouth shut?!

Sighing, she gave up the ploy, and turned to him with two tea canisters in her hands. The last of the blush faded softly from her ivory complexion. She leaned against the pantry, closing the door with her weight. "Don't tell Faheud ... or Allan, for that matter ..." she said in a low voice. She looked at the canisters of tea in her hands. "'Tis childish an' I know it. 'Tis why I tried to persuade His Grace to allow me to return to Eire alone. Allan saved my life. I saved his. I know danger creates a bond. But 'tisnae a reason to court."

She handed him the canisters of tea - the lables facing him - with a subtle smile. "Aye, Madam Bowbrudges has the best tea in all o' Hastings."
_________________

--Canon_alberic

Alberic peered at the canisters.

"Let us see...'Mischief in the Wood' or Adventures Demise' not bad names for tea either. I will go the way of Adventures demise for now as sleep will tend to scamper away like a feckless colt if I am on the black teas after mid-day."

Alberic took up a strainer and measured out a portion of the pleasant smelling chamomile based variety.

"I have to agree it is not a reason to court or to go to court--any barrister would tell you it is entirely unrelated. Your point is well made on the success of your last endeavor regardless of what else may be going on.

My old Gran used to say 'Don't be fiddling with a fire already started or yer gonna choke to death in the fumes.' She was right, as always.

So, well enough alone then, shall we?

How is that water coming..."

Destini

Just as Alberic mentioned the water, the kettle began to boil. "Perceptive as always, Archcanon," she said, only vaguely referring to the kettle. Destini went for a hotpad and removed the kettle from the hub to a waiting trivet on the small, two-person dining table.

"So, ye're from Glasgow, ye say?" inquired Destini, pleased to be able to put the past conversation behind them and turn to other matters of less import. "Tell me o' Scotland."
_________________

--Canon_alberic

Alberic smiled and took on a distant expression

"Ahh yes.... Beloved Scotland....a wonderful place to grow up in and depart from...."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan Brightpoint was standing at the door of Faheud's office.

This never felt good

This never went as badly as he feared.

This always made him imagine the worst

Nothing for it but to knock

So knock he did.

Allan Brightpoint was standing at the door of Faheud's office.

Faheud

Faheud opened the door to find a sheepish expression on the face of Brightpoint. Well. That was not unfamiliar. Whenever the Archdeacon went a teensy bit overboard he always came in to report and receive a verbal thrashing.

Doubtless, today would not vary significantly, albeit the Count had done the summoning.

"Yes. Come in." Faheud closed the door as his attache entered.

"No need to sit. So tell me, why is Reverend Mother Mary in a tizzy. Did you kill Elias? And why am I to believe that you'll bring back alive andd intact all the attaches that depart on this mission?

No hurry. Take your time."

Faheud sat down and looked into Brightpoint's eyes."

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan felt three inches tall.

Ah well, nothing for it.

"Your Grace, I must report accountability for the untimely deaths in your service due to pirates sinking our ship of the brave William McFarland, and Deacon Janna the Bold. I have great hopes that with our new and better knowledge of the threats before us that the new mission will evade dangers and achieve success without loss.

I hold myself entirely responsible for our losses as the command was mine.

If you need my resignation I will respectfully and reluctantly so submit."

Faheud

Faheud looks a bit more-sternly at Allan.

"Arch-Deacon Brightpoint, if I need your resignation, I will ask for it. You are not responsible for Anto's pirates sinking your ship.

That said, I want to be sure you have plans and contingencies in place. You'll be farther out on a limb than you have been since Zurich.

These are desperate times and we know that at least one of the parties involved, d'Argent is capable of truly heinous acts.

Get over there and do what you can. And make sure no unnecessary risks are taken by yourself or Destini MacKenzie.

I notice you did not answer about Elias..."

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan actually blushed at the rebuke.

"Sorry, Your Grace, I do seem to earn those...

As to Elias. I was rather....stern...with him when questioning him, but I delivered him healthy and safe in the care of your Jailor.

My reports say d'Argent is in Ireland....so I can only guess other agents got him.

We *do* need to face the possibility that someone of even more capability and less moral fortitude than d'Argent is in play.

Do you wish me to investigate the murder, Your Grace?"

Faheud

Faheud considered the idea, but shook his head.

"No. I need you to work the Irish solution. Alberic will investigate the Elias matter. You realize I trust you implicitly, and have the same sense of of Young MacKenzie.

I need you two to be successful. We have to stem the evil.

I do have word tho.

There is one in Ireland.

A person name of Oddman has been selling or gifting false antidotes. I have no idea why or whom he serves. Have a care though..."

Faheud looked darkly at nothing.

"There are so many traitors and idiots that it is difficult to tell which is which."

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well, Your Grace," said Allan, "I am no longer sure it matters which is which...."

Faheud

Faheud nodded and stood up from his desk, stretching his back after a long afternoon of writing award recommendations to the King.

"Pray see the armory and Alberic for anything you will be needed. Jah knows I will be able to provide precious little help when you are in Eire, so I want to do my best by you now.

Be careful, be successful, and bring both of you back here in one piece!"

Faheud smiled at his trusted attache, "Not that I need to tell you to look out for Destini... Off you go lad."

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Destini

As Destini exited the cathedral after Sunday mass, she looked out on the pale light of dawn. It was time. She had been baptised into the Cardinal Faheud's faith, a member of Jah's own family. Now, she could face the darkness that had befallen two kingdoms.

She walked down the street to her apartment to gather her things. Her mind wandered to events of the past week. She recalled the messenger in King Viceroy's livery that delivered news of His Majesty England's death to Queen Cordelia at the Spring Ball. On her way down the street, she passed a crowd of folk headed to the town hall for the latest news. The recollection morphed into the memory of the bored courier that had brought her word of King Zanditin of Eire's poisoning.

These were dark days indeed.

She arrived at her apartment at the same time as a fluttering messenger bearing a parchment. Destini smiled softly at Peck the Pigeon and removed the missive from it's leg. "Hullo, Peck," she said to the bird and carried it with her inside her apartment to read the missive.

Dearest Desti,

I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, in addition to that I have no clue whether Zan has taken his medicine or not. Something happened that made me leave Cork behind because I was worried for Kadie's life. I had one of those top secret NMA things to conduct you really don't want to know about I'm sure and got mixed up in something big and the wrong persons got mad at me I guess and somebody tried to kill me! And then there was a threatening envelope that said all I loved would die, a puff of red powder and I had to return to Imleach to make sure Kadie was safe and now I'm really sick and I think I have been poisoned myself! Can't eat, can hardly keep a shot of whiskey down and I look terrible, there's no doubt about it and this is n o t the way I want to die! When Jerro (a friend of mine, long story) gets back from his business we have to get back to Cork immediately to warn him and hopefully he's got some to spare (I know I'm not a King or anyone all that important) and hopefully it will work! Because I'm too young to die this way!

Pagan

Destini closed her eyes against the torrent of emotions that welled up inside of her at the information. King Viceroy of England, King Zanditin of Ireland, and her best friend Pagan, were dead or dying. She wanted to scream at the bird that was devouring corn kernals on her dining room table. Why hadn't he brought better news? Why was this happening? Who was behind this?!

... still more ... How could she stop it?!

She scribbled a quick missive back to Pagan:

Pagan lass,

Hold on, I'm coming as soon as I can get there. Finding a boat across the channel is harder than you might think. There are no boats thence from Sussex, on the South side of the kingdom. I have to travel North to a port.

I pray your friend Jerro is trustworthy enough to care for you ... you will need someone. Arch-deacon Brightpoint would not have made it without me when he was poisoned.

I worry for you, and will pray to Jah that you make it to Corcaigh in time.

Jerro, if you get this in Pagan's stead, know that she's told me of you. I don't know your backstory together, but Pagan is my best friend. We grew up together in Imleach. Since she trusts you, so do I. Take care of her. If she has been targeted, there has got to be a reason. I am arriving with aid from England as soon as Jah wills it.

Be well, my friends,
~ Destini MacKenzie
Attache to Count Faheud of Sussex, England

She signed her full name and title at the bottom of the letter in case Jerro received the message in Pagan's stead. When she was finished, Destini sent Peck off to Ireland with the message. She watched the carrier pigeon fly off into the dawn until she could see it no longer. Sighing, she lifted her satchel. It was time to find Allan and be away to Ireland.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Mass had ended, and Allan went to the Count's stables to retrieved the horses he had directed the lads to prepare. One a black palfrey, well-sized for Destini, one a middling pack animal, and a large stallion he favored. It was 16 hands tall and bore the name Sable Wind.

He was just leading them out of the stables when he saw Destini approaching.

"Desti! I have our horses packed and prepared!"

Destini

She saw him as he called her name and smiled softly to him. It was not the exhuberant smile she had often used when she usually saw him, the heavy events and news of late weighed heavily on her. She nodded to him in greeting, not seeing a need to greet him verbally since they'd just been together at mass.

She secured her satchel to the packhorse with deft fingers. It was lighter than she expected, easier to carry. In favor of traveling faster and lighter, she had left her harp in her apartment. This was not a journey for music or trade. This was a mission of necessity and speed. She went to the black palfrey that was clearly intended for her. She stroked it gently, looking into its deep eyes as if she could understand what the gentle beast was thinking by looking there. "What's her name?" she asked Allan.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint smiled. Destini appeared a lot more at ease with horses these days. He walked up to be near the palfrey and made introductions.

"Destini MacKenzie please meet 'Estrella de fuego ' which means Star fire in Spanish. She will make you a fine companion and ally upon our mission.

Is there any other supplies you need? If not, we should probably make our farewells to the Count because-" Allan stopped talking abruptly.

He turned and peered closely at Destini.

"What's wrong?"

Destini

She didn't answer right away.
She didn't look at him as tears pricked at the back of her eyes.
She ground her teeth together.
She focused on the physical sensation to stop herself from breaking down completely - there wasn't time for that.
She had a duty.
Her mission came before anything else.
She reigned her emotions back in and turned her head to face Allan with dry eyes. Her hand still idly petted Estrella de Fuego's mane.

"Peck was at my doorstep when I got home. He carried a letter from Eire," she said, her words conveying information but not emotion. That she held tightly in check. "Pagan has been struck by the Oriental poison. She doesnae know anythin' o' Zan's condition, but she's returnin' to Corcaigh as quick as may be. She's a friend helpin' her there, a man named Jerro. I can only pray he's trustworthy. She'll need him."

Having delivered the news she had that Allan did not, she turned back to the palfrey. After dealing with horses in the Fire of London, she'd felt a whole lot more understanding for the beasts. Horses fueled by fear of fire were much harder to deal with than those that were comfortable in their surroundings. "Estrella de Fuego," she said with a subtle smile to the horse. "'Tis a fine name."
_________________

Faheud

Count Faheud was passing through the Stables en route to the back entrance to his study when he saw Allan Brightpoint and Destini MacKenzie finishing preparations for travel. He deflected off his planned course and came over to them.

"You good folks are ready to leave then? Have everything you need? Where will you be heading first?"

Faheud stopped the stream of questions to allow, perhaps, and answer to make its way through his barrage.

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Destini

Destini looked up as Count Faheud entered the stables. He was in mourning attire, as was near everyone else in the Kingdom of England. It was almost startling to see this normally elegant man man of fashionable prowess clothed in shades of grey and black, but he managed to wear the attire in much the same manner of finesse as he seemed to do everything in his life.

She curseyed deeply to her employer. "I think Bristol is the closest port that may offer passage to Eire. But if there isnae a ship there, we'll try Hollywell or Liverpool. I only hope we willnae have to travel all the way to Egermont again."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"There might be some merit in a brief stop at St. Thomas Hospital," added Arch-deacon Brightpoint.

" It sounds as though traveling with extra medical supplies and antidote would be a wise course."

Allan looked meaningfully at the Count, who nearly avoided letting an eyebrow flutter upwards.

Brightpoint turned to Destini, "Do you think a few hours at the hospital would be too long a delay?"

Destini

"I donae think we have much o' a choice in the matter. One vial maynae be enough to stem the tide o' poisonin's in Eire if things are as bad there as they appear." she fingered the vial of elixir that hung about her neck, a gift from Mother Mary last time they were at the hospital.

"If we intend to make a stop, I think we'd best leave immediately," she glanced between the two men to see what they thought.
_________________

Faheud

Count Faheud nodded and waved the two on their way, "Well said. You should leave at once. Allan, I will put Brother Corwynn in charge of security while you are abroad. He will transmit any alerts you need to receive"

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan bowed to his Count, and spoke gravely, "We'll do the absolute best we can, Your Grace. I'll be in touch whenever I am able."

In a single motion, Allan swung up onto Sablewind and turned him towards the open road.

It was time to be off again, in the service of Count and Cardinal.

Destini

Destini gave a final curtsey to her employer. "Give Shiri an' Cullan my farewells," she asked him kindly. "I shall miss them, an' ye, greatly until my return."

She smiled and turned. Placing a foot into the stirrup as Allan had taught her, she mounted Estrella de Fuego and rode off after Allan.
_________________

Faheud

Faheud watched his attache's ride off in a cloud of dust beyond the gates. He looked after them in silence for a while and made his way back to his offices, time for relaxing being over. There was much to do.

He had barely sat down at a desk Nigel had given him years ago when Alberic entered the room with a dour look.

'What is it, Alberic? Hasn't enough gone wrong for one day?"

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Canon_alberic

Alberic raised an eyebrow, but tunneled in to the issue at hand.

"Your Grace asked me to prepare a letter of Marque for Allan Brightpoint and Destini MacKenzie. It is done. But I seem to have seen them riding out of Hastings without this signed, sealed, and delivered?"

"This letter affords Destini MacKenzie--attache, and Allan Brightpoint--attache and Arch-Deacon for Security matters, authority to act on my behalf. Their mission and actions are under my seal and authorization and as such carry the weight of the Count of Sussex and the Cardinal Primate of the English Speaking Church.

Those who aid those named herein received my extreme gratitude. Those who do not, receive the opposite.

Signed and Sealed this 24th Day of April, 1459, in Hastings, Sussex

Faheud,

Count of Sussex
Cardinal Primate of the English Speaking Church

Faheud

Count Faheud slapped his hand to the desk in frustration.

"I cannot believe I forgot that. I'll sign and seal it now and I want you to catch up to them before they hit Bristol, Alberic. Take my horse, He is the fastest in the county.!"

The Count hastily signed and sealed the letter and handed it to Alberic who bowed out of the room and headed off to comply with his orders.

"When," wondered Faheud aloud, "will this morning stop?"

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Canon_alberic

It had turned out to be a dismal day and a dark ride for Arch-canon Alberic. He had left in a hurry, on the Count's favorite horse, with a mission to catch up to young Brightpoint and Miss Destini. Had, as it were, a very important letter. Alberic wondered if one day there might not be a form of communication a bit faster than elderly canon on horseback?

The skies gave hm a few seconds warning from the cloud banks that were rolling in. A deep swelling thunder and then a cascade of water.

Just lovely, thought Alberic, poorly provisioned and out in the rain. Whatever had he been thinking to just dash off? Sigh. Nothing for it though, he had to catch them up or they were poorly armed for a dangerous road ahead.

I

Alberic sneezed as he road, spectacles fogging up slightly. He pulled the hood of his traveling cloak a bit more close and pressed on.

A dismal day and a dark ride indeed.

--Richard.grimthorn

The Silent Watcher looked on as a horse trotted up the road toward his hidden position amongst the trees. Rain ran in trickles down his long dark hair. The splashing clop of horses hooves upon the terribly maintained and muddy road made it easy to note the location of the rider through the dismal rain. An elderly man sat upon the back of a horse too fine to belong to him. The Silent Watcher pulled forth a long stick. Attached to the stick was a thin piece of wire with a heavy metal ball counterweight at one end.

He waited.

When the time was right, The Silent Watcher's wrist flicked the long wire foreward. It sailed through the air, slicing falling raindrops in two as it flew. The wire struck the horse's right front leg. The metal counterweight ensured the damage was done. The Silent Watcher withdrew his device and made his way to his own horse hidden amongst the leaves.

All too easy.

--Canon_alberic

Alberic felt the horse beneath him start a bit and slowly move slower and slower. After about a hundred yards, it stopped altogether, favoring its right front leg.

This was splendid. He had likely been careless and let the horse drift off center enough to injure its leg.

Alberic slid down off the horse, thanking Jah wryly for the lovely rain to peer through and began examining his mount.

It seemed as though a stone or branch had mildly scraped the knee, but the damage was minor.

"Come along then, lad, " encouraged Alberic..".let us see how you walk on it."

Surely enough he was pleased to see the horse walk steadily and shake off whatever had happened.

Alberic climbed back into the saddle and rode off toward the hospital of St. Thomas at a gentler pace than before, just to be certain all was well.

"Thank You, Jah, for mercy in this case. I would not have liked that meeting with Count Faheud at all..."

--Richard.grimthorn

The Silent Watcher observed through the shadow of leaves as the old man inspected his mount then continued on at a slower pace. He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps next time he would use caltrops. No matter. The messenger was slowed. That was enough. The Silent Watcher waited a moment before mounting his own horse and following at a distance.

Destini

Water ran down Destini's dark hood and cloak as she rode alongside Allan. The wool fabric of her cloak and hood smelled sour and stale in the cold, spring rain. Her exposed fingers gripped the reins of Estrella de Fuego. The torrent of rain was enough to wash out sections of the road and made the going more difficult than it otherwise would have been.

But she noted none of the difficulties.

She merely pushed through, gently urging Estrella de Fuego onward. Her dark, determined gaze cut through the misty rain with a ferocity she had never experienced before. The path ahead of her was clear despite the rain. She had a duty to perform - to count and cardinal, to kin, to king. Nothing could stand in her way. She was not content with simply waiting for the morrow to happen. She had to do something. She was doing something.

An old conversation occurred to her and one corner of her mouth turned up briefly.

There was, indeed, a degree of satisfaction in finding a way to happen to the morrow.

She pressed on.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan noted a pleased with it all smile dancing at the edge of Destini's lips. That was good as they had a long road with many twists and turns ahead. frankly, enjoying the twists and turns is what comprised the heart of a successful attache.

he had known by Egermont that she had such a heart but had barely avoided pointing it out. It was too soon then, but perhaps not now.

He called out through the rain as they drew nearer to the turnoff to St. Thomas Hospital, "Enjoying the ride, Desti? It is a lovely Sunny day....somewhere..."

He failed to hide the grin as the words danced through the rain.

Destini

She nodded at his words, her gaze still fixed upon their path. Her heart was still heavy with the deeds that needed to be done if their mission was to be successful, but she was skillfully ignoring that. "Aye," she agreed with him, peering far into the distance where maybe this weather would reveal a ray of sunlight. "There is a sunny day somewhere ..." She shook her hooded head. "But nay fer us. That isnae our road."

She looked at him with a spark of amusement in her eye and a soft smile dancing on her lips. "An' what surprises me is that I wouldnae have it any other way."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled, "Imagine, if you will, my shock and surprise..."

He turned his horse down the lane leading to Mother Mary's domain.

--Mary_persephone

Reverend Mother Mary opened the door as two horses rode into the walls of her domain. She hadn't been expecting anyone on such a bleak day as this. The sound of two riders had caught her attention enough for her to come to the door and see who had arrived.

She recognized the large black horse before she recognized the riders. Sable Wind had always been a favorite of Young Brightpoint's. Given that the other rider was smaller, she guessed who her cloaked visitors were before she saw their faces.

She sent two of the Count's guards to see to their horses. She called to them, gesturing for them to come inside the open door. "Come in out of the cold and wet before you catch your deaths! I've enough patients at present as it is, and I cannot afford the beds!"

__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint nodded respectfully at Mother Mary, "Thank you Mother Mary. We will not take up much of your time today as our road goes much further afield today than here. We did need to speak to you about a large supply of antidotes if you can spare them. Destini has received word they are sorely needed in Eire."

Allan stepped aside to allow his fellow attache to come in out of the rain first.

Destini

She looked up at Allan with a kindly glance as she stepped within. "'Tis good to see ye, Mother Mary," she said with a soft smile. The last time Destini had seen the Reverend Mother was at the Spring Ball when the news of King Viceroy's death had been announced. There had been too much going on for a proper conversation then. And too much had happened directly after that for there to be much conversation following the event.

And, as Allan had said, there was too much at stake to tarry long here.

She sighed and followed Mother Mary to her office where they could speak privately. Once within, she got immediately to the point. "King Zanditin an' my best friend Pagan have been poisoned back in Eire. Though I've sent one o' the Count's pigeons back to Eire fer more information, we donae know more than that at present. They may both be dead already. An' if they arenae, we donae know who else may be targeted." Her words were crisp and clean. All emotion was pushed aside for the moment. This was as much a performance as the songs she'd performed at the spring ball. Her own feelings meant nothing here. Expressing emotions now in addition to attempting to convey important information would only take up time and hamper their progress. She continued.

"Allan left only three vials with Clan MacKenzie chief Padraig, an' only three more with the abbey in Port Lairge. We cannae take any chances an' make the journey to Eire without additional supplies." She looked meaningfully at the Reverend Mother. "How much o' the antidote can ye spare us?"
_________________

--Mary_persephone

She listened, realizing from the way both the young attaches were behaving that there wasn't even time to offer them a proper cup of tea. Her mouth set into a grim line as the Count's newest attache concisely explained the situation.

"The problem is this," began Mary in a matter-of-fact tone, "just last week, I left Sister Magdalene at Westgate Manor with half of the elixir supplies and many of the plants. It was a move devised by Archcanon Alberic and myself to forestall any permanent danger coming to the supply of antidotes. Sadly, neither location has a great supply of the elixir, at present. I can spare but six vials for your journey. More than that, and we risk having none in this kingdom should the worst occur."

__________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded at the logic, "Aye, we must not leave any location untended. I have not heard back from Brother William on whether he made it safely to Scotland with his antidotes, but the border is not a particularly friendly one and not much trade happens which would spawn avenues for news to travel."

He paused for a moment, thinking what to do next. There was really only one course open.

"I think that a couple of hours to dry out and get warm, and perhaps beg the hospitality of your kitchens, Mother Mary, and we should be off again. Desti? What are your thoughts?"

Destini

"Can we spare to stay here that long?" she asked Allan, uncertainly. Bristol was a three day's journey from the hospital. Plus, they had no way of knowing until they reached the city if there was even a boat that could take them to Eire or if they would have to spend another eight days from thence on the road to Hollywell or Liverpool. Every hour past weighed oppressively as precious time they might need later.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan pondered the problem a moment.

"Well, this will be the last warm dry place before Bristol. I think two hours and then back we go. We can get a goodly stretch before setting up a camp. Eight hours north of here is an old Royal Messenger camp we can use

Mother Mary, what do you think?"

--Mary_persephone

"Well, you are welcome to stay as long as you can .... So long as you obey the rules of this house, that is." Mary looked meaningfully at Young Brightpoint before moving on.

"As I said when you arrived, I cannot offer you beds. But the kitchens are open to offer warmth and food for you both before you set out again."

She opened the door to her office to allow them to leave. "Young Brightpoint, you've been here enough to know where the kitchens are located. I'll have Sister Margaret put together two vial pouches for you. It will be best, I think, to separate the six vials amongst the two of you."

_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"And obey them we shall, Mother Mary.

Come Destini let us hie to the kitchens and see if there are more of those amazing scones about."

Allan led the way out of the office, past the arched eyebrows of Mother Mary. It was odd how she could tower over a person whilst being near a foot shorter on the measuring cloth....

--Canon_alberic

Alberic rode on through the rain. The slower pace he was keeping to protect the Count's horse made for a more jarring ride. It was his own fault though, he had carelessly let his steed stumble on a branch or something.

At the very edge of his hearing, dulled by the rhythmic patter of rain falling, he would periodically think he was hearing another horse in the near distance. When he stopped to listen closely though, it was never there.

He would be glad to catch up with the attaches--with any luck at all they would still be at St. Thomas' hospital.

Alberic rode on through the rain.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan followed his nose to the smell of currant scones fresh from the ovens.

There an old friend, Sister Genova laughed at the look in his eyes.

"Ahh Brightpoint, ye scamp. After me scones agin I am guessin?!"

"Guilty as charged, Sister, could you spare a plate for myself and Destini before we have to head back out into the rain?"

"Aye, and I suppose I can, but mind you come give me a hug first!"

Allan blushed at being treated like he was twelve, but gave the kindly cook a warm hug nevertheless.

"This is Destini MacKenzie, one of the Count's attaches. Destini, Sister Genova and her famous scones."

Destini

Destini watched with amusement as Allan was ordered to give the nun a hug. When introduced, she bobbed a curtsey in greeting. "A pleasure to meet ye, sister."

She helped herself to one of the most delicious scones she'd ever had. She grinned at Allan, recalling the tea at Westgate Manor. Allan seemed to have a particular love of scones. Trying in vain to contain her amusement, she asked, "Do these travel well? I think Allan would be particularly grateful if we could take some with us ..."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Aye," added Allan, " if there are any to spare, a few for the road would make even a rainy day cheery!"

Sister Genova laughed heartily and picked up a satchel. "What say I fill this beauty up with scones and meat oasties? "

She made short work, adding some honey and cheese in as well. They would eat well for a few days at the very least.

In about five minutes Allan was holding a satchel full of hearty food and Genova was saying, "Be sure to visit me when you come back through or next time its the starvation diet for ye! And bring this dearie with ye!"

Brightpoint nodded, "It shall be so....Come, Desti...shall we to the road then?

Destini

"Aye," she agreed quickly, anxious to get to Ireland as soon as possible. Thanking Sister Genova profusely, Destini took the proffered supplies and added.them to her satchel. Because she was not carrying her harp with her, she had extra room for supplies. "Thank ye again fer yer generosity, sister," she said again as they left the kitchen and made their way to the hospital's exit.

Once they were standing on the threshold of the hospital, Destini pulled her hood back up to protect herself from the deluge of water as much as possible. It was still raining in sheets outside. Their horses were saddled and waiting for them, having been cared for while Sister Genova was feeding them.

She mounted Estrella de Fuego and waved a quick farewell to Mother Mary, who stood in the doorway to see them off. Destini clicked a sound of encouragement to her mount and turned her to the open road.
_________________

--Canon_alberic

Alberic found it difficult to see far in this downpour--which beat down on him like a million hammers striking a failing anvil--but he could make out the archway leading in to St. Thomas Hospital.

The bedraggled Arch-canon stopped the Count's horse under cover in the stable-yard and slid down off the mount.

He desperately hoped young Brightpoint was still here and that he could spend a quiet evening by a fire with a mug of something warm. It always took longer to remove a deep chill these days. All part of getting old he supposed.

Alberic handed a coin to the stable-boy and headed over to the front entrance of the hospital. He was greeted by a young nun who took his dripping cloak and hung it up with a promise to go fetch Mother Mary straight away.

The fire roared in the hearth, sending a blooming glow of heat and well-being throughout the ward-hall.

Now he just needed that mug of something warm...

--Richard.grimthorn

The Silent Watcher muttered a curse under his breath as the old man rode into the muddy courtyard of a building that proclaimed itself to be the Hospital of St Thomas in large, ostentatious letters over the front gate. So, this was where they'd moved that pitiable hospital after the closure of Canterbury. So, here was where the antidote was produced. Excellent. The Red Duke would be interested to learn the new location. Not that it made any difference at present.

The dottering old fool had stopped here for a reason. Perhaps the count's attaches were also within? A quick peek in the putrid stables told him no. Perhaps the geriatric canon hadn't been sent after the attaches at all. There was only one way to know for certain.

The Watcher rode into the courtyard, under those ostentatious letters and addressed the naive, little stable boy leading the nearly lame horse the Canon had been riding. "You there! Boy! I am told my uncle is being healed within this hospital. Is it at all possible for me to see him?" The pipsqueak said that it was and he had only to walk within and find him in the ward. "Ah! Excellent!" He dismounted, leaving his horse in the urchin's care as he walked within.

The aged canon was easily spotted beside the fire. The Watcher paused briefly, almost wondering if this were a trap and the old fool was not a fool at all, knowing he had been followed. But only nuns were about, and the guards paid him no mind. Smirking, the Watcher found a conveniently asleep patient and sat beside him as if he were visiting. Here, he would wait until something happened ... inevitably, something always happened.

--Mary_persephone

Mary entered the ward, searching for Alberic, spying him at once. Sister Margaret was currently not at the Reverend Mother's heels only because Mary had sent the young nun to fetch hot tea. Mary could make two assumptions without ever laying eyes on the archcanon. When at last finding haven after traveling in a downpour like this, Alberic would want tea. And because he was traveling in this weather, this was no idle visit.

"Alberic!" she greeted him warmly. "My goodness you're soaked!" she exclaimed. Seeing Margaret with the tea tray, Mary beckoned her over."And probably cold too, guessing by the way you're huddled around that fire. Good thing I know you well enough to send for tea the moment I'm told you've arrived." Sister Margaret set the tray down on a table near the fire and left when Mary dismissed her.

Mary poured a cup of tea for Alberic then one for herself. Sitting in one of the several chairs about the fireplace, she got right to the point, as she always did with Alberic. "I take it this is not a social call ..."

_________________

--Canon_alberic

Alberic smiled, even as he dripped on Mary's pristine floor. He always felt bad about making messes someone like Jovita would have to clean up. Of course it would never again be Jovita, would it? He sighed at the sad remembrance

"Always a delight to see you Mary, though as always you are correct. This is not a social visit. I am here to catch up with young Brightpoint and Miss Destini. Are they still here?"

--Mary_persephone

"I'm sorry, Alberic, but, no," said Mary, sitting forward in her chair when she saw the subtlest of sighs cross her old friend's countanence. She knew what he was thinking. She'd thought it many times herself. Dear Sister Jovita had died not a month ago. No, she had not died, she'd been murdered. Jovita's absence was still felt throughout the entirety of the hospital. Alberic's last visit had been ... colorful ... due to Jovita's antics. Now, here the archcanon stood again ... but Jovita would never again serve him tea.

Mary found that she missed the young nun.

The Reverend Mother shook off the memory, and with it the feeling. She continued to answer Alberic's question. "They set on the road from here not two hours ago." Her brow furrowed, confused. "I thought they just left His Grace's presence, why were you sent after them?" Mary asked her old friend.

________________

--Canon_alberic

Alberic heaved a very heavy sigh. "I feared as much. Nothing about this day has gone as planned. The Count realized he had not given them his letter of Marque and sent me to catch them up. I fear they will have need of it more than once ere they return."

Alberic looked around the warm hall and sipped at his tea.

"I am getting too old for this my friend. But I cannot let His Grace down. I'll just finish this cup and be off I suppose. They are headed for Bristol and I wish to catch them before they take ship... I do not fancy a trip to Eire just now..."

--Mary_persephone

"Let me send one of the guards. His Grace has placed an entire battalion here. Surely one of them can ride to find Young Brightpoint and Destini."

She blushed at the possible implications of her words. "Not that I'm agreeing with you when you say you're too old for this, mind." The Reverend Mother nodded once resolutely to her old friend and took a sip of tea.

_______________

--Canon_alberic

"Indeed?" inquired Alberic. "I should say not. Besides, the platoon of twenty guards His Grace placed here have rather a different mission if I recall....mmmm?"

"Mary, I am certainly not excited about this mission, but it must be done. And that said, I should probably be off. Why turn two hours into four?"

Alberic drained his tea with a happy sigh and embraced his dearest friend in the world.

--Mary_persephone

Mary held her dear friend close a moment, then let him go as he turned away. She raised her hand in a gesture of farewell that he didn't see on his way out the door. He was too focused on his mission, she supposed.

After he was gone, she realized she was smiling. Alberic was always left satisfyingly grounded feeling in his wake, as if the world had somehow righted itself -- even if all he had done was had a spot of tea in her company. She looked to the heavens and wished him Jah-speed.

______________

--Richard.grimthorn

The Silent Watcher moved his lips as if he were speaking in a low voice to the sleeping dolt in the hospital bed before him. He had listened instead. Conversation twixt the elderly was always easily overheard. This was moreso true in the large space of the hospital ward. The Watcher heard everything. The canon was headed after the attaches, after all. And he carried a letter of marque to deliver to them? ...Excellent. So ... to Bristol, then?

But no ... that letter of marque could yet prove useful ....

The geriatric canon left the room. The Watcher waited, observing as the wrinkled nun gathered the tray of tea and teacups. She would likely remove that to the kitchens. The Watcher let her go.

He said some inane phrase of farewell to his "uncle" and stood, heading for the exit. Perhaps the elderly served some purpose after all ....

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

After several hours of riding through a downpour, Allan noticed the rain beginning to slacken. In a few minutes it stopped altogether and it was like a shroud was lifted from around his ears. He looked over an saw Destini focusing on the road in the gathering gloom.

"We'll be at the travel shelter in about an hour or so. Hopefully there is dry wood inside as a fire would be very helpful.

How are you doing? Do you need a rest before we push on to the shelter?"

Destini

Destini shook her head adamantly. Rainwater scattered from her soaked hood. "Nay, Allan. I donae wish to stop!" Her sharp tone echoed off the moist ground, returning to her own ears harshly. She immediately recognized the unfairness of raising her voice to Allan and closed her eyes to calm herself ... at least outwardly. Within, her emotions were still in turmoil.

She opened her eyes, but refused to look at Allan. Her gaze remained resolutely fixed on their road northward to Bristol, and beyond to Eire. "Nay," she repeated, her voice lower now, more controlled. Still, a slight edge remained that even her skills and vocal training failed to soften. She was simply too anxious. "Let us keep movin'. An' if we can skip the shelter an' continue onward, I wouldnae mind in the least. The faster we get to Eire, the more lives we might save."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan her some of his own arguments of days gone by in her words. "That is a fair point. Although His Grace once chided me that a swift arrival dead of exhaustion is more fraught with peril than a slow-arrival well-rested. Somewhere in between the extremes lies wisdom."

He was glad he had kept the whip-snap of impatience out of his voice. That was a new trick in the inventory he was glad to have.

"Now if Your King has been poisoned, as the letter says, he has either been given the antidote and lives, or hasn't and will not be there to greet us when we arrive.

What do you think is going on over there? Do we need a larger force of operatives?"

Destini

She met his gaze, peeking out from her dark, rain-soaked hood. There was wisdom in his words, stemming from experience, no doubt. But these weren't his kin in danger. It wasn't his kingdom. It was hers. Could he truly understand how she felt? "We can sleep on the boat durin' the crossin' to Eire an' be just as well rested," Destini pointed out.

"As fer what I think is happenin' in Eire, I think my kin are dead or dyin', Allan. That's what I think is happenin'. Firstly I received news o' Zanditin, my kin, my king, my friend - an' just before we left Hastings, I learn my kin an' best friend Pagan is also stricken. Whether they live or nay, I cannae say. Since I left, my only word from Eire has been through Pagan. An' if she dies, there'll be no more information until we get to Eire an' stumble into whate're trap this Viscompte d'Argent has set. An' that's assumin' His Grace is right an' d'Argent is in Eire at all." She sighed heavily, her breath condensing into steam in the cold, spring air. Their task seemed insurmountable.

She stopped speaking suddenly. For a moment, the only sound was the muffled clop of their horses' hooves upon the muddy road. Her own despairing rambling had inadvertently laid out a very valid point. "Allan, what if that is the reason Pagan was targeted? To prevent information from crossin' the channel?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan conceded, "Aye, we can sleep on the boat...3 days out of a three week journey.

Were you planning to stay awake, alert for ten days at a drop then?"

Allan stopped nearly as suddenly as Destini had.

"Stopping information flow! Aye, that is it I am sure. isolation and fear is what the attacks are about. The last thing they want is free information crossing between the targeted countries.

If we limit the suspects to groups who would benefit from fear and isolation and chaos in the English-speaking world, you probably have a fair chance at being right.

One other thing bothers me. Why is there no word of problems in Scotland?"

Destini

She smiled at Allan's gentle way of pointing out how silly it was to try to push through all the way to Eire without rest. "Yer a hard man to bargain with - especially when I'm wrong. I give in. I willnae fight ye if ye wish to stop at the shelter fer the eve."

She thought on the flow of information at their disposal. Allan was right. There had been no word from Scotland. None at all. Why not? True, the border twixt England and Scotland was a volitile one, but for no information to cross at all was highly suspicious, indeed. "Ye only have a connection to Eire because o' Pagan an' myself." Destini pointed out. She did not say that if Pagan were dead, that connection was lost. She grimaced slightly at the thought before burying it and moving on. "An' I am only here because ye made the trip to deliver antidote vials to Eire. Who of Count Faheud's attaches was sent to deliver the elixir to Scotland? Has there been aught word from him?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan grimaced at the incisive question. Shaking his head ha replied, "For three hundred days, nothing heard from Scotland via any of our agents or the attache sent up, Brother William. I do not know what His Grace plans with regard to that, but it is a problem. And no disrespect to the tremendous value of information from yourself and your friend Pagan, we had agents there a'fore I went over last year."

They rode on in silence a span...

"I wonder though, " Brightpoint mused out loud, "When we will get enough information to actually go after the culprits. I am tire of treasure hunts and would like to get to the justice part of the show...."

Destini

"'Tisnae just a treasure hunt," Destini said sourly. "'Tis a deadly game o' Blind-Man's-Buff. We donae know our attackers or their goals. An' I cannae help the feelin' that we are somehow bein' taunted."

It occurred to her that this was the first time Allan had mentioned other agents in Ireland. The rather ominous use of the past tense was not lost on Destini. "What did ye mean when ye said ye had agents in Eire a'fore yer arrival? What o' after? What happened to them?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan scowled as darkly as he had in ages and ages.

"I have no idea. They have gone silent.

And one of them is my brother...."

--Richard.grimthorn

The Watcher sighed as he monitored the elderly canon's progress. The old churchman doddered upon his horse in the rain. Really? Could this aged assistant to the count of Sussex be more boring to trail? Honestly! He'd pursued tortoises of greater speed than this antiquated servant of Jah.

Still, for the good of the end-game, he waited for the opportune moment. Bored out of his mind, the Watcher followed. Even the torrents of rain became tiresome.

Hm.

The trail darkened ahead as it wound betwixt a low hill. Maybe that was a proper place to catch him off guard. The Watcher found the darkness of a shaded road to be a much more suitable servant to his needs than the open countryside. He wasted no time in smirks or gestures of having won. Best not to rely upon the fruits of his labors until they were, in fact, achieved.

The Watcher used the torrent of rain to his advantage, arriving vaguely before the senile chamberlain. The Watcher readied his throwing daggers ... and did as he did best ....

... He waited ....

_______________

--Canon_alberic

Alberic had ridden hard in the rain

He was tired

He had miles to go and no sight of his destination

He felt off

An inkling that something was not right

It could be the rain

It could be the times

It could be something else

He stopped on the rise, exhausted.

Alberic had ridden hard in the rain

--Richard.grimthorn

At the top of the hill, the old man stopped. Oh, now, this was too easy. The Watcher looked for signs that he was being tricked - that, at any moment, the county's guards would burst headlong from the folliage and ruin such a perfect aim.

... But they didn't ...

At least, not yet. The Watcher waited no longer, wasted no more time. He aimed his daggers toward the old man's mount. To waste them on the man could marr the letter of Marque ... can't have that. Plus, information was best gained from a living source. It was all around in the Watcher's best interest to ensure the aged canon dismounted carefully, as it were.

The Watcher watched no longer. He let his daggers three fly toward the churchman's mount ....

--Canon_alberic

Alberic lurched in the saddle as the Count's horse reeled.

There was no saving it and he slammed to the ground in a most undignified heap.

Looking up in the haze of pain and rain, the old churchman could see blood frothing around dagger wounds to the horse's chest. Ambush!

Knowing he had let count and mount down, Alberic brought himself to hands and knees with a painful sigh

--Richard.grimthorn

Drawing his sword, Grimthorn approached the aged canon from the leaves. He placed it at the old man's throat and, with an expression, dared him to try to get up off the ground. "The letter of marque ... if you please." said Grimthorn with one hand daring to slice the canon in two, and the other hand extended to receive the letter should the canon prove wise.

"The only reason you are not dead is that you might -- just might -- have information I require. Why are you following the attaches?" Yes, he knew most of the answers the canon could give him. But he also knew it was unwise to assume Count Faheud was more ignorant than he truly was. The Nameless One knew Elias was a failure because he'd assumed too much. Grimthorn would not make the same mistake. "The information! If you please..."

--Canon_alberic

Arch-Canon Alberic looked up at the face in the rain.

He ignored the pain

He ignored recriminations

He ignored the sword at his throat.

"You child. You are not worthy of anything I might tell you. I will die now in the service of Jah, and you will die in the service of Nothing at all."

Alberic looked to the south, then, in the direction of his Cardinal.

"I am sorry, sir, it seems I was......insufficient"

Alberic waited to meet Jah

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn fumed.

"I know the Count's attaches are headed to Bristol. I know you carry the a letter of marque signed by the Count of Sussex that will likely get them through many an inconvenience. I will have that letter once I kill you and search your body." He lowered his normally haughty gaze to level with the old canon. "If you will tell me nothing ... remind me why I need you?"

He waited a beat for the churchman to absorb his words.

"Oh wait," said Grimthorn. "I don't" In one, smooth motion, Grimthorn ran Alberic through. He left his sword where it was until he had searched the canon's body for the letter of marque. No sense in getting needless bloodstains on a parchment that was only good to him in pristine condition ... well ... aside from the blasted rain.

He tucked away the letter and turned away from the body of the ancient cleric. Mounting his horse, Grimthorn set off at pace to the North. To Bristol.

Destini

The flames of the fire within the hearth of the travelers' shelter cast both heat and light about the main room. It reminded Destini of the small shack between Imleach and Port Lairge where Allan and she had spent their first night on the road. The main difference was this building was larger and meagerly furnished with simple conveniences. There were beds enough for a small group of people. They would at least sleep in comfort this night.

She sat beside the fire, still slightly cold despite the fact that the fire had dried most of her clothes. Their still-dripping cloaks hung beside the fire to dry. Small tendrils of steam rose from the cloth in places where it hung close to the fire. A mug of hot tea with a shot of whiskey in the bottom warmed her hands.

Destini glanced over her shoulder to her fellow attache. She realized now that if anyone could understand how she felt about needing to return to Ireland, Allan would. He had family in danger too, closer than hers, bound by blood. He had a brother. She hadn't even asked about other family beyond his parents. As an only child, it simply hadn't occurred to her.

"Tell me o' yer brother, Allan," she asked him quietly. "What is he like?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan considered the question and mirth lines etched around his eyes. "My brother Conal is in many ways the direct opposite of me and very similar in others.

Where I am a bit abrupt and impatient at times, he is the very soul of calm and consideration. Where I am willing to be 'stern' in the service of Good, he is Good in the service of good. He would never have been able to get information from Elias as he would never knowingly inflict pain on any of Jah's children.

Allan paused, as if looking at someone who was not there.

He is like me in that he would put himself in the path of harm to save another. He sees trends in information, action, inaction, and comes to astute conclusions.

I worry that he will have caught on to what is happening as we have and inserted himself into it. I think we can both agree that the perpetrators of this bit of the Nameless One's mischief will make short work of any obstacle on their path which is undefended."

Brightpoint got up and paced a bit by the fire, musing aloud as he went

"We did not grow up together. My parents were very poor and gave a son to the church when we were seven as they could not afford to raise two. Conal ended up at the Abbey of St. Elsinore in Corcaigh. I did not see him again until after I had entered His Grace's service.

He is masterful with training homing pigeons and once gifted the Cardinal with a flock of acutely trained birds that bond to both people *and* places. I am very worried about not hearing from him as he has always sent periodic updates on how life is going.

If d'Argent is truly in play, Conal could be in trouble..."

Destini

She got to her feet and stood in front of him to halt his anxious pacing. Looking deep into his eyes, she placed a hand on his shoulder in the briefest of comforting gestures. "We'll find him," she said to him softly.

She watched the flicker of firelight play on his face, marvelled at the way his expressions of mirth in memory and worry fought for dominance. The battle of emotions would be brief, she knew. The strong man Allan was would let neither hold sway for long. Forgetting herself, the hand on his shoulder moved to trace the lines of his face in a gentle caress.

Remembering herself, she pulled away and turned back to stand by the fire. She held the warm mug of tea to her chest, wrapping her still-cold - and now slightly shaking - hands about its warm exterior. She bit her bottom lip. What was she thinking? Was she actually doing exactly what Archcanon Alberic had worried about? Was she letting her emotions get in the way of their mission? "Allan, I ..." she trailed off. She had no idea what to say to him.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"You need a refresh of your tea? Allan quipped to let the awkward moment ease, "Or more whiskey in the tea? Or was it tea in the whiskey?"

He held up kettle and flask

"Thanks, though, I know we'll find him if he is to be found. Neither one of us is big on the letting events thwart our plans technique.

Speaking of finding. Do you know what town the King is in? Or Pagan?"

Destini

"Aye, tea," Destini agreed quickly, thankful for the change of subject. She smiled shyly at Allan as she held her mug out so he could pour more hot water into it. "But just a little. An' then to bed, I think." Before I make e'en more o' a fool out o' myself, she added silently to herself.

"His Majesty Zan will doubtless be in the palace in Corcaigh. Pagan'll be more difficult to find," she answered Allan's question. "But we can start by lookin' at The MacKenzie Circus in Imleach. E'en if she isnae there, her loyal bartender Grunt might be able to tell us where she is. That is ... if either o' them are alive, o' course." The latter thought brought a darkness to her face. She sighed and took a sip of her refreshed tea to shake off the morbid thought.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn rode quickly through the uncomfortable rain. The muddy trail made it easy to follow the attaches. Imprints of horseshoes in the mud marked their road. They probably thought the rain would wash the tracks away. Had the Count taught his employees nothing about self-preservation? Well, their carelessness was to his advantage. He easily spotted the hoofmarks where they turned off the road for a small, rundown shack built for travelers.

He settled his mount in the stable beside the obnoxious beast that likely belonged to Brightpoint. The animal even had the audacity to snort in protest as Grimthorn entered the putrid stable. He took care of his horse quickly and lingered no longer in the hay and filth than absolutely necessary.

Removing the letter of marque from his pouch, Grimthorn hurriedly crossed the distance from stable to shack through the rain. Putting on an air of urgency, Grimthorn entered the shelter.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

At the sound of the shelter door opening, Allan whirled around and had his crossbow up and aimed at the midsection of the wet, arrogant looking man standing in the doorway.

"Who....or What....are you?"

Destini

Destini whirled and raised her crossbow as the door opened. Glancing at Allan, she saw he'd done exactly the same thing. Their positions were exactly mirrored. Both hand-crossbows each aimed a deadly bolt at the stranger. One corner of her mouth belied her stoic exterior. Allan had apparently taught her well.

The man who entered was soaked from the rain.

Friend or foe?

Difficult to tell.

She let Allan do the talking.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

A pair of crossbows were aimed at him. "Are you addressing me?" asked Grimthorn of Brightpoint. "Won't His Grace be surprised when he learns what a welcome his trusted guard received?"

He was glad he had thought to hold the letter of marque in his hand rather than wasting time in fishing it out of his pouch now ... an act which would certainly be seen as fishing for a weapon. He tossed the letter of marque onto a nearby table. "I was sent to bear you this. His Grace realized he'd forgotten to send it with you and sent me to deliver it to you instead. As recompense for His Grace's forgetfulness, he's sent me to accompany you. I trust you'll note the letter states that others may aid you..." He watched the attaches, two, carefully, in case he had to go for his throwing daggers at the back of his belt .....

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

With cold eyes, Brightpoint fished up the letter and scanned it.

"Ah. Yes. Well. The best welcomes are reserved for those who understand the fine art of knocking on doors.

Come, dry out by the fire and have some tea and whiskey."

Allan beckoned the stranger in

"So I have worked for His Grace for about fifteen years and never seen you. Where are you from?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn ignored the fact that even as Brightpoint 'welcomed' him within, he had not yet put away his crossbow. The girl, too, kept her weapon aimed on him. He acted as if they had put them away, acted as if he were safe - a feat not easily accomplished, yet masterfully performed, if he did say so himself. He went to the fire and rubbed his hands together before it, trying to warm the chill from his fingers. At least such a dismal location still had a decent fire to warm the bones. "I am not surprised you don't know me," he began, "With all that has happened recently, I was brought up from the lower ranks to be a member of Archcanon Alberic's personal guard. You'll note the calligraphy upon the parchment is his." A lie had to be both simple and elegant if it were to be believed. Half-truths were far more easily believed than full lies.

"You may not know me, Deacon Brightpoint, but since I was a young man, I have respected you greatly, seen you come and go ... going being far more likely these days than not." He sighed, just shy of melodramatic, "But then, I don't expect a man of your stature to remember each lowly guard he meets."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"It is in the details... So...Shall we have a name to call you or do you prefer 'Delivery guy from Count Faheud'?"

Allan smiled and placed his bow back on his belt

"Apologies for the harsh welcome....have a scone, there are some heating on the hearth."

--Richard.grimthorn

"Oh, of course," said Grimthorn, appearing mildly shocked at his own rudeness. "Richard Grimthorn, at your service." He introduced himself with a bow. As he rose, he nodded gentlemanly to Brightpoint then extended his hand to the lady he suspected was the girl Elias had mentioned. "I know Deacon Brightpoint, as I have seen him often over the years. Am I correct in believing that you are the Destini MacKenzie mentioned in the letter of marque?" he asked her.

Destini

"I am," said Destini, uncertainly. She watched Allan put away his crossbow. Reluctantly, she did the same, returning the bolt to its quiver upon her belt and the bow to its frog. If Allan trusted him, so would she. She took Richard's hand in greeting and nodded to him courteously. "Ye are well-favored indeed if Allan is offerin' ye one o' Sister Genova's scones," she said to him with a careful smile. She took her hand back and picked up her mug of tea again. Her tone was easy, even if she wasn't comfortable with a third in their party just yet. Was that because she didn't like Richard? Or because now she wouldn't be alone with Allan?

She looked to Allan with raised eyebrows, trying to catch his eye without Richard seeing her. Did Allan really trust this man?
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Excellent, excellent," began Allan as he winked to Destini where Grimthorn would not see, "Just so we do not waste your time my friend, what do you know of our mission?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn took a scone from the hearth and munched on it thoughtfully for several moments. "To be fair, my Lord, I was only promoted to personal guard during the Spring Ball at His Grace's manor. Scarcely any time to learn anything. I'm sure you'll understand." He hoped Brightpoint would take the easy bait or this conversation could get much more messy than Grimthorn intended. He changed the subject, hoping to avoid any messes. "I wish I'd been able to go to that event. What a grand occasion that must have been! But alas, I was told to protect the archcanon's offices instead." Grimthorn sighed. "But we go where we're told, don't we, Deacon Brightpoint? Such is the life of a man-at-arms."

He smiled at the attaches and sat in a chair by the fire. "You see, that was why His Grace sent me. Most of His Grace's guards are still returning from Westgate Manor. I was rested and already in Hastings."

He munched more on the scone before continuing. "So, now that His Grace has re-assigned me from Archcanon Alberic's guard to yours, what are your orders?" He cast them a friendly smile as he finished off the last of the scone. "Is there anything in particular I might need to know to ensure your safety?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan went into mission mode, although his hackles had risen during the explanation offered by Grimthorn. It really was not like the Cardinal to send agents or couriers out so poorly briefed. He'd see.

"Right. We are on a mission to Eire to determine what has happened to the King there and to some of our agents in the Country. You'll be well handy as another sword in the likely times of difficulty that seem to run rampant around the lands these days. You are well rested then? You and I may take the first watch. We are on double security for the duration."

There would be no chance of he and Destini sleeping whilst an unproven, dodgy man at arms was about....

Destini

She did not like the idea of sleeping whilst Allan took the first watch with a man whom neither of them knew. Richard's story was plausable enough, but any fool could have made up the tale and any actor could have pulled it off. Even His Grace recognized that agents with a performance background - like herself - could prove useful. Did they dare trust this man?

Destini went to the table and examined the letter of marque Richard had brought. She didn't know Alberic's hand like Allan did, but he had verified that it was, indeed, the Archcanon's calligraphy. Richard had arrived in the rain to bring it to them. Would an enemy do that? No, not likley. She was being paranoid. Still, she would sleep with her crossbow close tonight.

"Aye, very well," she conceded to Allan's suggestion, though she wasn't pleased about it. "Wake me when the moon rises an' I'll take the place o' one o' ye on the watch." The moon at this time of the calendar rose somewhere around the halfway point of the night. Hopefully, before morning she would have some answers about this Richard lad.

Destini bid the men goodnight and retired to one of the meager beds. So much for a comfortable night's rest. She'd not sleep well or easily with an unknown lad in their party.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As Destini went grumbling off to take her rest, Allan sat down by the fire with a conspiratorial grin at Grimthorn.

"So trooper, tell me of your career in Sussex. You have something of a London accent about you. How did you end up in the south?"

--Richard.grimthorn

For all that the Nameless One stood for, what did he need to do to convince them that he was on their side?! ... even if he wasn't ...

Grimthorn smiled convincingly at Brightpoint. "Ah, London. You've got me in one guess, Deacon. I never have been able to escape my youth. Yes, I grew up in London. Joined the city guard from there. Seems my attention to detail came to Faheud's attention during one of his many visits. Of course, he was but a bishop then, but he picked me from a crowd to be his guard. I would follow him when I could - to weddings - to funerals. It gives one a certain pride to join a cause one believes in, don't you think?

"I'm not sure what's going on recently, but the threats seem to have become ... more dire. And that is when I was reassigned to protect Archcanon Alberic."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"For me pride comes in doing the work well, to the best of my ability. It is largely that and loyalty that drives me forward."

Allan smiled, "It sounds like you have a similar background for service. Were you with His Grace for his entire tenure as Bishop of Hereford?"

--Richard.grimthorn

The title didn't sound right, but it sounded right enough. Grimthorn wondered if he dared trust his instincts or if he should try to reason out if Faheud had been Bishop of Hereford or somewhere else. He reached for a second scone to cloak his hesitation. No, Grimthorn's instincts had never led him astray before. He decided Brightpoint was playing him for a fool. Hereford was undoubtedly incorrect. The moment he'd disguarded Brightpoint's suggestion for the falsity it was, suddenly the correct answer came forefront to his mind. Faheud had been Bishop of Brighton. Not Hereford. Fascinating how the human mind worked.

Clever, Brightpoint, to work a trick question into their 'casual' conversation, but not quite clever enough. He would not be trapped so easily. Grimthorn feigned a believable expression of confusion. "Hereford? You mean Brighton, don't you? Yes, I'm certain you must." He smiled as if he were forgiving Brightpoint for his understandable mistake. "To answer your question, I have followed Faheud's career quite closely. However, most of my assignments for His Grace have been behind-the-scenes work. Rather boring, really. Nothing compared to your missions, I'm sure. Your life must be quite breathtaking." He attempted to shift the topic of conversation off himself and on to something else, anything else.

The idiot Elias had said the Irish girl was Brightpoint's weakness. Perhaps it was time to see if the moron had managed to do something right after all. "Speaking of things breathtaking, how did you meet the lady MacKenzie?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled as he watched Grimthorn, old grimy as he was beginning to think of him, struggle with whatever passed for intellect in his heritage and come upon the correct answer. Way too long of a delay. Way too much calculating and indecision.

"Aye, she is very much breath-taking. And able to help an arrogant fool die of air poisoning--excessive ventilation.

I can see why your work was behind the scenes. You dress like noble born, but do not carry yourself as one. That speaks on long months far from society.

My work has sometimes been excitement and sometimes been spending a week in the same spot, only to remove a problem when it finally shows its.....true colors..."

Allan would let Destini know they needed to ditch this ham-handed oaf. Perhaps he'd send him back to the Count with a message bearing the codeword for traitor in it.... The Count's dungeon would extract whatever was really going on here. Frankly, Allan did not have the time.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn couldn't help but suddenly respect his opponent. This was like a game of verbal chess against a very skilled player. It was a game Grimthorn liked very much indeed. It was clear that Brightpoint had caught his momentary hesitation, and didn't believe anything he had said after that. This situation had to be remedied now, before the seeds of doubt had too long to embed and grow in Brightpoint's clever mind. If Brightpoint discounted him now, it would lose Grimthorn his moment of opportunity. He realized, though he'd asked a question, Brightpoint hadn't answered it ... yet. He ignored all else of Brightpoint's words save that which could give him an opening to a conversation.

"Ah, yes, I saw from the way she raised the crossbow when I entered that the lady is quite capable ... I do apologize for that, by the way. My hope was to get out of the rain before the words upon your letter of marque had been entirely obliterated." He smiled cordially and sat forward in his seat to speak to Brightpoint in the gossiping manner the washerwomen used to do in the back of his parents' manorhouse in London. "Still I notice you didn't answer my question. How did you meet such an adept girl?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint was both impressed, pleased, and annoyed. This guy might not be the enemy. Sigh.

"Well said, brother, well said. I met Destini when I went to a wedding in Eire to deliver an urgent message. We ended up taking a walk that took us all the way to Sussex, England. I learned very fast not to underestimate her--even as I would not underestimate any factor in my world.

I can see how you are capable of the same level of intellectual acuity. Well done..."

--Richard.grimthorn

"You do well not to underestimate anything," agreed Grimthorn, knowing well those words could come back to haunt him. But he was playing a role here ... best to stick with it. "It is how men like us live as long as we can." He dared to place himself in Brightpoint's category, hoping that wouldn't undo what he'd just done in ingratiating himself with his host.

"On that note, I think there might be pivotal information about this mission of yours that you have, perhaps, not told me." Grimthorn leveled his gaze with his 'employer'. "If I am to do as Faheud commands and attend your needs, I think you'd best tell me all, or -- as your man-at-arms -- I might not be able to protect both you and the lady MacKenzie from certain harm."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint nodded, "Of course. And You shall be told everything pertinent to your tasks at hand.

For now, get some rest from your journey and when we ride tomorrow, look for anyone watching us more closely than a casual passser by. The danger lies later in this journey I expect.

And anything I do not tell you is a thing you cannot be tortured into sharing with the wrong folk...."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn -- the careful sociopath -- nodded his acceptance of the delay in information. He wasn't cast out yet. That was the important thing. A man as intelligent and careful as Brightpoint would not be won in one evening. Grimthorn expected that he would have to prove himself. This game of chess was not over.

Grimthorn -- the man-at-arms -- nodded his acceptance of his task at hand. "Your thoughts and behest are well, my lord," he agreed to the command laid upon him. He realized his dismissal in Brightpoint's tone and bowed as a man-at-arms would bow, curt, respectful, and to the point. "As you have requested that I rest, I shall leave you to the watch, my liege." He turned and made his way to one of the bedchambers ... one not containing the young lady MacKenzie. Brightpoint had laid out the path to success. Grimthorn did not need to bring further complications to this evening.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan sat on the floor, musing into the fire with his back against a bench.
This had been a truly interesting evening. Half the night riding break-neck through the rain..scones by the fire...Destini treating him like a lot more than an associate. Grimthorn blundering in out of the rain.

Now there was a paradox with feet. One moment he appeared to be a villain that needed sorting out and the next he seemed completely trustworthy and a valuable asset to have about. Allan would keep an eye on him, but for now treat the man like a member of the team.

It was possible Allan's initial dislike of the fellow was more about the way his entrance interrupted the conversation with Destini and less about Grimthorn personally.

The fire burned merrily, exuding heat and calm. Allan found himself looking past it to old memories of other fires on other nights...

One of the problems, as luck would have it, with drifting off to sleep on watch is that the sleeper is not aware that it is happening.

Allan certainly wasn't.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn had no intention of sleeping during his first night with the enemy. He had to make sure that they trusted him first. Couldn't have Brightpoint slitting his throat in his sleep because he'd been careless, now could he? He feigned sleep instead, listening as the sounds of Brightpoint on the watch grew quieter and quieter. At length, there was the tell-tale sound of a sleeper's even breathing from the next room. Grimthorn got up from his bed as quietly as he was able and peered into the main room. He smiled. Slipshod, Brightpoint, to fall asleep on the watch. He could kill them both now and save himself a great deal of time and effort, but then he wouldn't know how much of their plans the enemy knew. Faheud was still out there and these pitiful excuses for agents were only two of his attaches. Best to play this out slowly. He looked to Destini's sleeping form and smirked. Besides, waste not ....

The untended fire was slowly dying to coals. Well, if he wasn't going to sleep, he could do something useful and fetch more wood from the covered woodshed outside. Grimthorn turned and left the shack, closing the door behind him.

Destini

Destini woke sharply from a light slumber, bringing her pistol-crossbow to a ready aim on the open doorway. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, her vision focused on the empty room.

It was quiet. There was no need for alarm.

But then what had woken her?

Silence.

Shouldn't there be some sound from Allan and Richard on the watch? She slipped out from under the blankets and padded silently in bare feet across the wooden floorboards to the doorway that led to the main room. Allan was seated beside the fire, his head bowed to his chest, unmoving. Her heart jumped to her throat. Her first instinct was to go immediately to his side, but she resisted the urge. Instead, she stayed where she was, crossbow at the ready, and scanned the room for signs of danger. She paid close attention to the dark corners masked in shadow. The last thing she needed was a dagger or sword in her back because she'd thrown caution to the wind. Save for Allan, the room was empty. Where was Richard?

She stepped into the room and lightly walked across the open floor to the opposite chamber. The floor was cold against her bare feet. She ignored the discomfort. As she passed Allan, she glanced at him. There was no blood. She caught the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. He was just unconscious, then. That was good ... so long as he would wake. She stepped into the doorway of the second bed chamber, raising her bow to the ready. She lowered it again with a curse. Richard was nowhere in sight. She and Allan were alone in the shelter.

Muttering, Destini went to Allan's side. It seemed Richard couldn't be trusted. Laying the hand not holding the crossbow on Allan's shoulder, she shook him gently. "Allan," she called his name urgently, praying to Jah he would wake.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan shot to his feet and rolled to his right in a Shin-Zhao flip. He came up with his crossbow, aimed at the door!

The it came back to him

He fell asleep on watch. Heavens. That had not happened since he last stayed awake four solid days.

"I am sorry... I slept last four days ago. No excuse. damn... Grimthorn...where?! Crap..."

Allan was awake now. He was so furious with himself.

"I am sorry Destini. I put you at risk... and apparently Grimthorn has abandoned us?"

Damn...

Destini

She watched, both impressed and frightened at the same time as Allan came to his senses in a whirl of activity. Who knew what a man of Allan's skills would do when only half-cognizant of his actions? She trusted him and didn't prepare for the worst. By Jah's grace, he realized himself before he could do her any harm.

"Aye," she said to him. "Richard Grimthorn is gone." She was trying to work out why an enemy would appear in their midst only to disappear a few hours later. "Has he taken anythin'?" she asked him. His words suddenly struck her and she fell to her knees, worriedly kneeling down next to him. "Ye've been awake fer four days?" she questioned. "We left Hastings but two days ago. Why have ye been awake fer four days?" She searched his face for answers.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan sighed. He had heard Irish women were good at the scolding part of the show. Sigh.

"The Count needed a message taken to Viscountess Jasmine in Dover, and I was at hand..." He shrugged.

"I wonder what Grimthorn is playing at.....I have bad feelings about him...."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn arrived at the lumber shack and picked through the varied logs within. Honestly, a man of his social stature was reduced to gathering wood for the enemy. What was the world coming to? After gathering two armfuls of timber, he headed back to the shack.

He trudged through the rain back to the dismal hostel. He opened the door and stopped short as two crossbows were immediately aimed at him. "Oh, you can't be serious! Honestly?! I'm beginning to think you don't trust me!"

(modding Destini and Deacon_allan_brightpoint with permission.)

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well lets see.... Destini wakes up to find me slumped over--Nice one Brightpoint...bit slipshod falling asleep after only four days awake...and I awake to find you missing. This has all the signs of a problem....and then the door bursts open...not really likely to engender an offer of ale and flowers."

Allan put his crossbow back to his belt and took one of the strange beans from africa to hew upon..

Destini

"Apologies, Richard," said Destini as she lowered her own crossbow. Her belt was still in the next room or she would have placed it back on her belt as she had before. Now that the perceived danger was past, the cold permeated her simple undertunic and bare feet. She was still dressed for sleeping. She realized how underdressed she was for being in the company of two men ... one she didn't trust at all and one with whom she was almost afraid to be too casual. "Give me a moment to dress an' I'll take the watch." She looked meaningfully to Allan. "Clearly ye need to rest."
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched while the girl briefly retired to the room she'd claimed as her own. What was the word he'd used with Brightpoint earlier? Ah ... yes ... breathtaking. When he and Brightpoint were again alone together in the main room, Grimthorn placed the logs he was carrying upon the fire and stoked it back into flames. "I'm afraid I have to side with the lady on this occasion, my lord. As I said before, I am quite rested. Hence, why I decided to gather more wood for the fire. I would be happy to ensure her safety whilst you sleep."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"I am sure that you are quite willing, soldier. You will find that she is more than able to not only fend off attack, but leave the attacker sans a few choice bits."

Allan wearily found a corner of the room to lean against and began entering a Shin meditative state. This was often more restful than sleep and easier to come up out of at need.

Destini

She re-entered the room, fastening her crossbow to her belt and setting her packed satchel beside the door. When they were ready to leave, she wanted to take to the road as quickly as possible. Richard stoked the fire. Her eyes searched for Allan and found him in a corner of the room with his hands folded in his lap in a familiar pose. She'd seen him do this on several occasions. Though she didn't understand it, it seemed to work for him.

She glanced at the newest member of their party and turned decidedly away from him to glance out the small windows. Outside, the rain had stopped and the clouds were moving to clear the sky. Tilting her head, though, she saw another band moving in from the West. The rain would likely be there by morning. No rest for the weary. Even the weather wouldn't give them a break. "We'll likely be travelin' in the rain again tomorrow," she said to Grimthorn. Best to keep the conversation to safe topics like the weather. She longed for her harp. That would fill the silence and forestall conversation. Perhaps she'd been foolish to leave it behind in Hastings.

She went to her satchel and pulled out a parchment. She unrolled it on the table and revealed a simple, but accurate, map of England. Orientation had been one of her studies whilst she'd been in Hastings. She was as adept now at the roads of England as she had been of the roads in Ireland. If Richard were friend, he would need to know their path. If he were foe, he would know it anyway since he would be traveling with them. There seemed little harm in showing him their road. "We are here, at present," said Destini pointing to an open node upon the map. "Our path takes us North through Bristol then to Holywell where we are most likely to find a ship to Eire."
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched the girl's fingers as she laid out the plan. He nodded thoughtfully for a moment with his arms crossed upon his chest. "If, as you say, the rain keeps up, we will have issues here." He reached out and pointed to the line marking a river that ran into a lake near the old town of Glouchester. "The river will be swollen with the recent spring rains."

Destini

She lifted her hands off the curled edges of the map. The parchment curled in upon itself and returned to its original rolled state. "Nonetheless," said Destini sharply. "That is our road." This man wasn't invited on their journey, wasn't expected, and certainly had no right to determine their road. There was nothing they could come across that she and Allan couldn't handle on their own.

"Ye were sent to assist us. Not to guide us. We donae need ye, an' can easily send ye back to His Grace Faheud with a word o' thanks but nay thanks." She turned back to her satchel and returned the map to its pocket.

She pulled a chair to the window and sat in it, perpendicular to Richard so she could see outside through the window and watch the newcomer at the same time.

They spent the rest of the night's watch in silence.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

quite...peace....a stream in Flanders....breeze....sun....warmth...a familiar voice...

"You cannot worship if you allow the temple to fall. You must see to its keeping in order to use it well."

standing by the gates of St. Thomas speaking to an adolescent acolyte brimming with eagerness and anticipation at service to Jah

Seeing the young child grow into a nun as the years passed. Only a distant relative, but a source of pride as she grew

disturbance in the peaceful state

Rain falling, mud sliding river gorging

Allan rose to his feet in a single motion, picking up his cloak and satchel.

He looked at the others

"We need to go NOW."

Destini

Destini looked to Allan, startled at his sudden leap to is feet. The rain began to fall against the window sill, tapping a rhythm made ominous by Allan's emphatic insistance that they leave immediately. The dark clouds out the window masked the early light of dawn.

She gathered her cloak from where it hung beside the fire and wrapped its warm embrace around her shoulders. "Richard," she called to the man-at-arms as she lifted her satchel onto her shoulders. "Douse the fire. We're leavin'."

Joining Allan at his side as he exited the shelter, she whispered to him. "Allan, what's wrong? Why are we leavin' so suddenly?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked on with approval as Destini gave orders.

"One of the things that Shin Meditation does is to allow your subconscious to focus on many disparate facts that come together to a decision or a revelation.

I sensed my old master reminding me to take care of myself as the act of worship is difficult in a ruined temple.

I drifted forward from Flanders to St. Thomas where I can a fabulous conversation with my third cousin Jovita...she reminded me that when the normal ways do not work, one must try the unusual..

Then i was walking back here and watched roads by a lake washing out.

We cannot take the road to Bristol we planned. The rains will have sent half the mountainside crashing down. We need to take a less traveled one which is a bit out of our way and likely still dangerous. It cannot be helped...soon enough the rains will wash it out as well.

Does that make any sense?

Destini

It didn't make any sense at all and she shook her head to convey that to him. She glanced back at Richard. Maybe she'd been too quick to dismiss his suggestion. She followed Allan into the stables.

She thought on what he'd said and watched his face as he mentioned Sister Jovita. She'd not known that Jovita had been his cousin. Of course he'd been stern with Elias after that. She probably would have done the same in his place. Destini reached over and placed her hand on Allan's, momentarily stilling him from securing saddle about his mount. She smiled sadly at him, comfortingly.

"Allan," she said to him, moving back to saddle her own mount. "The only other road is the one to the old town o' Malborough, an' that crosses the River Thames. Though not near a lake, 'tis a much wider river than the one near Glouchester. If the road is goin' to flood, how do ye intend us to make it across?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled at the touch, acknowledging it with a slight tensing of the muscles in his hand.

"We have to try it. Even of we must go twenty miles out of our way to the Fording place, there are at least no mudslides to block the road.

Richard! Are you familiar with the fording near the end of the Thames?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn had entered the stables after dousing the fire in time to see the sickeningly gentle way the MacKenzie girl and Brightpoint shared a brief touch and smile. So, the idiot Elias had been correct after all. There was indeed something betwixt the attaches -- something he could, perhaps, use. Well, at least the moron Elias had earned his quick and easy death.

He was in the process of saddling his own horse when Brightpoint addressed him with a simple question to answer. "I am familiar with it. If we can reach the ford before the waters rise overmuch, we will probably be able to cross well enough."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Brilliant then. You may lead."

--Richard.grimthorn

If Brighpoint had intended to fluster or trap Grimthorn, he would be sorely disappointed. "As you wish."

Saddled and ready to go, he led their party into the rain.

--Brother_corwynn

Far away from the party heading north a pair of horses moved slowly through the gates of St. Thomas Hospital. One was a fast courier's mount, upon which a grim, wiry man in a black cloak and tunic rode leading another.

The second horse was a fine stallion, in the Livery of Count Faheud. It had no rider, rather a slumped form wrapped in a cloak.

Brother Corwynn stopped by the Count's Stables and bade the stable hand watch the horses but touch nothing. He slipped inside the building and went through a connecting hall into another back hallway until he arrived in an ornate study.

Count Faheud was at a desk beside Mother Mary Persephone, reading a document. He spoke without looking up, "Yes, Alberic, is the letter delivered, then?"

Corwynn's even tones cut through the air--the words doing more damage than the tone. "Alberic is in the stable sire, he cannot come inside of his own accord."

Faheud looked up. "Why the bloody hell not?"

"I found him slain a half a league north of the Hospital of St. Thomas, Sire. His satchel was turned out on the road. It looks like a robbery."

Shocked silence hung in the room like a pall...

--Mary_persephone

"NO!"

Mary tried to stand and failed. "You must be mistaken! You must be wrong! You must be ...." The look on dear Corwynn's face said he wasn't, though he wished for all the world that he was. Mary shook her head from side to side, unable to fathom a world without her dearest friend.

"... No ..."

_________________

Faheud

"Alberic? Dead? He has been with me for twenty years!! There is no...way........wait a minute..."

Faheud launched out of his seat

"Alberic left me in a hurry. He had only food and a letter of marque in his satchel. Nothing worth stealing."

Faheud paced angrily, agitation obvious in his gait.

"Was the letter still there Corwynn?"

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Brother_corwynn

"There was nothing but some field rations lying near the satchel, my Lord. I must presume the letter was taken..."

Corwynn stopped dead

"Someone took the letter.... was it for a specific person?"

Faheud

Faheud nodded slowly

"Aye. It gave plenipotentiary authority to Brightpoint and young Destini. The only possible reason to take it would be to insert an imposter...."

Faheud held his palms to his forehead, which was suddenly throbbing...

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Mary_persephone

Mary wasn't listening.

Alberic was dead? It wasn't possible.

The noise of the room was muffled. It was as if she were one of her patients in need of treatment for an ear infection. She couldn't hear the conversation going on right next to her. She couldn't understand.

She just kept shaking her head from side to side.

Alberic dead?

It just.wasn't.possible.

She vaguely heard Faheud address a possible reason for this (she swallowed hard before she could even think the word) murder ... a letter? an imposter?

"Why?" was all she could add to the conversation.

_________________

Faheud

Faheud took command of the situation with an explosion of personal aura that required no words. In a heartbeat he was simply in charge.

"Mary, I need to know if Brightpoint and MacKenzie were through here. Was Alberic with them? I need to know if he might have been waylaid after he handed off the letter.

Corwynn, what is the condition of my horse? Any injury you may find will provide priceless information as to what happened.

Mary, can you have your most experienced healer--not you, I would not ask it of you--examine Alberic and tell me all of his injuries.

I need data, data, data! I must have data. You cannot make bricks without clay!"

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Mary_persephone

Mary looked up at Faheud, but her gaze looked through him, rather than at him ... her mind was sifting through a thousand conversations she'd had with her best friend in the fourty years she'd known him. How could Alberic be dead?

"Ye-es," she said slowly, trying with all her willpower to focus now on what needed to be focused upon. But she was no soldier. This was difficult for her, moreso than the rest of them. "Young Brightpoint and Destini came through here about a day ago. Alber...." her voice faultered. His name bore the intense pain of his loss. She swallowed and tried to continue, for Faheud, for Young Brightpoint, for Alberic's memory. All she could do was try. "Alberic arrived not two hours after Young Brightpoint and Destini left. He said he had to deliver your letter of marque to them. I tried to stop him, tried to get him to stay... would that I had ... he might still be alive ...."

________________

--Brother_corwynn

Brother Corwynn listened to Mary's comments and shook his head. "Respectfully, Reverend Mother Mary, no. I believe if he had stayed he, you, and many others would be dead.

I am stricken at the loss of my chief mentor.

And I will avenge him

But for now, we may take heart knowing that we know something.

Your Grace. I shall go immediately to see to your Steed and make you swiftly aware of how he stands.

I fear that grave peril approaches my brother Allan and his.....friend and fellow attache.

Great haste is required."

Corwynn sped from the room on a mission as though flames chased him.

--Mary_persephone

Mary watched dear Corwynn leave, set upon the mission laid upon him. She should do the same. She should do something. She stood, shakily, but she stood. "I should see to him ... I should ..." She thought of how it would be to oversee the preparations of a funeral, thought of the washing of her dear friend's body before the placing of him into the ground.

"Oh, Faheud," she said to her only living close friend in Jah's world. "What am I going to do without him? He was dedicated and sweet. He never let anyone down. This," She raised a finger to Faheud, "isn't his fault. I will go with Corwynn to ...." She trailed off. She couldn't even finish her sentence. Oh, what was she coming to in her old age?

She sat again, shaking her head. "No," she agreed. "No, you're right, of course." She nodded her assent, doing as dear Corwynn had done, obeying her command. "Magdalene is at Westgate Manor. I will send Ruth to attend to Alberic."

______________

Faheud

Faheud felt shards of glass cut his soul with every pang of grief Mary displayed.

"I thank you, Mary. We who remain must stick together to assure a better tomorrow. I am so sorry for your....our loss."
_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Richard.grimthorn

A day and a half North of the Hospital of Saint Thomas, Grimthorn led the way to the fording of the River Thames. If Brightpoint had expected him to be unable to lead them to the ford, he now knew he was mistaken. The river boiled in turmoil at the recent rains. Though the rain had stopped, it was clearly far from finished. Rolling dark clouds were moving from the West, threatening to drop more rain on the already swollen river. It was but mid-morning, yet the limited amount of sunlight made it look as if it were mid-afternoon and moving toward evening. Brightpoint followed directly behind him. Grimthorn turned to him. "Well, here we are, my lord. How do you expect we ford?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

We must find the right fording point and cross, as always.

The waters are not too high to go across if we are steady and careful.

So, Trooper....go forth steady and careful. Savvy?"

Destini

As Grimthorn turned his mount to the 'safest road across', Destini road her mount directly beside Allan's. "Are ye sure 'bout the crossin' here?" she asked him. "I donae like the looks o' the risin' water." Grimthorn's horse was already up to its knees in the water and he was barely three feet across the ford.

She looked to the oncoming storm clouds with a nervous glance. "An' I donae like the look o' the oncomin' storm."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"I like nothing about this situation that is not riding your horse.

I hate whatever the hell Grimthorn is, I hate the weather and I hate this crossing

I am playing the odds hoping that the least evil situation is better than the worst.

Let's try to get across and be thankful it is not a highland mudslide.

I am sorry this is not safe. But our mission will probably never afford us much in the way of safe...

Will you be okay?"

He smiled... and hoped he made her feel more comfortable than he was currently capable of feeling...

Destini

"I donae know if all will be alright. I pray to Jah 'twill. Ye're right in that our road isnae a safe one, but - fer ye - I will tread any road." She grinned at him despite her words. Her smile was far more reassuring than she felt. She clicked her tongue and urged her horse to the ford.

The waters swirled in the overflowing bank inches in front of her horse’s legs. Estrella de Fuego whinnied and shook her head. Her horse did not want to go into the water, did not want to ford the River Thames. Destini couldn’t blame her in the least. If there were any other way, if there were any more time, she would happily wait until the waters had receded. But time and location were not luxuries they could afford. Destini dismounted and gently took the reins of her mount and lead her into the swirling waters.

The water was frigid cold and the current was strong – far stronger than she had realized going in. Her balance faltered. She steadied herself. Lightening struck a nearby tree, igniting the evening in brilliant white. The air tasted almost metallic in the resulting charged air. Estrella de Fuego jerked her head back in fear at the sudden thunderclap, pulling at the reigns clasped tightly in Destini’s grasp.

Estrella de Fuego’s sudden strong pull knocked Destini off balance. She stepped backward, trying to control the horse. Her feet encountered a loose stone in the ford and she fell backwards. The reigns were pulled from her grasp. The water came up to meet her, surging over her head as she fell into the deeper water. Destini tried to find her footing. The water wasn’t that deep here. If she could stand, she’d be fine. The strong current pulled at her feet and clothes, dragging her downstream into still-deeper water. She couldn’t get any friction upon the rocky bottom of the river. She tried to swim. She had to get to the surface!
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"JAH! Dammit! Grimthorn, Destini is losing it help her!"

Allan was screaming out curses and commands and knew Grimthorn would hear him. He thundered into the flooded river to help get Destini and her mount to safety.

What the hell happened to quiet rides across the country with only homicidal maniacs to worry about?

Destini

The current dragged her down. She was a fine swimmer, but the current here was simply too strong. She fought with her cloak clasp, trying to free herself, managing eventually to cast aside the heavy fabric. Still, the current pulled at her like the claws of the Nameless One, pulling her down to Hell. Above the water, another lightning flash illuminated the surface. There was no resulting thunderclap, no sound. Just the rush of water in her ears and the burn of her lungs. The air beyond that silver, shimmering curtain was out of her reach. As a singer, she’d been taught how to breathe, how to maximize the air she took in, but she hadn’t taken in enough air when she’d gone under the water. She only had so much air she could use. She was rapidly running out of time.

Heat at the corner of her eyes told her she was crying, her tears instantly merging with the River Thames, becoming more drops of water to drown her. Would she never know what had happened to Zanditin, her king, or Pagan, her friend? Were they dead? Would she see them in the world beyond? If not, Allan would continue the mission, save them if he could. But Allan would also blame himself for her death. Allan … Zan … Pagan … No, she had to live! For them! Panicked, she reached for the surface, fighting the current that continued to pull at her. Allan! she thought as the blackness closed in around the edges of her vision. Her lungs felt like they would explode. Her singer’s skill was failing her. Her body instinctively urged her to pull in air … but there was no air beyond her lips … only a watery death. The blackness closed in. No, No, No! The sound of water in her ears began to fade.

Jah, please! She was baptized! She was a believer! Would He take her so suddenly when she had so much left to do? JAH!

She lost consciousness … her body’s natural breathing took over … water surged into her lungs.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn, near deaf from the closeness of the lightening bolts, turned at Brightpoint's frenzied shouts. The girl's mount was there, but where was the girl? A dark form beneath the surface caught his attention. He was the closer of the two. He had the capability to save her.

He could let her die ... but what a waste. Plus, Brightpoint didn't fully trust him yet. He wouldn't last two seconds beyond her death if he didn't at least try to save her. He dismounted and went for the dark form.

Reaching in to the water, the first thing he pulled out was her unfastened cloak. Wise, girl, to lose the extra fabric, but it had distracted him from his true goal. Bubbles in the surface of the water caught his attention. A dark form hovered beneath the surface there. Grimthorn handed the girl's wet cloak to Brightpoint and removed his own cloak, belt, and pouch. "If you would but hold these," he said meaningfully to Brightpoint. Taking a deep breath, Grimthorn dove beneath the surface of the water.

His weight was greater than the girl's and enough to combat the undertow of the river, though he did feel it's pull. Opening his eyes beneath the water, he found his mark and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her to shore. Gasping, he broke the surface and took in a grateful gulp of air. Now, to get the lady to shore.

Once upon the muddy shore, he checked for signs of life. She wasn't breathing. There was no tell-tale beating of her heart. "There is no breath! No pulse!" he reported to Brightpoint above the din of the storm. He sighed. She was gone. He sat back on his heels a moment. Well damn! Now, there was one less thing he could hold against Brightpoint. Grimthorn looked up to Faheud's attache. "We were not in time," he reported to Brightpoint as he stood, blocking his progress to the lady MacKenzie. "There is nothing you can do. She is gone."

He placed his hand upon Brightpoint's chest to stop his advance to the girl. "I am sorry," he said. A part of him was surprised to realize that he actually meant the apology.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"OUT OF THE WAY!" cried Brightpoint as he bodily threw Grimthorn aside, the look of startled dismay on Richard's face barely registering with Allan.

He saw Destini on the bank and realized she was not breathing.

Time for the resuscitation technique.

Allan began a rhythmic pressing upon the areas of the heart, and pushed breaths of air into the girl's mouth every third pump towards the heart.

"Live damn you!" he cried, continuing his work even as Grimthorn huddled at a safe distance, the welt from Allan's backhand beginning to rise on his cheek.

Suddenly Jah's blessing came forth as Destini gasped and coughed out a gout of half the river before taking several deep breaths...

"Thank you Jah," whispered Allan.

And the Archdeacon meant it.

Destini

Coughing, sputtering, darkness turned to light. Cold and wet, she shivered. Her wet and muddied hair was plastered to her head. She gasped for air. Cool, refreshing air. Someone was near her. Who? She blinked the river water out of her eyes and focused her gaze on the figure.

"Allan," she said, surprised at how weak her own voice was. A bout of coughing took her. She collapsed upon the sand while water expelled from her lungs onto the muddy shore. Her muscles shook as she pushed herself into a sitting position. She tried to say something to Allan but started coughing again. She held her head between her knees a moment until the coughing had subsided. She looked to Allan and saw an expression of relief that she had never seen upon the man before. "Why are ye lookin' at me like that?" A brief cough or two forestalled any further questions. She looked to Richard then met Allan's gaze again. "What happened?" she asked him before another bout of coughing took her.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"You tried to drink the river, so to speak. Grimthorn pulled you out and I managed to....get your attention... Are you all right now? "

Allan was babbling to a degree, but he was so happy she was awake and talking to him he hardly heard the nonsense coming out of his mouth.

"Come...let's get to safer ground and we'll make sure you are well..."

Brightpoint helped her up to her feet and moved one of her hands to her horse to steady her and failed to let go of the other..

Destini

Getting to her feet was far more difficult than she would have anticipated. Her vision swam as she came to stand upon her feet and Allan steadied her. She took as deep a breath of air as she could without beginning another couging fit. Having Allan beside her to support most of her weight turned out to be important as he led her away from the River Thames.

They passed a rather stunned-looking Richard as they went. She remembered the lightning, remembered the rush of water above her head, being unable to breathe, her lungs burning ... then ... nothing. "Richard pulled me out?" she asked Allan, as if asking if he were certain. Of course, he was. Allan never seemed to say anything without being absolutely certain of its truth. First she'd not trusted Richard, and now he'd saved her life? She grasped Allan's lingering hand for dear life as a bout of coughing forestalled her second question. What did Allan mean when he'd said he'd got her attention?
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn had never seen anything like it.

When a person wasn't breathing and had no pulse, they were dead. He hadn't been trying to forestall Brightpoint's saving the girl. He just honestly hadn't thought it possible. He marvelled at what he'd just seen, rubbing the welt upon his cheek where the deacon had backhanded him out of the way. Apparently, he'd deserved it.

Grimthorn picked up his belt and pouch and wrapped it about his waist as he watched Brightpoint help the girl away from the river. From his pouch, he fished out Brightpoint's deacon's medallion that the raven had brought him a month ago. He fingered it.

This Jah that Brightpoint believed in must be powerful indeed to afford His followers with such control over life and death! Could the Nameless One do that? Was he on the wrong side? Or was the Red Duke keeping these truths from those in his employ?

He tucked away the token and followed behind Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie, leading their horses away from the river and to safety.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As Allan wrapped an extra cloak around Destini he looked over at Grimthorn.

"Richard, that was exceptionally well done. I will ensure the Count learns of your valor this day. I am not easily impressed, and yet is has happened here. Well done indeed.

Let's get away from the river and get at least temporary shelter for everyone to dry out."

Brightpoint led them all down the road, his bad opinion of Grimthorn almost as shaken as his confidence that the mission would go without crises every day.

--Richard.grimthorn

Several thoughts went through Grimthorn's mind at once. He addressed the one that was the most danger to him first. "No need to contact Count Faheud on my account, my lord. It is my duty as a soldier to serve where serve I might. This incident was no exception." The very last thing he needed was to be found out as a spy in league with the Count Faheud's enemy because Brightpoint did something daft like try to get him a commendation or something for an act he probably shouldn't have even done.

Why had he pulled the girl out? It certainly wasn't to aid Brightpoint. No, things might have gone much better for him if the girl had died. First off, Grimthorm himself wouldn't be soaking wet and chilled to his bones. Brightpoint would have been distracted from his mission and given Grimthorn an opportunity he did not, at present, have ....

But then ... the girl did die, now didn't she? Yes, there was a quandry worth asking about. "Besides, my lord," said Grimthorn, as if continuing his earlier thought. "It wasn't I who truly saved her. The lady MacKenzie was dead when I pulled her from the water." He dared to place a hand on Brightpoint's shoulder to stop him from walking onward and ignoring his question. Grimthorn searched his enemy's eyes for the answer he so desperately wanted. "How did you save her?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Not needing both our hands are we?" commented Brightpoint in a friendly voice with the barest hint of 'getoffmeorpullbackastump' hiding beneath the cordial velvet.

"I was taught by an oriental Shin Master on a number of practical skills. The Shin requires one be able to save life if one learning to take it. And that extends to restoring it to a person who has stopped breathing from a drowning."

Allan looked off for a moment as facts danced just beyond conscious though in a cloud of something not quite yet falling into place.

"It is my duty to ensure the performance of anyone assigned to my command is duly noted for better or for ill."

Allan looked off through the misted flat-lands near the river and spotted what he was looking for.

"There. There is a road running past that forest-line that leads in to Margate. Let's go that way and seek shelter."

He spurred his horse across the vale towards the tree line.

Destini

Destini had paused her own mount while the men spoke to one another in low tones. Low, yes, but not so low that she did not hear them. She was still shaking. Though, she had attributed the tremors in her hands to be due to the cold and wet, now, she wasn't so sure.

She had been dead? She noted Allan hadn't denied it in his explanation to Richard. Closing her eyes, she recalled those moments: the water above her head, the glassy barrier of the surface of the water as viewed from beneath ... then ... darkness ... nothing ...

... not even the passage of time ...

... nothing at all ...

... until Allan had pulled her back ....

The thought frightened her.

She pushed the fear aside as Allan spurred his horse ahead toward a small village. Glancing at Richard, she nodded to him in sincere thanks, surprised at the admiration she had for the man now that he had saved her life. "I thank ye," she said to him. Truth rang in her tone.

She turned her horse to follow Allan into the village.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Turning back to Destini, Allan could just not control the urge to say...

"You know, Destini...some there are that would consider coming back from the dead your first miracle towards living Saint hood..."

He rode on.

--Brother_corwynn

Brother Corwynn went over the notes he had taken regarding what happened to Elias in Hastings jail. Guards slain, cell unlocked...No sign of a struggle, single stab wound into the brain with an oddly shaped wound reminiscent of a polish stiletto or a throwing knife.

He decided he needed to talk to His Grace before proceeding with the investigation here, and realized he better have a look at the Count's horse as his master would want to know the steed was well.

There was no one in the section of stalls where he had left the horse and his mount as well. Corwynn walked up to the Count's horse, making sure not to startle the large Andelusian.

"Easy lad, it's all right. I am just going to make sure you are unharmed."

The horse nickered, accepted a slice of apple from Corwynn and tolerated the close contact of an examination. The adept attache immediately saw an odd contusion on the horse's left hind leg. Someone had struck just above the joint with a hard object or a weighted wire. Nothing natural left that type of injury without the abrasions a stick or rock would inflict.

"So then... Alberic was in fact waylaid by someone that knew what they were doing and had planned it. Not the type of work a random highway thug would put together... This makes two expertly planned and crafted murders in as many days. Four if we count the guards."

Corwynn needed to speak to the sister examining Alberic. Depending on the killing wounds, there might well be a serial murderer loose in the county. A murderer very likely to have headed on to pursue Allan Brightpoint and Miss MacKenzie.

First things first though...Update the Count.

Faheud

Count Faheud was sipping some tea in Mary's study when young Corwynn wandered in again. He looked a bit more agitated than before. Lovely.

Report, Attache," commanded Faheud, not wanting to waste either of their time.

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Brother_corwynn

"Aye, Sir. Your horse sustained at least one injury that would be due to an attack. A length of wire or very thin steel struck it's leg and left no surrounding abrasions. This invariably means an artificial or intentional injury. Probably wire with a weight, used to make a horse falter or stumble. A rider would never know if the attack was from behind--which the wound indicates.

Further, Sir, the fact that the rather expensive saddle and very expensive horse were not taken tells us this was not a robbery per se.

The pouch turned out, coins present and letter gone brings me to this conclusion.

Arch-canon Alberic was waylaid, unseated, questioned, and killed. The attacker has doubtless left with the letter and will either destroy it and try to stop your agents, or use it to gain their trust. At any rate, nothing good will come of this."

Corwynn paused to let it sink in and then continued his report

"Regarding the matter of Elias. With two guards at the cell stealthily killed and no hint of struggle in the cell, a death wound that is execution style. We are left to realize that some agent infiltrated the jail, silently killed two guards, and silenced Elias. Lack of struggle shows that there was familiarity between killer and prey, perhaps an associate or employer silencing a security risk.

The proximity of the murders in time and distance does NOT eliminate the possibility of the same person being responsible.

If it IS the same person, it is reasonable to support the view that our killer will next look to silence Brightpoint and MacKenzie."

Faheud

Faheud narrowed his eyes and considered what he had heard.

"Check with the sisters to determine if Alberic was slain in a fashion similar to Elias. Whatever you can find out will be helpful.

Unless evidence arises to the contrary, I expect you are correct about where the enemy will go next.

I will need you to formulate a plan to disrupt the enemy.

Off you go."

Faheud sat musing over now-cold tea as Corwynn went off to meet the sisters and find what they had learned about the attack on Alberic.

Faheud had more funerals to prepare for, and this was an ever heavy burden.

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--.audrey.

Alberic's tunic was laid beside the bed where his body was laid out. He had not yet been washed for the funeral ceremony. Keen eyes glanced over the corpse, cataloguing everything she saw. The wound was two inches wide. Nimble fingers probed, searching for the exact outline of rib bones around the wound. Long fingers deftly measured the space of wound to bone.

The canon's tunic was of as much interest as the body. The tear in the fabic matched the wound, yes. That was to be expected. Yet there was more to the evidence than what a simple constable would note. Deft hands spread fingers wide to measure the distance the blood from the wound had travelled when the skin had been sliced. A piercing gaze noted the way the blood had dried onto the fabric. There was the rain to take into account, of course. Yes, that could throw off her calculations.

Footsteps echoed from the chamber, told her she was no longer alone with the corpse. Sister Audrey looked up and searched the newcomer with an appraising gaze before turning back to the body. "If you've come looking for Sister Ruth, you'll not find her here," she told him while continuing to examine the corpse and its former owner's garments. "She does not care to deal with the dead."

_______________

--Brother_corwynn

Brother Corwynn smiled at the matter of fact comment from Sister Audrey.

"Not exactly, Sister, I come looking for the medical practitioner examining Arch Canon Alberic. There are facts I need to get to in order to best advise His Grace on our next steps.

To put it simply, the facts are these:

That should be all for now, but I am an inquisitive sort, so I cannot promise no further questions."

Corwynn smiled at the nun and awaited her answer.

--.audrey.

A sideways glance appraised the man who had entered her domain. "I am Sister Audrey. As you can see, the late archcanon is in my care. You are welcome to enter if the sight of the dead doesn't disturb you overmuch." Another look, this time in the man's eyes, set doubts of his fortitude to rest. "You look like a man who can handle death. Come." A long, slender hand beckoned him to enter.

"You asked about the weapon. Firstly, it was wide. See here where it entered exactly in the second interspace." A thumb and forefinger mapped out the width of the wound in Alberic's chest. "There is a similar wound in his back, so the blade was long, probably a sword. The weapon struck no ribs as it entered and pierced his heart. The killer was either very skilled and knew what he was doing or just happened to strike upon an easy killing blow." A fiercely intelligent gaze met the man's. "My guess is the former rather than the latter. Help me to turn him and we'll see the exit wound."

In moments, they had turned him so Alberic's bare back was facing the heavens. Again, her fingers measured the width of the wound. "The exit wound was not as tidy, but then, with the force gained by striking so true in the front, a clean exit isn't necessary to run a man through. Do you see how much lower the exit wound is to the entry? His killer was either very tall, say, nine feet (not possible), on a horse while the late archcanon was on his feet, or was standing above him while the late archcanon was sitting or kneeling."

A firm nod of her head indicated Alberic's over-clothes draped over the back of a nearby chair. "Based on the mud caked onto his trousers at the knees, he was certainly kneeling at the time. Make no mistake, my lord, this was an execution."

_____________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn sighed heavily as his task just got a lot more complex, difficult, and urgent.

"Thank you Sister Audrey, I very much appreciate the thorough nature of your report. This would seem to make four such executions in three days, with definite connections between the victims.

I think the attacker's failure to steal or scare off the Count's horse was more a lack of time than a blunder. This would tell me the killer was--and probably still is--on urgent business of a time-sensitive nature.

Were there any other wounds on the Arch-canon?"

--.audrey.

A firm shake of her head indicated there were no other wounds. "No other wounds, my lord, save for bruising which may indicate a fall of some kind sometime close to the moment of his death. Except ..." Her matter-of-fact tone trailed of as she remembered something. Two strides moved Audrey from Alberic's side to the chair where the late archcanon's overclothes were laid. Lifting a pair of trousers, she showed him a dark brown spray of blood.

"This blood does not match any wound upon the victim. There are no scrapes or cuts that could have caused this. Given its location upon the calf of the pant-leg, it must have happened before he was on his knees, but around the same time. The victim's blood and this other have dried about the same. Can you explain this?"
_____________________

--Brother_corwynn

"Yes, I have a very good idea where that came from.

There was a minor wound on the horse that would have caused it to throw Alberic, and as he slid off the horse, he would have picked up blood from the slash to the horse's flank. It was superficial, but would have bled alot and startled the horse badly.

The attacker was in a very urgent hurry to have made so bold an attack--even in driving rain."

Corwynn sighed

"Thank you for your excellent work Sister. I fear I will shortly be dashing off to the north to prevent us having two more murders to inquire into..."

--Raven_in_the_foregate

Long sweeping wings working
beak bringing master's message
eyes searching, far finding
land on sill and words deliver

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn was having an ale by the bar, and not one of those far-too-hoppy beers. No, this was dark and delightful. This was where he wanted to be right now, just a simple man enjoying an ale in some backwater inn where no one would find him.

And then that blasted bird showed up ....

Oh no, d'Argent. You'll not blow my cover so easily.

He sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling where the heavens would be if he believed any of that drivel. It was while he was in the process of expressing his dislike of the bird that he swiped the message out of the fargled fowl's mouth and rammed a dagger through its breast with the other, nailing it to the table.

Grimthorn tucked away the parchment and continued to enjoy his ale.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was coming back down the stairs after making sure Destini was settled in. He had not gotten more than a loaf of the Tavern's quick-bread and some hot tea liberally dosed with whiskey down her, but perhaps rest was more important at present.

At the bottom of the stairs he saw that Richard had staked out a table by the window. Come to think of it he could also see that Grimthorn had staked down a familiar looking raven to the table with a long-knife, and was enjoying a flagon of ale.

He walked over.

"Interesting decor you have there, Richard. Anyone we know?"

Allan sat down and motioned for an ale.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn was beginning to like this man the more he got to know him. He grinned at Brightpoint, an expression which didn't wholly suit him save when he was being dismissive ... and this time, he wasn't. "Not known to me, no, my lord. But when it flew through the window, it was making a very annoying squawking sound, and I decided it must be well past it's bedtime."

He nodded conspiratorially to Brightpoint. "It's asleep don't you know?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's eyebrow shot up as he accepted a dark Scottish ale from a buxom server.

"Richard, lad, " began Brightpoint, "I am not sure what they teach you in the north lands, but that is a dead Raven. It is expired. It is an Ex-Raven."

--Richard.grimthorn

"No," said Grimthorn. "He's resting." he said with a wink. "Pining for the fiords. Probably tired after a long weekend, if you know what I mean ... Beautiful plumage, though, don't you think?" He took the liberty of flicking one of the raven's black feathers before returning to his beverage.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan took a deep draft. and another. No, still stupid.

"THIS is not a live raven. It is not Pining. It is not resting. It would be out in the trash bin if you hadn't NAILED it to the table with a dagger.

Friend of yours, then?"

--Richard.grimthorn

"Joined the choir invisible, do you think, then" said Grimthorn with an overly appraising look at the raven. "Yes, perhaps so." he agreed.

"He had this encaptured in his talons though," said Grimthorn, flicking Brightpoint's deacon medallion on the table with a flourishing gesture brought on by, perhaps, a bit too much dark ale. It swirled upon the wood surface of the table in a circling motion that yielded a slightly grating sound to the ears.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan whistled and took a deep drink before setting the ale down and reaching for the medallion.

"Well that bird did look familiar and now I know why.

Elias had a raven attack me and it tore a deacon's medallion off my cloak. Look, right there on the back 'Manus fidei' or Hand of the Faith.

That bird had this?"

Allan's eyes narrowed at the possibilities

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn nodded slowly as he took another sip of his ale. "Yes, it did." He leaned closer over the table to speak in a lower tone to Brightpoint, as if worried someone might overhear. "I'd watch yourself if I were you. I'll certainly be keeping more of a weather eye on your safety now. Someone clearly knows you're here, or worse, knows your road. This," he pointed to the medallion, "was probably meant as a warning to you. Are you certain you want to go to Ireland? Maybe it would be better to turn back in favor of a safer road." Leaning back in his chair, Grimthorn drank his ale steadily while carefully watching Brightpoint.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"As it happens, His Grace rarely delegates to me tasks that are...safe. Care should be taken for certain, and take care I shall.

It takes, as luck would have it, more than the return of a lost trinket to scare me off.."

Allan considered the medallion a moment.

"Well done Richard on killing that damned bird though! Well done indeed. Keep this as a prize for your efforts."

He tossed the medallion back over to Grimthorn's side of the table.

Destini

Destini opened her eyes suddenly and swung her legs over the side of her bed to sit up. She rubbed her face with the palms of her hands. The darkness of her own dreamless sleep was far too oppressive. At her insistent urging, Allan had been kind enough to leave a candle burning. The flicker of the flame about the wooden hostel room comforted her somewhat. But the quiet of the room was too much. She needed noise, activity, people, anything to make her feel alive.

She pulled her green dress from her satchel, shook out the wrinkles, and pulled it over her head. As her satchel had been on the pack horse, it had not gotten soaked in the River Thames when she'd fallen in. It was far too nice a garment for this backwood inn, but it was the only dry clothing she had. Cinching the dress at her waist with her belt, Destini left the hostel room to find Allan and Richard.

She found them in the inn's tavern, sitting across from one another at a table beside an open window. She paused on the stairs and took a moment of silent admiration to watch the two men who had saved her life.

She made her way to their table with a gentle smile. "Evenin', Gentlemen," she greeted them softly. It was then that she noticed the black raven nailed to the table with a thin dagger. It was so out of place that she simply hadn't noticed it at first. "Why is there a dead raven on the table?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked up at Destini, down at the impaled bird, and up at Destini again.

"It's resting," He answered and too a sip of ale.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn hid an amused grin, but not the twinkle in his dark eyes. He nodded in agreement with Brightpoint as he, too, looked from the impaled raven to the lady MacKenzie. "Indeed. It's pining for the fiords." He joined Brightpoint in his sip of ale.

Destini

Even in her distracted mental state, it was difficult to miss the gleeful look in Richard's eyes. It seemed Allan was better at hiding his emotions than Richard was. She hid a grin of her own under a performer's mask of irritaion.

A dead raven was, after all, a dead raven.

She raised an eyebrow at her two favorite men in the world. "Pinin' fer the fiords? 'Tisnae pinin'! 'Tis dead!"

She waved the waiter over. If she was going to have this rediculous of a conversation, she needed a water glass of scotch.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan gasped, "It's not dead... its molting..."

He failed to stifle a grin.

It's all tuckered out after a long and burdensome journey that had a lot at stake..."

--Richard.grimthorn

"A lot at stake, yes. Well, it seems to have gotten the point. Don't you agree, milady?" Grimthorn was smiling openly now. Trading witisms with a worthy foe had a certain degree of fun to it. He brought his ale to his lips with his right hand and with his left felt his pocket for the message the raven had brought him right before its timely demise. He had yet to read its contents. Brightpoint had interrupted him too soon. He had to find a free moment to get away ....

Destini

Destini took a sip from her large glass of scotch the moment the waiter brought it over. She pulled up a seat to join Richard and Allan at their table and raised a menu. "I take it that - bein' the kindly gentlemen ye both are an' would ne'er let a lady sit at a table with carrion - that ye're both delicately tellin' me that I should avoid the appetizers here?" Peering around the menu at her traveling companions she added, "Or is that what passes fer the chef's special?"
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Aha! This was his chance!

Grimthorn finished his ale and took the speared bird in his hands as he stood. "Ah! Right you are, milady! I shall have it from your sight at once!" With that, he turned and comically parade marched from the tavern to the outside with the speared bird over his shoulder. Perhaps there might be a problem with drinking ale with the enemy. Still, it didn't hurt anything to make the girl laugh ....

Once outside, however, Grimthorn dropped his comical display with the remains of the dead bird. He returned his dagger to his belt and glanced about to ensure no one was near enough to him to know or care what he was doing. It seemed not. Grimthorn pulled out the parchment the raven had been carrying. What did d'Argent want now?! How dare he almost destroy his cover with Faheud's attaches! This had better be worth it!

--Viscomte_dargent wrote:

"I will solve the leak here. You will solve the leak there. Do not let MacKenzie get to Ireland. You can kill Brightpoint if you like, but that is secondary...."

d'Argent

Grimthorn fumed. Hadn't he just saved the girl? All this time he had been under the understanding that Brightpoint was the primary target. After all, it was Brightpoint that the fool Faheud had trusted to distribute that blasted antidote to the kings ... not that it had helped much. But now d'Argent has said the lady MacKenzie is the primary target? Leak? What leak?

It occurred to him. They had known for months that information had been passing between Ireland and England. D'Argent had discovered how ... and what was more ... whom. Damn. Grimthorn realized he was going to have to rethink his strategy.

(ooc: letter from d'Argent posted with permission)

Faheud

At the Hospital of St. Thomas, Count Faheud climbed onto his horse and prepared to head back to Hastings.

The report from Brother Corwynn had been hard to hear and very unsettling. There were killers on the loose, targeting his people, and he could not do more than send Corwynn out.

Happily, it turned out that sending Corwynn somewhere with orders to solve a problem was invariable an effective measure.

Time to go though, he was needed back at Council

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn wondered if possibly Jah might consider closing the clouds up a bit and letting the roads dry out. Not that Corwynn was complaining, saints forbid.

But still... did riding wet make you a better servant of Heaven than riding in a vaguely dry state? He thought not.

And where the hell was Brightpoint? He had a habit of appearing and disappearing without regard to the best most could do.

On to Holywell, he guessed, and there was no sign in Margate.

Sigh.

It started raining even harder. Damn.

"I really wasn't complaining, Lord Jah, lovely water...really...Perhaps you might save some for...say...Spain?"

He rode on.

Destini

Miles to the North, Destini led the party Northward. They had decided on a strategy to take turns leading so that their duties offered a change up on the long ride. Eyes focusing on something new increased the possibility that they would spot something untoward. Richard brought up the rear, watching their tail for anyone unwelcome while Allan rested his eyes a moment in the middle having just hours ago finished leading them.

As Destini was in front, she was the first one to come to the crossroads at the old town of Chester. She pulled the reigns of Estrella de Fuego gently and brought their progress to a halt. "Well, Gentlemen," she called to her party. "What do ye think? There are two ports within a days ride. As ye're both native to England an' I amnae, ye'll know better which is more likely to have a ship to Eire. Liverpool? she extended an arm to the North. "Or Holywell?" she gestured to the West.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stared off into the distance, looking at each road for a span.

"Two roads diverged to the Ports and I recommend the one more-traveled by.

To Liverpool says I. There is a pair of ships that practically run a Ferry across to Eire, and it is not the common route for Anto's Privateers."

--Richard.grimthorn

There was the possibility that if Anto's pirates frequented Holywell, that lady MacKenzie might not make it to Ireland and he wouldn't even have to do anything to stop her. But how to convice the lady that Holywell was the better of both options? Grimthorn nodded thoughtfully as he considered the options. "Fair points, all, my lord. However, I must respectfully disagree. Holywell is the direction we should go. The ferry in Liverpool is often used to transport passengers between Liverpool and Egermont, not Ireland. Clearly, due to the space that ferry takes up at the pier, the chances are greater that we will find a ship in Holywell." He did not address Anto's pirates at all and hoped the lady wouldn't notice.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"In a word... Pirates. And if there are no ships headed to Ireland from Liverpool at present, a jaunt on the ferry to Egremont lands you in the busiest port in Northern England--certainly to have access to Eire.

Secondly, it is obvious there are personages who do *not* want us to get to Eire, going through Holywell, brimming with agents of NNGO and others, would be poor form.

Allan paused and continued.

"So we should count the votes. Destini has left it to Us. I have one vote to Liverpool and you have zero votes to cast for Holywell.

Off to Liverpool then."

--Richard.grimthorn

He'd been outplayed at this turn. Grimthorn smiled, admiring Brightpoint's skill and strategy. "Check and mate, then." Turning his mount to the lady, he offered her their agreed upon destiniation. "To Liverpool."

Destini

She nodded at the choice. Even if Richard had held to his opinion for Holywell, she would have cast her own vote for Liverpool. Allan had dealt with enough pirates on the journey to Ireland. She did not want him to have to deal with them again. Nor was she overly eager to trade crossbow bolts with those who might stop their progress to the emerald isle. "To Liverpool, then," she agreed and turned Estrella de Fuego to the North.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

As Corwynn saw it he had about 100 hours to catch up with Brightpoint and MacKenzie before they took ship or were led astray by an intruder with a letter of Marque signed by His Grace.

100 Hours...

15 to the crossroads at which time he must pick Holywell or Liverpool

30 to Ban-bury cross of West Harold Knoll if he went towards Holywell.

60 to Liverpool if he went thence.

and then a couple days at most to find them out of all the travelers in two busy ports.

Another fine mission His Grace had gotten him into.

He rode on into the night, pretending not to notice the rain had slacked.

Some lessons needn't be learned multiple times.

99 hours....

Destini

The rain had fallen away and the sun was attempting to peek out through gaps in the clouds. Destini was grateful. They had ridden far too many miles in the drizzling rain and she was tiring of being constantly wet. Not least of the reasons was due to the fact that being wet reminded her of the day Richard and Allan had saved her from drowning in the River Thames. She shook off the memory. It was sunny now.

As the sun dried some of the rain, it became slightly muggy. Destini put her hood down to get some air. She sighed contentedly as she felt the air move about her, cooling the moisture her wool hood had trapped beneath. Her hair was free now to be caught in the subtle breezes.

She was still in the lead, having only had the position for the last several hours. The road turned up ahead, and Destini rode on.
_________________

The Highway Man , played by Faheud

The Practitioner, as he liked to call himself now that he had proper highwayman kit, was waiting just around a winding curve of road. What a splendid place to ambush a hapless fool and lighten their load a bit, what?

clip clop clip clop a horse coming around the bend.

The Practitioner adjusted his only slightly too large--but most magnificent-hat and took the center of the road on his almost alarmingly impressive stallion. He lumbered up his claymore into an equally almost impressive 'I am so gonna shave your head starting at the shoulders' stance.

His horse nickered, failing to conceal its lack of confidence in his precise and profoundly professional master.

The horse coming around the curve carried an elegant woman in green.

"Bonus!" thought the Practitioner. But business before pleasure.

"WHAT HO!?! STAND AND DELIVER!!" he cried in a voice that was, quite remarkably, as impressive as it was loud.

Destini

Destini brought Estrella de Fuego to a stop with a gentle pull on the reigns. The man in her path was bearing a sword. Her own weapon was in her saddlebags. She glanced subtly over her shoulder. Allan and Richard had apparently fallen behind. She would have to deal with this on her own.

She took a moment to examine the highwayman. The horse was unsteady beneath him. New, then, or recently stolen. Best not to underestimate the man too much. The hat was slightly too large for him, but incredibly impressive. She vaguely wondered what the man was compensating for. Still, he was armed and, presently, she was not. And he was in her path, barring her from a mission far too important to be interrupted by a mere highwayman. The exasperated words, "Ye cannae be serious," might have escaped her lips.

"Very well," she said, narrowing her eyes on the man. "But what ye seek is in my saddlebags an' nay on my person. If ye willnae strike, I shall dismount an' fetch it fer ye." She watched him carefully for his response.
_________________

The Highway Man, played by Faheud

Sahweeeeet! The practitioner thought to himself as he nodded sagely at the beauty about to submit to his roguish intentions. Who knew that Jeremy was right about something? He had said a highwayman would always get lucky. And here before him was luck with feet.

"Aye, lass, off yer horse and to the saddlebags. I shall spare you for the nonce, but one false move and its dying time!"

He moved in closer, in case he needed to prove his point with a yard and a half of Scottish steel....which incidentally was getting a bit heavy...

Destini

She dismounted, keeping her glaring gaze on the man. He moved his horse closer and she saw that what she'd thought was a highwayman was actually more of a highway boy. What was he? 15? Certainly younger than her. A child. But, again, he was armed. And now he was in range to strike. She had intended to reach into her saddlebags and bring forth her pistol crossbow, but now that he could hit her or her mount, it seemed that was no longer an option.

Slowly, she reached for the saddlebags and unlaced it carefully. All she had to do was go slowly enough to buy time and stall the lad long enough for Richard and Allan to come around the corner. Where in Jah's name were they, anyway?
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan came around the curve that Destini had disappeared beyond. He had sped up a hair as he realized he and Grimthorn had been chatting and fallen back a bit. Was that shouting he had heard round the bend?

He saw Destini standing beside her horse, fiddling with her saddle bags.

he saw some idiot in a cloak and over-stuffed hat, pointing a sword at her.

Like hell

Allan charged up with his crossbow in hand, shouting, "STOP or I Will shoot you!!"

Not subtle, but this was not the time for subtle.

The Highway Man, played by Faheud

The Practitioner was wondering if he shouldn't have gotten more practice.

He pushed his hat--which had chosen an annoying moment to sag--back where it belonged and found, somehow, his impressive voice.

"YOU stop FOOL! Or she dies before you can get a bolt off!!! Drop Your Weapon!"

He raised the sword to strike and that was much better...

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn spurred his horse seconds after Brightpoint had taken off after the lady. He saw Brightpoint draw his crossbow from his saddlebag without losing a second. Impressive. But why had he done that? Nervous, Grimthorn reached around his back and drew a throwing dagger. Shouts were heard beyond. In the Nameless One's power, what in hell had happened now?

Throwing dagger in hand, Grimthorn arrived around the corner as the lady MacKenzie was threatened by a boy. His stomach lurched in the strangest sort of way to see the lady in danger. Happily, with Brighpoint and himself coming to her aid, there was little chance the highwayman would succeed. The boy's style reminded him very much of the idiots that dolt Elias had always hired. Good in bulk for a single mission, but eventually completely worthless. "You can't win here, boy. Your skill is obvious. Your sword arm is weak." He pulled out a second throwing dagger, just in case. "You really.should.retreat."

Fleeing Highway Man, played by Faheud

Oh Cr-- thought the formerly plucky highwayman.

The current highway boy did not much like the way trouble kept oozing round the corner.

He was going to kill Jeremy for this stupid scheme.

"I just remembered," he stammered diffidently, "I have to go home and...um...shave the geese.

Um.. Bye."

He dropped the claymore, and galloped off the road and into the woods at as if hells own legions were in hot pursuit.

Destini

Destini watched the boy gallop away. She didn't like having to be rescued. Annoyed, she turned her glaring gaze on Allan. "I could have handled him," she stated firmly, walking up to Allan's horse. "If I could have gotten my crossbow out in time, he'd have been mine.

"Ye packed yer crossbow exactly as I did. I know. I watched ye. How did ye get yers out when I couldnae?" she demanded to know.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"When I spurred my horse into a gallop I crouched low, making me a smaller target and allowing my hand to reach the crossbow."

Allan answered her directly and simply.

"I thought everyone did it that way...."

Destini

She filed away the information in her memory for later. "Allan,"" she said to him tiredly. "Please recall that 'twas ye who taught me to shoot the crossbow, an' indeed everythin' I know 'bout the weapon ..." she reminded him. "I realize how to pull an' fire from a mount is a small detail, but its absence from my trainin' meant I could have been dead this day."

Memory. Water surging over her head. Unable to breathe. Darkness.
No.

She turned and shook off the memory as she replaced the crossbow on her mount and re-tied her saddlebags. "Thank ye both all the same," she said to them, tiring of thanking them for saving her life. She mounted her horse and took the lead once more.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan paused a moment and took in the stinging rebuke.

He looked at Grimthorn and remarked, "That went well..."

Spurring his stallion he caught up with Destini about five minutes later, down the road and made a point of speaking loudly enough she could not possibly not hear.

"Your feedback is well spoken and taken just the same. I apologize for being a bad teacher and for intruding by saving you. I will endeavor to avoid either missing key points of teaching or even worse, grandstanding by saving you in future.

I'll look to the road ahead, shall I?"

He spurred his horse down the road

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched the argument twixt the lady MacKenzie and Brightpoint from afar. Perhaps the young pipsqueak highwayman had done him a favor. There seemed to be a sudden disconnect between Faheud's attaches, something he could use to his advantage. All he had to do was be exactly what the lady MacKenzie needed now, and she would be his. With the lady in the center of their party now, Grimthorn had a chance to catch up to her. "I am ever at your service, milady. If that means you need to talk, I shall be there. If you need aid, I shall be at your side. If you need to handle the trials alone, I shall endeavor to aid you from afar ... should you need me." A hint. A seed of doubt. That was all he needed to do now. He slowed his horse and fell back to take the rear guard.

Destini

Although Estrella de Fuego trotted on, Destini was faltering. What had she just done? Rebuked Allan for her inability to understand the techniques he had taught her? He was a fine teacher. He had saved her life three times now. In payment, she had just dismissed him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right for her to do this to him. How could she expect him to ever forgive her? How could she even begin the conversation, now? She felt horrible. How could she make ammends?

Richard seemed to understand. She looked over her shoulder to him and smiled weakly. He'd offered to talk. Maybe that's all she needed right now. She hadn't spoken to either of them about anything serious since they had crossed the River Thames. If she were honest with herself, that was what was truely bothering her.

She rode on in silence, pondering the situation with a heavy heart.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was riding a few dozen yards ahead of the others when he heard voices over the rise. He sped up a bit in order to see what kind of mischief approached this time.

There was a group of three men who had the look of merchant marine sailors. They were joking as they went along.

"Good afternoon, gents, " Allan called out. "How is the road from Liverpool?"

The fellows came to a stop. They had daggers at their belts but made no signs of drawing although one of them produced a belaying pin and held it loosely at his side.

"An who are you, stranger?" asked one of them who seemed a bit older that the young sailors with him.

Allan replied, "Arch-Deacon Allan Brightpoint, Attache to Faheud, Count of Sussex. en route to Liverpool. What makes sailors take to the roads instead of a ship?"

One of the sailors laughed, "No ships in Liverpool, mate, we're steppin it to Holywell where we hear things are a good bit more lively. I'm Henry the Bosun, and these lads are me crew."

Allan smiled, "Nice to meet you boys. Your information about quiet docks in Liverpool is good to hear. It has saved my party near a day's ride for nothing."

"Party, you say?" asked the Bosun warily.

"No worries, there are two other with me, also in service to His Grace Faheud. Here they come now.."

Destini

As second in line, she was next to reach the rise and pulled her horse to a halt beside Allan. Richard came to a stop beside her. She looked on the men below and glanced at Allan. She couldn't tell much about his stance toward the men, but then, she had been having increasing difficulty reading him of late. Even her performer's skill with reading an audience was no help.

The men below, however, seemed easy enough in their manner that they offered no harm to their trio. Two parties of travelers meeting upon the road then? "Hail and well met!" she called to them. "Where are ye' goin'?"

"To Holywell, we are." said the one that appeared to be in charge. "As I was jus' tellin your friend here, there's no work for sailors in Liverpool. Empty port an' all, an' that's a fact, it is."

"No ships? None at all?" Destini frowned and she turned to Richard and Allan. "What do ye think? Do we backtrack to Holywell?"
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn tried as hard as he could to smother a smug grin. "Well! It seems that Holywell was the better of the two options after all." He couldn't resist pointing it out. "Milady, I think we have no choice but to turn about. What do you say, my lord?" he asked of Brightpoint.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked off into the distance a moment.

He sighed.

"So the choices are friendly, but empty docks in Liverpool, Prancing with Pirates in Holywell, or two weeks ride to Egermont. Lovely."

The Bosun spoke up, then, "Pirates ye say?"

Brightpoint nodded, "Aye. Anto's lads have been shelling ships in the harbor.

Well, if Jah wants us to take the long way around, the long way it is. To Holywell, and if there is nothing there but trouble, the long ride north for us. What say you, Destini?"

Destini

She nodded her agreement to his plan. "Aye. We lose only three days on our ride to Egermont if we check out the port at Holywell first an' it proves to be less than helpful." She flashed a smile at the sailors. "We thank ye, gentlemen, fer the information. Jah be with ye on yer road."

She turned her horse southward on the road. The easy smile she'd cast the sailors drifted to a frown as she thought on the pirates. "How serious do ye think the threat o' pirates is, Allan?" she asked him before they set out. "What happened last time that makes ye so wary o' Holywell? Could there nay be pirates at any port we come to?" She thought on the port at Egermont and Elias' memory came to her mind. There would likely be danger no matter where they set sail.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Last time in Holywell... Allan remembered it all too well.

"The last time I set foot in Holywell, I and my fellow attaches spent twenty-four hours there. Well, I spent twenty four hours there. Meirwen spent ten and was killed when she stepped outside the walls to aide a carter with a thrown wheel. It was a setup and she was robbed and slain."

He rode on in silence for a moment collecting his thoughts

"The morning I sailed for Eire, Anto's boys were looking to find a bit of forced labor for their War Cog and tried to march Justinian and I off at sword point.

We did not take too kindly to that idea and chose to resits. Seven of the NNGO fell, as did Justinian.

I spent the rest of the day securing passage, but when I tried to board, there was a large gang waiting for me at the docks. I had to be rather stern with them and only just got on the ship. It was sailing out of the harbor as I climbed over the rail and saw Anto's boys beginning to stir upon the docks where I had left them.

All in all, it was a very long, very bad day and it did not improve much come the next.

So yes, chances are I will be remembered in Holywell. And, come to think of it, that might turn out as much for the better as the worse."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn's mouth fell open. "That was you?" He hadn't meant to say the words outloud, but there it was. He had heard a rumor last time he had been up this way about a man who worked for Faheud causing some sort of ruckus in Holywell, but the story had seemed so outlandish that it couldn't possibly be true. "I'd heard rumors," he said to cover his outburst. "Fisherman's tales I'd thought at the time." Grimthorn realized now just how careful he would have to be if he were to stop the attaches from reaching Ireland. Brightpoint was dangerous and intelligent, that he knew. But now he knew just how dangerous. This would be a very difficult man to kill. Grimthorn couldn't help but admire that.

All the same, they were headed to Holywell where it was possible a gang of NNGO out for revenge would solve his problems for him ....

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked over at Richard. "Aye, that was me. And the NNGO will either spot me and think to get revenge, or they will spot me and have urgent business elsewhere."

He paused.

"I am surprised though, you were unaware it was me. The Cardinal had me teach a class to the military instructors at Sussex University on that particular day and how we could have had fewer losses on our side and how we inflicted such an inconvenience to the Anto's lads.

I have to say though, I should have spent the night starting small leaks in the NNGO ships at the docks. Had I thought to do so, they would have been too water-logged to catch us and saved me a day of hand to hand fighting and a three mile swim to Eire.

Funny how some lessons come with a stiff price, eh?

Destini

The evening was silent save for the crackle of the campfire. "Easy there, lass. There now, that feels better now, hm?" Destini brushed Estrella de Fuego's flank to settle her for the evening. They had ridden past the crossroads at the old town of Chester and were now nearer to Holywell than Liverpool. They had decided to camp for the evening beside a seasonal rivulet gorged from the spring rains.

She watched Allan from across the camp. She had yet to speak with him about her unforgivable behavior earlier. There had yet to be an opportunity. Richard was still building the campfire. She was embarrassed to offer her apology to Allan in front of him. Returning the brush to her satchel, she walked to the campfire and placed a hand on Richard's shoulder. She looked down at him kindly when he looked up at her. "I can handle the fire," she said to him. "'Tis yer turn to hunt this eve." She took his place beside the fire and waited until Richard had disappeared beyond the circle of light cast by the flickering flames.

The fire burned brighter as she fed it with steadily larger pieces of tinder. Eventually, it burned on its own, needing little more coaxing. She glanced about the clearing, searching to make sure Richard was still out hunting. She was still alone with Allan. Good. She got to her feet and went to his side. "Allan," she said as she squatted in front of him. Her eyes were cast to the ground. "I want to apologize fer my behavior earlier with the highwayman. I wasnae angry at ye. I was angry at myself. I didnae see the lad in our path until 'twas too late. I wasnae watchin' close enough. My mind has been elsewhere. The River Thames ...." she trailed off, unable to put her fears and distractions into words. She hoped she was making sense. She took a deep breath to try a different approach, one that didn't mention the situation at the river. "Ye didnae o'erstep yer bounds in comin' to my defense. Ye did exactly as ye had to do. Ye did exactly as I would have done. Ye are a fine teacher, Allan. The best I've e'er seen. An' ye are a dear friend to me." Friend, yes, but there was more that she was unwilling to speak until he had accepted her apology. She continued. "My words to ye were heartless an' wrong. An' I am sorry for them." She met his gaze, hoping he would see the truth in her eyes.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked at the emotions dancing across Destini's face, and at the ones swimming in her eyes. The normal quip was set aside for the moment at least.

"You are an independent soul, and not easily can you accept others doing things you felt you should have been able to do.

Cross that with my past failures to arrive home with all of my comrades and the obvious result of being slightly over-protective.

I suspect the immovable object and irresistible force are doomed to have a bit of friction when they run across each other"

He looked into the fire with a wry smile

"You had a fair point though. There are things you could be easily taught in our travels that would allow you to require aid much less frequently. But river banks will always crumble when least expected regardless of your training. Ambushes happen to anyone.

I will agree to be careful not to let either teaching or saving feel patronizing, and in exchange, you can agree to be a good student, learn that which is learn-able, and accept that some things there are that the brightest soul cannot command.

Do we have an accord?"

Destini

He was treating her as a teacher would treat a student, as a compatriot, a little as a friend, and probably not as more. Perhaps that was for the best. Archcanon Alberic had once wondered if personal involvement would be a problem to their mission. It seemed, now, it was indeed a problem, and it was a problem they had maybe just done away with. Damn. Why did things have to be so confusing between them?

She nodded her agreement to Allan's words. There were things neither of them could affect, situations that would probably affect them both and leave them helpless. His words helped her move beyond the situation at the River Thames. She focused her gaze directly on his, trying to put aside anything that might distract them further. Whether she was successful or not would remain to be seen. "An' accord, aye," she said. An oath, yes. But not one that superseded her connection to her kin. That she could not grant for any price. "But if ye an' my kin come into conflict. I must needs side with them." She didn't think it would be an issue, but she spoke the words just to be fair. She had once had a similar conversation with the Count Faheud, her employer. She was MacKenzie. Her kin came first. That was all anyone needed to know.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Perfect," answered Allan. After we cook whatever Richard just caught, we can discuss what the training needs to include.

He should be back soon. I hear him blundering this way through the woods. How did he ever pass basic training?"

Allan rolled his eyes at the state of training in Sussex these days,..

Destini

With Richard coming back soon, she had limited time. The forest in the direction Richard had left was dark, but in looking off in that direction, she knew she'd see him soon. "Ah- Allan," she said, hesitantly. Her eyes met his in a poignant glance of emotional conflict and feelings unresoved despite - or perhaps because of - the many conversations between them. "There's more, but ... I ... I donae know how to tell ye ... " She bit her bottom lip and looked off in the direction Richard had gone. She too, could hear Richard plowing through the forest. And if she could hear him, he could certainly hear them. There wasn't time to say what needed to be said. She blushed profusely and prayed to Jah the darkness of the evening would shield her from Allan's keen gaze.

"Nevermind, forget I said anythin'." Though she said the words, she doubt it would be that easy. She turned back to tending the fire. "We'll discuss trainin' after dinner, then?" The conversation she was trying to have never got any traction, but she tried to turn the topic back to something more appropriate all the same.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Not to worry my dear, we shall have ample time to speak later when Richard is making obeisance to the Altar of Saint Gertrude of the eternal slumber.

There are things I, too, must speak on, but it was important to first align the intellectual before the emotional.

Ah. here is our hero now. I must tell him about trails..."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn uttered yet another unintelligable curse as yet another blackberry bramble cut through his cotton tunic and into his skin. Honestly?! Stop it, would you?! For the Nameless One's sake! Couldn't he catch a break?!

He burst into the clearing and saw things very much as he left them. Brightpoint sitting ponderously exactly where he left him and the lady MacKenzie exactly where he left her, nursing the fire. Right! Things hadn't gone as bad as he'd feared, now had they?

"Well! What do you say to a brace of conies?" said Grimthorn, holding up a couple of full-grown rabbits.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well done lad! One could not expect you to capture a deer, so conies are simply grand! Clean them up and we shall enjoy a fine Rabbit stew as I have saffron, garlic, carrots and corn to make the stew fine as can be.

Destini

She wasn't listening. She was thinking about what Allan had said. 'It was important to first align the intellectual before the emotional' ... Emotional? Did that mean he understood? And was understanding the same as a reciprocated feeling? She was afraid, and at the same time, she was dying to know what he meant.

"Hm?" she said looking up at Richard with the two conies in his hands. She tried not to laugh at how much he looked like a hunting dog returned from a successful hunt and looking for praise. "Ah, yes. The conies are lovely, Richard," she said, adding her praise to Allan's. "An' a conie stew with Allan's ingredients sounds delightful."
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Why did he feel he was being toyed with? What had Brighpoint meant when he'd said 'they could not expect him to capture a deer?' Grimthorn narrowed his gaze, but retained his genteel smile. He silently swore he'd show Brightpoint who was boss, eventually. His generous nature could go only so far, after all. The lady MacKenzie, too didn't seem to be all that impressed. What was going on here? What had happened in his absence? Was he actually being tasked to dress the conies? He sighed. Very well. "As you wish, my lord." He nodded his acceptance of the task at hand, if only to maintain his cover. What was the old saying? 'Discression was the better part of valor.' Yes, he would be discreet for the moment ....

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled heartily at Richard's discomfiture. Clearly this was not a man at arms.....but he was willing to play the game as long as Richard was...

"Well done Grimthorn! Dress those conies and save the hearts for the stew as it adds strength and luck to the diners."

He looked over at Destini

"You know, Destini... I have to wonder whatever befell our Peck. Didn't he last leave your hand?"

Destini

Her smile faded. "Aye," she said to Allan without turning around. She stared into the fire. "Peck did last leave my own hand. I sent him to Eire with a message to Pagan. An' I havenae heard anythin' since." She turned to him, worry creasing her brow. "If he cannae find Pagan, if my best friend is dead, if His Majesty Zanditin is dead ... I realize 'tis a lot o' ifs ... but ... what will happen to Peck? Will he find us again? Will he return to His Grace?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"If Peck is alive and free he will find your friend, or you or me, or His Grace.

It will be clear soon, I expect. I....I am sorry if my question has caused you ill..."

Destini

She turned back to the flames of the campfire that mirrored so well the turmolt within her own soul. Jah, help her. "Nay need to apologize, Allan," she said to him while furrows still deepened in her brow. "'Tis a fear I've been livin' with since we left Hastings."

Her worry for her kin was compounded by her own near-brush with death. No wonder there had been a disconnect between she and Allan recently. "I imagine ye have been goin' through much the same with worry fer yer brother."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan wanted to say more, but they had an audience. He settled for saying, "Aye, with all the unrest in the English Speaking world at present, I fear for all friends and family. I hope that none of us are faced with more loss. I have not seen my brother since the middle of my last mission.

When we get to Holywell I will see if the priest there keeps pigeons to communicate with the diocese. If so, we can start word heading to His Grace and see if Peck made it back with word yet."

He looked to see if Destini's expression of worry eased at all

Destini

Allan's words did help, but she was far from eased. She caught the subtle way he glanced at Richard by moving only his eyes. Right. Richard. She had forgotten they weren't alone. She doubted her words would cause them issues. Richard was as loyal to their cause as she and Allan were. But then, she had known Allan for months before he'd mentioned his brother to her. Perhaps he just didn't feel comfortable sharing that information. To avoid saying anything else Allan might not wish Richard to know for whatever reason, Destini settled for nodding to Allan in response.

"I should fetch water if we're to have any hope o' havin' stew this eve," she said as she stood. She paused briefly to pull a small kettle from her satchel and left the clearing in the direction of the rivulette.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn listened as he dressed the rabbits. It was skillfully done - both the listening and the dressing. He enjoyed the talent he had at slicing through the skin without nicking the internal organs. He was careful to ensure all the guts were spilled upon the ground and did not spoil the meat. The snap of the pelvic bones in order to open up the thigh meat was a particularly pleasant sound. It was almost a pity that lately he'd used his skill more on men than on rabbits.

He enjoyed the listening as well. So Brightpoint had a brother. That was new information. He wondered if the lady MacKenzie turned out not to offer suitable distraction to turn Brightpoint from his mission, if his brother could be used instead. He needed more information.

He returned to the clearing with the rabbits prepared for stewing. "Here we are, my lord, cleaned and ready to be cooked in the stew. Shall I take care of that as well?" he asked, sincerely hoping he wouldn't have to. Cooking was not a skill he posessed. Killing and cutting, though, was a different matter.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan caught the look of panic around Grimthorn's eyes when he mentioned cooking.

Smiling, he shook his head, "No, that will be all. As it turns out I have a rather tasty field recipe for rabbit stew."

He pointed off in the opposite direction of where Destini had gone, "There is some mint and lemon grass over there. Please get a few handfuls and I'll see to this."

Allan began to take out tiny packets of spice and salt and array them on a rock near the fire.

--Richard.grimthorn

Well, Brightpoint had finally stumbled upon a gap in his knowledge that a man-at-arms would have that he did not. "Ah, yes, my lord, I would, but you see, herbology is not a strong suit of mine. I failed at that particular lesson at academy. Overslept that morning, couldn't attend. You know how these things go." It was a pitifully weak dodge especially for him. It was a simple lie ... if only lacking in elegance.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was actually surprised. "Really? Well. Over there are small plants that have a fresh minty smell. Please pick them. In the same area are long grasses that smell of lemons. Pick some of those.

We are never too old to learn something, then, are we?

Cheers."

Allan shook his head a bit and wondered why Faheud would send out someone with no field survival skills.

A tiny voice whispered in his head "he would not."

Brightpoint's level of watchfulness subtly elevated a degree...

Destini

Having filled the kettle with water from the nearby rivulet, Destini returned to camp. She saw Richard searching for herbs a short distance from camp and smiled at him warmly as she passed. Reaching the fire, she set the kettle aside until she had moved the wood in such a way that the kettle would reach the coals beneath. Fire was bright, but not really all that hot. It didn't cook food, and it certainly didn't boil water. Coals, however, did. She placed the kettle on the coals and sat back to wait for the water to thoroughly boil.

There was not much more to say. And at the same time, there was far too much left unsaid. But this was not the right time. She longed for her harp. It's tones often filled empty silences like this one. It had been wise to leave it behind. The road had been hard already and it would be harder still as they continued. But still, she missed its presence.

She was not, however, entirely without music. She went to her satchel and pulled out her old Irish whistle. Sitting beside the fire, she began to play a soft, mournful tune. Memories of nights spent in the MacKenzie Knot and later in the MacKenzie Circus taverns drifted through her mind as she played. One memory in particular surfaced forefront: her attempting to explain the Irish whistle to Zanditin. He had not been king yet, he had not even been Clan MacKenzie yet, but she had felt a kinship with him all the same.

'Ye see the way it has six holes. By liftin' yer fingers in a cascadin' motion, it makes different sounds.' Zanditin had peered at the instrument with cautious interest. 'I could teach ye if ye like.' 'oh, no,' he had said, 'I'm not much of a musician. I don't even sing. Unless I drink too much.'

She paused her lilting tune to smile into the fire. Jah, please let Zan be alright. Please let Zanditin and Pagan live. she prayed silently. On the coals, the water began to boil.

(ooc: The conversation Destini remembers here is what I recall from a real conversation that occurred with Zanditin in the Imleach tavern of The MacKenzie Circus.)
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan Brightpoint was briefly, struck by that rarest of moments. Gaping speechlessness.

As soon as his voice recovered he asked Richard, "Honestly?! You thought this had a minty smell?"

He turned back to where Destini was playing the whistle and enjoyed the music...

Destini

Destini returned from washing the dinner dishes in the nearby rivulet. The stew had been delightful. Dinner conversation had revolved mostly around praising Richard for his skills in hunting and teasing him for his skills in herbology. She glanced at the man-at-arms as she packed away the dishes and saw he was already fast asleep in his bed roll.

She went to the campfire and sat next to Allan. They sat in companionable silence for several moments. At length, her voice softly broke the evening's silence with casual conversation. "I wish I could sleep like that," she said with an incline of her head towards Richard. "I havenae slept that deeply in ... oh ... a long time."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Sleep wanders far from those with far to wander..." Allan replied.

"I think we can agree my sleep patterns of late have been less than ideal. When I do make time to rest, I cannot turn off all the threads of events, missions, possibilities, and things I must do.

The Welch solve that sort of problem with whiskey in large amounts, but that is hardly suitable for folks in our line of service.

I expect you'll not sleep deeply til you know what has befallen in An Mumhain. I certainly won't."

Destini

She smiled. "I think Pagan would disagree with ye on the bit 'bout the whiskey." Just as quickly as the smile appeared, it was gone as her mind wandered and she wondered yet again what fate had befallen her kin.

"Ye're right. I keep wonderin' 'bout it, rehashin' the same details o'er an' o're again. But o' course, there isnae any new information. Just the same details again an' again." she sighed heavily.

Now that Allan had pointed it out, she realized she had rarely seen Allan sleep - especially lately. Like the night in the travelers' shelter, he hadn't slept. Instead, he'd gone into what he'd said was some form of meditation. "Is that why ye go into that meditation o' yers? Because ye cannae settle yer mind enough to sleep?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint remembered how oddly his meditation had landed with Destini and Richard. "Meditation is the process of clearing the mind and organizing thoughts so that important facts and trends are highlighted whilst trivia is cast aside. That in and of itself is profoundly restful and what deep sleep does above and beyond the physically restorative effects sleep provides."

Allan stared into the fire.

"It is also a time to address things compartmentalized away in emergency and to stash away things to be looked at later."

He grinned

"And it annoys people like Richard."

Destini

Allan's expression at the last sentence was so impishly child-like that she wanted to laugh, but his words cut past that. "Why would ye want to annoy Richard?" she asked him. "He's been most helpful to us this journey. E'en to the point o' pullin' me out o' the River Thames an' comin' to my aid when the highwayman attacked. An', what's more, it seems his instinct was right 'bout Holywell. We wouldnae have found a ship in Liverpool."

She looked to Richard's sleeping form. "How do ye suppose he manages to sleep?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled at the incisive question. "Aye, you might wonder why I'd seek to annoy him. There is a technique of determining why a source's information seems just slightly out of focus....wrong even."

He lowered his voice so that only she could hear.

"You hit them with minor indignities, subtle nuances, and changes of plan until their cumulative reactions reveal the truth of background, intent, and purpose.

I still wonder why His Grace would send a man at arms with little field training and no knowledge of recent events in South and Central England to carry a critical message. The answer I come to is that he would not.

That is but one of half a dozen oddities that keep circling back.

For now I am content to watch and wait. But I will not relax perception or defenses until actions reveal truth."

Destini

She frowned. Her gaze searched Allan's face for signs that he was joking. He wasn't. She looked at Richard. Confusion plowed furrows in her brow. Swinging her gaze back to her co-worker, she shook her head. When she spoke, she tried to keep her voice as low as Allan's, so only he could hear her. "Allan, Richard helped to save my life. Twice! I cannae reconcile that fact with what ye're tellin' me. Ye have no proof he isnae what he says he is.

"So he has little field experience. Perhaps we was a guard in a city an had no reason to learn o' herbs. Why would he help us if he isnae a friend? Moreover, how would he have the letter o' marque in his possession?"

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered why she was defending Richard with such loyalty. Perhaps it was exactly as she had told Archcanon Alberic. Danger and death creates a bond. But then why didn't Allan believe as she did?
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"There are many reasons," explained the Arch Deacon in quiet tones. "If he means to deliver us to whomever in Ireland is behind the poisonings, or chuck us overboard at sea, he would hardly want bodies found in England where suspicions could be raised."

Allan was ticking off the reasons on his fingers

"Or he could be playing two sides to see which in the end is more safe."

A colder tone crept in

"He could have robbed the real messenger and being trying to see how much we know before carrying out the rest of his mission."

Allan frowned, "It may be excessive faith in His Grace's abilities, but I cannot see him sending sheep out to sneak a message through the wolves. Simply put, he has access to dozens of associates who have traveled the lands back to front. Heavens, he could have sent Corwynn up here and had done with it. Why send someone out on a critical effort who cannot make their way? It limits chances of success and endangers the untrained soldier.

I do not for a second regret his being there to help keep you out of the worst of the river. I also do not for a second think ignoring my instincts is a good idea. I am not telling you to share that opinion, I am telling you what it is.

Richard is with us because of the good things he has done. He is under scrutiny because of the paradoxes I describe."

Destini

His cold tone frightened her. She had never before heard him speak in such a manner. Even when he had spoken of Elias, his words had never been this dark, this ominous. In all the time he had shared his thoughts with her, he had never been so forceful in his expressing his fears. This was something new.

But then, she had never outright disagreed with him before.

She bit her bottom lip as she took in the myriad of frightening possibilities he ennumbered. She nodded her understanding of his words as she gave in to what he was saying with a soft sigh. "Very well," she said to him slowly. "What ye say has merit. I willnae ignore ye, but I hold to my opinion. I think ye're bein' too hard on Richard, too judgemental," too paranoid she did not say.

She placed a compassionate hand upon his and risked his gaze as she stared into his eyes. "We, all o' us, have our paradoxes, Allan. I have mine. Ye have yers. 'Tis what makes us human."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint could certainly agree with that.

"Aye, 'tis well true enough. At present I am content to carefully collaborate and see which side wins out in that one," he ended with a nod towards the nearby sea of snores.

"So. When we reach Eire...Straight to Imleagh, then?"

Destini

"A bulk o' my kin are in Imleach, true enough," she said, staring into the flames of the campfire. "But Pagan is a difficult lass to predict. She could be settled happily in The MacKenzie Circus in Imleach -- that's the clan tavern there--" she added the aside for Allan's benefit, uncertain how much he knew of her homeland. "...or she could be gallavantin' bout the countryside on a wild adventure ... probably also involvin' whiskey." Destini grinned briefly before returning to the conversation. "I think before we do else, we'd best to Corcaigh to see His Majesty Zanditin. My Clan Chief Padraig will probably also be in the capitol ... if any o' them are alive ... An' then there's yer brother to see to - where did ye say he was again?"

She sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. She was exhausted, but knew if she tried to sleep, she'd be awake again in a few hours and be little more rested than she was now. Jah damn these unanswered questions! "We need more intel, Allan!" She recognized the frustration in her own tone and stopped herself by taking a deep breath before she continued, "Until we know more, we cannae plan fer Eire."

Wryly, she added, "We donae know if we'll e'en find a ship in Holywell...."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well, my sweet, let us take it then one day at a time. We know where we need to go and what we need to do. Between us is enough savvy to get us both through... If Richard steps up and earns a place at the table, we shall serve his fill as well."

Allan was content.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was irate. He had been tracking Brightpoint and Destini for days. He knew their horses and the gait in which they traveled. He now knew the trail of whomever was with them. When had they gained a third?

Was it the one who killed Alberic?

Endless hours riding by day and walking at night so as to not lose the trail.

"OW!! DAMMMIT! WHAT THE?!?!?!?!"

Corwynn's foot throbbed from where it had struck a very hard object in the dust of the road. He peered down angrily. A bloody claymore?!?! What the sam hell was a bloody sword doing out in the middle of the road?

He could see the tracks of his quarry in the road. They intersected with a set on foot..... someone had thrown down an expensive sword and fled.... Brightpoint was busily terrifying the masses again, was he?

Hells bells, the tracks turned around and headed back south to Holywell? Good Jah this was insane.

"Jah, If you bid me never find these souls to aid them, Pray say so and have done! This to and fro nonsense is undignified and serves us all poorly!!!"

Corwynn turned back towards Holywell with a curse, wondering what demons drove his friends in such crazy patterns.

This was not one of the easy trips....

Destini

The crowds along the docks were thick as fog. The noisy chatter of so many voices melded together to create a buzzing drone of sound that blocked out the normal sounds of the ocean. Bells chimed upon the ships and in the shops along the harbor. The whining cries of seagulls mocked the crisp bell tones. Destini pushed her way through the crowds unnoticed amongst so many.

They had stabled their horses near the town hall's tavern (conveniently named the Town Hall Tavern) until they knew what they were facing here in Holywell. They'd agreed to split up in order to search the docks with greater speed and efficiency and meet back at the Town Hall Tavern when they were done. It was a large naval port. The largest she'd ever seen. The crowds alone were enough of an obstacle to overcome. Finding a ship headed to Ireland amidst the noise and activity would be difficult at best.

Destini made her way to the drydock where a shop was being repaired by a tanned, shirtless dock worker. "Hullo!" she called up to him.

"G'day, miss!" he called back to her friendly-wise.

"Warm day fer this type o' work!" she said, keeping the conversation casual.

"So it is, miss!" he wiped a line of sweat from his brow. "Gots ta be done though, don'it? Cap'n wants 'is ship ready ta sail quick-like, ya know?"

Destini nodded, casting her eye over the boat appraisingly. "Aye, I understand that. I'm anxious to sail soon myself. Where's he headed? Do ye know?"

The man turned back to his work, but angled his body so he could continue their conversation. "Ta Ireland, iffin I 'eard 'im right when 'e was talkin to the 'arbormistress."

Ireland! Her heart leapt with the news. She might have found a ship home! She kept her face outwardly calm and friendly. No sense in appearing too eager. She beamed a smile up at him. "It so happens I'm in search o' a ship to Eire," she said to him. "Can ye get a word to the captain that he may have three payin' passengers when he's ready to set sail?"

The dock worker considered that a moment before replying, "Yeah, I think I can do that for ya, miss. Who should I tell 'im the message came from?"

"Destini MacKenzie," she answered him. "He can find my companions an' I at the Town Hall's inn." She turned to leave and called a hearty, "Thank ye fer yer help!" over her shoulder to him. She pushed her way back through the crowded docks toward the tavern to meet up with Allan and Richard. They might have passage to Ireland!
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan grinned at Richard as they stood facing two noisy, lively taverns in Holywell.

"So....we are looking for sailors, a ship captain, or news of anyone headed to Eire. I will take the tavern on the right, you take the one on the left."

Allan walked into the tavern and let his eyes adjust a bit. There were a few people seated here and there, but he thought it best to begin with an ale rather than march in and start asking people questions. He announced in a voice all would hear:

"Barkeep! A round for the house on me..."

--Richard.grimthorn

Holywell. Despite its name, the town was not as holy as one might be led to believe. Now that he was free of the attaches' watchful gazes, Grimthorn was free to seek out that subtle underground of less-than-seemly folk that lived in delicate balance with the law.

Grimthorn entered the tavern on the left and took a look around. It was midday and the weather outside was so nice that there were less people than usual within the tavern. The curtain shielding the private back room was pulled open slightly to let in the warm, late spring air. Four men playing ripponeau around a circular table could be seen through the gap in the curtain. Grimthorn wove his way through the maze of tables to the private room.

He stepped through the gap in the curtain and pulled it closed in his wake. The men looked up in defiance at the man who had so rudely entered their private corner. Grimthorn smiled at them. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

The dealer's expression turned from disdain to sudden recognition. "Grim!" His face lit up. "Sit down! I'll deal you in!"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled and nodded at the chorus of "CHEERS" that went up as glasses were filled.

He waited at the bar to speak quietly to the bartender when he returned.

"I am interested in finding passage for three to Eire, if a ship only has two slots, that will do as well."

--Richard.grimthorn

"Hello, Barkley," said Grimthorn with a grin as he pulled up a chair. He glanced at the other three men at the table as Barkley dealt out the cards. He didn't know them. "How's business?"

"English navy makes it tricky to turn an honest coin, what with keeping Anto's boys at bay," said Barkley without looking up from the table. His eyes shiftily followed the cards about the table until he had finished dealing. He grinned back at Grimthorn."But I do alright." As if to prove his words, he tossed a coin into the pot at the center of the table then leaned back with his hand of cards tightly against his chest so no one could see. "You disappeared, you know. Haven't seen you in six months."

"Irrelevant," said Grimthorn to Barkley's last phrase. He rearranged the cards in his hand so like suits were together. "I am interested in a means to an end, so to speak. Two ends, to be exact. However, if you can only assist me with one, that will do as well."

Blake the Bartender, played by Faheud

Blake had been tending bar here a long time and this fellow looked vaguely familiar. Just vaguely though.

"Eire. Other than the vessel in for repairs, the docks are pretty quiet nowabouts. Ye might wanna have a chitchat with the master of the vessel under repair. He had one of them funny accents and might be from Eire. He was in here in the wee hours last night he was."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched Barkley carefully as the man folded ... something he had never seen the veteran card player do before. "Excuse us, gentlemen. Seems I have some business to conduct." The three other men folded as well. Grimthorn smiled.

"Yes, excuse us, gentlemen," said Grimthorn to them smoothly and watched them leave.

Barkley got up from the table and ensured the curtains were closed even though the last man to leave the private back room had already made certain no one from outside could see in. The card player peered out, seeming to wait until his guests were gone. Barkley swiveled his head to Grimthorn. "You're going to get me killed! I don't do assassinations anymore, Grim. You know that! I don't even arrange assassinations anymore!"

Grimthorn stood, his cards still in his hand. He meandered about the room and pretended to check out the dismal art on the walls. "There are two types of people who serve the Red Duke. Those who comply," Grimthorn turned pointedly to Barkley, "And those that are dead" He glanced at the hand of cards he was still holding as if to ensure they hadn't changed in the minutes he'd been carrying them about the room. "Which are you?" he asked with an air of not caring.

Though he wasn't watching the git, he heard Barkley shuffle from foot to foot. "Why don't you do it yourself? You're capable. Even I know that."

Now, Grimthorn did look at Barkley. "I am capable, yes. However," Here, Grimthorn set the cards upon the table and revealed a Royal Flush. "I'm better at this game than you." He raised his eyebrows at Barkely who swallowed. "The lady is the primary target. Destini MacKenzie. The other I believe you know by reputation: Allan Brightpoint. They must not board a boat for Ireland. No matter what."

Grimthorn turned and left the private room. If Barkley was wise, he would dig up his ancient communications and find someone to carry out this mission ... and then Grimthorn wouldn't have to do it himself.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

After making the round and accepting kind words of thanks for the free ales, Allan determined he had very little new information other than word of a ship in dry-dock.

He tossed a tip on the bar for the bartender, and made his way back out onto the street. There was one more tavern other than these two he and Grimthorn had checked out. It was the bar next to the Town Hall, and had some traffic in and out. After watching a group of men walk in, Allan crossed the street and stepped inside

Destini

Destini was seated beside the bar with a beverage when Allan walked in. She beamed a smile at him and waved him over, motioning to the bartender to bring a drink for him. "I believe we have a ship to Eire. 'Tisnae much an' under repairs, at present, but 'tis the only one in the port that can carry us thence. The other ship is the ferry headed fer Liverpool an' Egermont then back."

She took a sip of her beverage and searched his face. "What did ye find out? Any there any other ships maybe due to arrive in the next few days that might allow us faster passage?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled at Destini's greeting and frowned at the question.

"Other than the ship in for repairs, there was no word of anything else due in. In about 6 days the Ferry to Egermont may be back, but that, too, will be a gamble. If the captain of the ship in dry-dock is headed to Eire within the week, that is our best bet by far."

Destini

She nodded. "Well, unless Richard comes back with somethin' better, that seems to be our best plan. I've asked the captain to contact me as to when he plans to leave an' price fer the crossin'. Hopefully he will find us before too many days pass or we may be tempted to hop the ferry to Egermont an' find a ship there." She took a sip.

"So," she wondered aloud, "What do ye s'pose is there to do 'bout Holywell whilst we wait?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"well, " began Allan in a very mild, businesslike tone..., "I could take you on a walking tour of the high-lights and low-lights of my last visit here."

He took a long draught of his ale.

"Richard might enjoy the tour as well.."

Destini

"Since ye said yer last visit to Holywell included the murder o' yer partners, I'd suggest we avoid the shillin' tour at all costs," said Destini in a wry tone.

"As fer Richard, where is he? I thought ye both headed fer tavern row together." She peered toward the tavern's window to see if she could pick him out of the early evening dinner crowd that milled outside. The shadows were lengthening in the street as the sun began to set. "We should probably gain lodgin' fer ourselves as well as our horses," said Destini as she realized the day was waning.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Richard went into one tavern and I the other. I was fairly businesslike, but I suspect that soldierly wiles will have led him to the card tables. If he does not turn up shortly, I suggest I wander in and encourage him to move along."

Allan finished his ale.

"I am more than happy to skip the tour...some memories do not need to be dredged up all that often..."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn exited the tavern to see the sun had shifted towards evening. The fact that Brightpoint had not yet come looking for him meant he was not yet suspected. That was excellent. He turned toward the Town Hall Tavern and entered. Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie were seated at the bar. Grimthorn made his way to them. "No luck, I'm afraid. They did not tell me of any ships headed to Ireland." he reported to them truthfully. Of course, the reason they hadn't told him was because he hadn't asked, but the attaches didn't need to know that minute detail.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked up, annoyed.

"It took you almost three hours to learn nothing? Did you at least win at cards?

You know, Desti, there are a pair of slots on the ferry to Egremont I can snag if nothing else turns up at the docks here. We could continue on and send Richard back with word to Count Faheud."

Allan looked at the sparse number of folks in the tavern.

"This town does not seem particularly lively. Did the plague hit since I was last about, I wonder.

We will doubtless need to secure accommodations for at least the night I expect. Should not be too difficult with the fabulous activity afoot round here."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn's mouth fell open. "What makes you think I was playing at cards?!" He added an indignant tone to his voice as if he was offended by the merest hint of accusation. "I was trying to get information. Honestly! I'm not some dolt from Derby who cannot keep his eye on the mission. Playing at cards indeed." He muttered the last as he motioned to the bartender to bring him an ale ... preferably something very dark. He hoped Brightpoint wouldn't send him away. Not when he was so close to completing his mission.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan slapped his hand lightly on the table, and stood up. "Right then, so why are there green fuzzy bits from the Ramponeau table ground into your sleeves?"

Allan pointed at the spots on Richard's sleeves.

"Takes about an hour to grind fuzz into wool like that."

Allan sat back down and said, "So how is Derby this time of year?"

--Richard.grimthorn

He'd been caught. Damn!

"Very well, then," said Grimthorn. He had to respect Brightpoint's skill at his work. "I was playing at cards. And I did win, but no amount worth speaking of." He accepted his ale from the bartender and tossed a coin onto the table in payment. It was the same coin that had been all that was in the pot when Barkley had folded and asked the other gentlemen to give them the room. "It was all in the name of ingratiating myself with the tavern owner so as to gain information." He took a long sip. "Not that he gave me any information that was useful to us."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"What an amazing surprise." answered Brightpoint dryly as he turned away from Grimthorn, largely dismissing him.

"So, Desti. Are you up for learning a few crossbow tricks?"

Destini

To hide her amusement at Grimthorn's expense, she had paid most of her attention to her beverage. When Allan suggested further training, she drained the last of her glass. "Aye," she agreed to Allan's suggestion. If she could become better at the weapon form that she now carried, she would not have to rely on his protection as much. The highwayman would not have been an issue.

She glanced out the window. "I s'pose we have time before the darkness falls overmuch. Howe'er, we'll have to be certain to find an area outside o' town where the constable willnae mind us practicin'. Perhaps the lake we passed on our way in to town?" she suggested.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded enthusiastically. "Perfect idea! I can set some lures and catch some dinner while we train. Daylight is wasting, shall we be off?

Richard, please see that the horses have been properly taken care of in the stables"

Allan offered Destini a hand up.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched Brightpoint help the lady MacKenzie to her feet and escort her out of the Town Hall Tavern with naught but a dismissive glance back at him. "Chivalrous, Brightpoint," muttered Grimthorn under his breath after the attaches had already left. It bothered him that he was left to tend the horses while Brightpoint got to spend time with the lady MacKenzie. Still, it made it easier for Barkley's assassins to carry out their work. "Chivalry will do you no good."

He glanced about at the tavern's patrons and recognized one group of three. It seemed that after the three gentlemen from Barkley's poker table had been dismissed, they'd made their way to the Town Hall Tavern. Excellent. That would suit his purposes perfectly. Grimthorn got up and took his ale with him. He leaned over one of them and hissed. "If I am right and you were not in that back room simply to play cards, you will get a message to Barkley." He leaned over the table and placed his hand on the wood surface to watch as the look in the man's eye said something akin to 'I'm listening'. "The attaches are at the lake. That is all you need to say to Barkley." He removed his hand and revealed a coin was left on the table in its wake. Smirking, Grimthorn returned to his seat back at the bar. He would finish his ale then tend to the horses. He'd even secure lodgings here for them all. Better to do exactly as Brightpoint had directed and appear completely innocent should things go awry.

Destini

The sun was setting when the lake could be seen through the trees. The evening was serene and the wind was nigh non-existant. The lake was as smooth as a plane of glass. The trees surrounding the lake reflected across the face of the water perfectly. The setting sun created a ribbon of light across the silver surface. She was pleased that even after the incident at the River Thames she could still find beauty in a body of water.

"'Tis lovely," she remarked to Allan, nodding to the lake. "Imleach is a forest town. Yet, somehow, I always find lake towns inescapably beautiful." She chuckled as another thought occurred to her. "Still I find myself with an apartment in Hastings, another wood town."

She looked to Allan. The light of the golden hour set his blonde-brown hair alight like the halos of the angels she believed in. "What o' yerself, Allan. What was yer home like in Wales?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Wales...well...Mostly mountains, an abundance of consonantal drift, and nary a vowel to be seen or heard for weeks." Allan grinned, half joking.

"Myrriachgnh was a mining town, where we pulled many a cart of iron and stone from the earth and sold it to traveling traders. In the spring and fall it was lovely enough, but summer was too hot and the winter unspeakable.

An there was that whole problem with bandits."

Allan walked silently for a moment, enjoying the peaceful dusk. As they arrived at a somewhat open clearing by the shore, he stopped.

"This would do brilliantly. First and foremost, I'd like to show you how to rig your crossbow for easy draw.

Note how mine lies at a slight--and damned convenient--angle, while your's is up and down? At an angle I can get to it with either hand, while diving for cover, or at the gallop on horseback.

Let's adjust your tether to get the angle before we try speed draw and shoot."

Destini

She allowed him to adjust her crossbow at her waist, watching with interest as he moved it. "Aye," she said, "I can see how the angle o' the bow 'twould help ye draw." She held her breathing still as he toyed with the tether on her belt, not wanting to jar him from his task. As a singer, she could direct her breath. Stomach breathing, in this instance, would move her belt and disrupt his adjustments, but she could breathe from her chest without moving her diaphram more than necessary.

His nearness was distracting. As he worked with the tether, she wanted to run her fingers through his hair has she had done when he was ill from the poison. She stopped herself, keeping her gaze fixed on his work instead, biting her bottom lip to focus her mind on the subtle pain and what he was trying to teach her.

"Ye can draw an' fire with either hand?" she asked him, trying harder than ever to return her mind to their task. "I have only e'er fired with my right."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Destini

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Destini

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Destini

--The_finisher

--Richard.grimthorn

--The_finisher

--Richard.grimthorn

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Destini

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Destini

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Destini

Destini heard Allan's cry and dropped like a stone as an arrow thudded into the tree behind her.

She was taking fire!

She gazed up to look through the marsh-grass at the edge of the lake, being mindful of Allan's teaching and careful not to disturb the natural silhouette of the ground she was within. She saw nothing. It was simply too dark.

Looking up at the arrow, she realized that this was like no projectile she had ever seen. Crossbow bolts from a pistol crossbow had a very distinctive look. Bolts from a normal crossbow were larger than the pistol crossbow and could travel further due to the extra force a full crossbow could apply to its ammunition. Arrows from a bow were thinner and longer, but still within the range of a normal crossbow. This projectile was clearly fired from a bow and not a crossbow. She looked at the angle of the arrow's shaft and reversed the course the arrow must have taken to land at such a position. It was further than she would expect a bow to fire. Damn. She thought, her shoulders slumping in defeat. This was a longbow. Even if she could see her attacker, her pistol crossbow couldn't fire the distance. She was pinned.

And only Jah knew what Allan was dealing with right now.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Brightpoint's cry of warning to the lady Mackenzie resounded from the direction of the lake. Damn, the assassins had already attacked. Grimthorn adjusted his heading for the location of the battle. A shadow amidst the pale moonlight caught his attention as it stood and aimed down from the rise toward the lakeside. Grimthorn sighed. Barkley's assassins needed more training than they could probably get in this backwater little town. It was little work for him to reach to his back where he had sheathed his throwing daggers and pull forth two long, thin blades. These he thrust to the shadow holding the longbow. The blades made a very distinctive thunk as they pierced the sniper's body. Grimthorn made his way to the longbowman and withdrew his daggers. As he sheathed his blades, his left hand checked for signs of life from the insignificant assassin. None. Good. Grimthorn turned to the valley below. Where were the other four?

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint was breathing hoarsely. Too long since full on action he thought. What the sam hell was it about Holywell? He ought to burn the damned town to the ground except for that whole serving good thing.

Out of the very corner of his eye Allan saw a subtle flashing glimmer that could only be a sword slicing down toward him in the gathering gloom.

Damn. And he was already tired.

Brightpoint threw himself towards the strike, parrying with his crossbow and fast drawing a long-knife in one fluid movement.

The bow stopped the sword and yet was shattered into a myriad shards of useless wood.

Happily, the long knife went unhindered into the left ventricle of the assailant's heart. A twist, pull, push, and twist again caused the hungry sword to fall to the ground unslaked.

Allan checked for a pulse that was not there and moved on, looking for the next of Delaney's boys to appear.

Yes Delaney's lot. he had heard of this devastating team. By his count there were two more in play, mayhap three...

Destini

The shots ceased. The bowman had stopped firing. Perhaps Allan had taken him out? Destini rose. Things were quiet for the moment. Almost too quiet. She listened.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step.

Even footsteps. Isn't that what Allan had just taught her to avoid? Clearly, the person behind her wasn't Allan. She turned toward the sound. Her right hand pulled forth her pistol crossbow. Her left hand went for the ammunition.

A man bearing a long knife bore down on her position. She had no time to load her crossbow and fire before the man would reach her. The man screamed a war cry. His steel flashed in the wan light of the moon.

Destini spun away from her attacker's lunge. Her left hand grasped her crossbow bolt tightly in a fist as she brought it up to shoulder level and used the force of her spin to stab the crossbow bolt through her attacker's jugular vein and out the other side. Blood coated her hand as she released the bolt and reloaded her bow with another. Her attacker fell to the ground gasping for air.

She looked down at the man she had just stabbed. He was bleeding to death, choking on his own blood. She hoisted him to a seated position leaning against a nearby tree so he could breathe better for a few moments longer. "Tell me who hired ye an' I will ease yer passin'," she hissed. His wounds were too severe. There was nothing better she could offer him but a speedy death. She placed her pistol crossbow to his head. He gurgled, tried to say something, and died.

Destini watched the light leave his eyes, watched his heart stop beating and his breathing cease. Horrified, she fell backwards onto the turf away from the corpse. Her heartbeat sounded in her ears. She glanced at the shimmering, wet blood on her hands in the pale moonlight that pierced the shadowy canopy of the lakeside forest.

She'd just killed a man.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn entered the valley below the rise. As far as he could tell, there were two men abroad in the evening. There was a clearing up ahead. A silhouette of a man stood in the open moonlight, searching the trees. Grimthorn drew one of his daggers and moved in. Just as he was about to throw, a second man leapt from the trees with a sword poised to slash through the man in the clearing's back. Grimthorn realized just in time that the man in the clearing was Brightpoint and repositioned to let his dagger fly toward the attacking swordsman. The man fell. The attacker's sword landed harmlessly in the soil at Brightpoint's feet. Grimthorn emerged from the darkness of the woods and allowed the moonlight to reveal who he was. He took his dagger from the back of Brightpoint's attacker. "We need to talk," he said as he cleaned the blade on a nearby broad-leafed plant.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan whirled at the sound of sword slashing, prepared to launch himself at yet another soon-to-be-ventilated throat.

But then another came and slew the attacker with thrown dagger before he was fully engaged.

Who?

Grimthorn. What was he doing out here unless he knew of the attack?

Needed to talk eh?

Yes. I suspect we do," answered Brightpoint, without releasing a bit of his combat readiness and the tension thereunto appertaining...

Destini

There seemed to be no further attackers. She relaxed her guard and stared at the corpse leaned against the tree for a long while. The dead eyes of her victim were glassed over in the moonlight. She stood and returned her weapon to its tether. She expected to be shaking, to be short of breath and unable to act. She wasn't. It was like a birthday that comes without a celebration, unmarked, unnoticed, irrelevant. Just another mile-marker met without truly changing anything. She had done what she had to do and nothing more.

Even after she had struck the final blow she had kept her wits about her enough to ask her attacker who had hired him. It startled her to have that kind of awareness in the face of such danger. It was a pity he had been unable to answer her. At the same time, she had done well. She knew that. She turned and emerged into the clearing, halting to raise her hands in peace as Richard and Allan both alerted to her presence. The drying blood mottled the white of her raised hands. "All is well," she told them. The steadiness of her voice surprised her. "The blood isnae mine."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan rushed over to Destini, tossing aside the shatter remains of his weapon.

"Are you all right?! How many were on you? I had two over here...."

He glanced over at Richard, "You as well, are you unharmed? How many? We need to know how many we took down as that was Delaney's boys and he had five counting himself.

Good Jah, can I never go to Holywell without being attacked?"

Brightpoint paused to breath and listen to answers...

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn actually stopped breathing for a moment when the lady MacKenzie entered the clearing with her hands covered in blood. For that briefest of seconds he thought the assassins he'd hired had actually managed to complete their objective and harm the primary target: the lady MacKenzie. He wondered if he could stop the pipsqueak from delivering his resignation to the Red Duke. But the moment passed when she told them the blood was not hers. He answered Brightpoint's question simply, "I am unharmed. I dealt with one longbowman and this fellow here." The toe of his boot nudged the leg of the corpse at his feet as if to ensure the man was truly dead.

Destini

She tried to rub the drying blood from her hands to little success. Her eyes followed the path of Allan's crossbow as he threw it into the weeds. It looked broken. What had happened? Who were these men? Why was Richard here? Her mind buzzed with the adrenaline of the last few moments.

She shook her head. She wasn't injured. "I'm fine. There was one man with a long knife." Her gaze met Allan's steadily, far more steadily than she expected. "He died before he could tell me who sent him," she reported evenly.

"What o' yerself? Yer crossbow ... are ye harmed?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded at the updates from Richard and Destini.

"Alright then. That is all five accounted for. The worst damage we seem to have sustained is my needing to parry a sword with a crossbow. It turned the blade away, but I am in the market for a replacement now."

He looked at the body before him.

"We need to search the attackers to see if they were stupid enough to keep evidence of who sent them to hand. Then we will want to weigh them down and toss them into the lake. Their employer needs to not know they failed until we have gotten out of Holywell."

Allan rifled through the fallen man's pouch and pockets and found nothing of import.

"And we need to have a conversation somewhere less likely to sprout assassins..

Richard...go check the bowman, Desti, let's finish here and then check yours out."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn hoped Barkley hadn't been stupid enough to put the request in writing or he might find himself named on a piece of parchment and weighed down at the bottom of the lake alongside these hapless idiots. At least, being dead, none of them could be made to talk. Though the lady MacKenzie had interestingly had enough sense to ask her man. She was a fascinating quandry. His pretence no longer applicable, Grimthorn didn't bother to bow as a man-at-arms would do when he left the clearing in the direction of the dead longbowman.

Destini

Destini knelt beside the man with a crossbow bolt in his left eye and began to search him. About the corpse's belt was a pair of knives he apparently hadn't time to draw. There was little else of interest.

Looking up at Allan, Destini shook her head at him. There was nothing here that would point to who had hired these men. She stood and was in the process of walking toward Allan when something thin grabbed at her ankle. She stumbled briefly before catching her balance again and turned to see what had tripped her.

A thin wire cord like a harp string had wrapped itself about her ankle. She untangled herself and examined it carefully. Its purpose was suddenly clear to her when she looked to Allan and saw a thin line that was beginning to bruise about his neck. They'd tried to strangle him. They'd failed. As they'd failed to run her through.

"Anythin' on the last man here?" she asked Allan.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Nothing on him...most likely we have a problem headed our way from parties unknown.

Our best bet is to get the heck out of this town and off to Eire. We really got lucky to have taken no real damage."

Allan stopped short...

"I wonder what Richard wants to have a discussion about. His bearing changed an awful lot in a couple hours, don't you think?"

Allan's instincts were pointing him at previous evidence of something being off and chanting 'I told you so, idiot!'

Destini

"Lucky, aye," agreed Destini softly as she stared at the men that littered the quiet clearing. "Luckier than these lads by far." In the silver moonlight they looked like broken porcelain dolls. The clearing had a vague resemblance to a child's playroom after a tantrum.

She swallowed and turned to face Allan exclusively. She shook her head subtly. "I wasnae watchin' Richard. Leastways not close enough to see his mannerisms. But I am wonderin' what he's doin' here. He wants to talk?" Now, she wanted to know, too.

"The faster we finish this business, the sooner we'll know what that's about. The last lad is this way. Mayhap he has somethin' on him that points to their employer." She led the way into the trees.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Following Destini through the wooded trail, Allan wondered at the second nature he seemed to have for spotting oddities and trends. Could that be taught? He'd have to say it could as he was certainly not born with the skill. Talent perhaps, skill? No.

"Right behind you" he said softly as he followed Desti to the last assassin.

Destini

She led the way through the curtain of dark trees. Trepidation threatened to slow her forward progress back to the man whose life she'd ended, but she found it strangely easy to push the feeling aside. Only once they reached the body did her step pause.

She saw the corpse ahead and pointed the dark form out to Allan. "There. I pulled him against the tree in an effort to keep him alive long enough to gain information. Would that I had learned somethin'. We wouldnae have to search his pockets."

There was nothing for it now. It had to be done. She moved forward to assist Allan in searching the man.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan cursed in frustration, "Dammit! Nothing on this one either. We must hope Richard finds something or it is another, predictable dead end.

On the up side, you made a truly amazing stike, my dear. I am beyond impressed. The accuracy to hit a writhing target..." He nodded at the bolt sprouting from the jugular vein, "Truly impressive...."

He walked away down the trail in silence briefly,

"Did I mention I hate Holywell?"

Destini

She felt both a surge of pride and a feeling that Allan was unjustly praising her. "Nay, Allan," she said, shaking her head as they walked. "'Twas nothin' more than a stroke o' luck. I was dodgin' out o' the way o' his strike at the time."

Thinking of what Allan had said about Richard, she said, "Ye said ye knew this crew o' assassins. Delaney's boys. That's what ye said, isnae it?!" she moved herself in his path to halt his progress. "Which o' these is Delaney?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan grinned, "Fair point. But I will take excellent use of luck any day I can get it. "

He walked to Desti. "So shall we get on about finding the next bit of.....luck?"

His fingers brushed her gossamer cheek as he turned and led the way back to where Richard awaited.

Destini

Destini closed her eyes and savored Allan's touch upon her cheek. It was like the shimmering touch of a butterfly's wing. She felt the song of the storm, the after effect of a blast of lightning. There was a charge in the air itself. There was a whisper as if the northern lights themselves had danced upon her skin.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

Jah.

She turned to follow him, needing to say ... nothing ....
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn pulled a parchment from the longbowman's belt pouch. Reading the parchment, he realized how daft Barkely truly was. Not only had he identified Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie for Delaney's boys, Barkley had also identified Grimthorn ... in writing. Moron. Grimthorn decided he would have to deal with him when he got back to town. For now, he would have to destroy this bit of parchment before Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie turned up. They would never believe he had truly changed sides if they had evidence that he was behind this attack. But how to destroy it? Brightpoint was highly observant. And what he didn't catch, the lady MacKenzie often did.

He could burn the parchment but it would take time to garner a spark that would catch paper. Plus Brightpoint might sense the smoke.

He could waterlog it but the lake was far too distant. The longbowman had set upon a highrise. And why not? It really was the best place to fire from if one was firing upon a foe in the valley beside the lake. Still, the lake was out of the question.

He could bury it, but the moon was full and Brightpoint might see the newly turned earth.

He could eat it ... but ... well ... honestly?! No.

He could turn it into confetti and scatter the contents to the four corners of the earth. Yes. That would be the best course of action.

Grimthorn finished shredding and dispersing the parchment with seconds to spare as the attaches arrived at his location.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan made his way up to the top of the rise where the bowman had found a vantage point. There on the ground was a very lifeless man who was obviously Delaney.

"Anything on the body, Richard?"

Allan's eyes darted about, looking for any signs of evidence in the area.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn shook his head. "Nothing of any help, no," he said, choosing his words carefully. Even on the dark, Brightpoint might be observant enough to pick up on the shredded bits of parchment about the scene. If he did, he would immediately pick up on any obvious lie. Grimthorn knew his words had to be perfectly defendable no matter how Brightpoint interpreted them. He wasn't worried the attaches might put the parchment back together again. The pieces were too small. Grimthorn had made certain of it.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint suddenly realized what was bothering him. There were little bits of parchment scattered about.

His eyes boggled in amazement.

"Idiots. They hire idiots! Delaney shredded to pieces some document or another here. Can anyone be so stupid as to bring awkward evidence out to an attempted assassination scene?"

He got up from the ground, shaking his head.

"We may as well go back to town and...catch up on some things.

Desti?"

Destini

She looked at the bits of scattered paper about the body. There was much to catch up on, much they didn't understand. Someone had hired assassins to kill them. But who? And why? With the parchment destroyed, they might never know - until more assassins were sent to complete the task.

She looked up at Allan and briefly wondered what else he meant by his outwardly innocent words.

The corpse drew her mind away from whatever she might have thought about that. "They deserve a proper burial," she said quietly. "An' I know we cannae give that to them." She didn't know why, but that fact bothered her.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Aye, time does not lend well to a formal burial, though I intend to say the last rites over them ere we deposit them in the lake. It is for Jah to judge them now."

Allan lifted the fallen assassin up and turned back down the trail that led up to where they stood.

"Let's be to it then, the sooner this is done the better. The lake is deep near where I was ambushed and there are large rocks we can weigh them down with."

This was going to be a long carry and a large weight to take along, but there you had it.

"Richard... What was it you said we needed to chat about?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn was not content to answer Brightpoint's question while still taking care of the five assassins he had hired to kill the attaches. He had been lucky thus far. They did not appear to suspect that he was these idiot assassins' employer. Grimthorn did not intend for them to ever learn that fact. But if he told them that until recently he worked for the other side, they might find it more convenient to kill him here in private and save him the trouble of a gallows jig.

"Not here," he said with a meaningful glance backward at the lady MacKenzie. Until that moment, he hadn't decided whether to tell both the attaches or only Brightpoint. Now that he thought about it, however, he didn't think he could deal with this new business arrangement if she ended up hating him for lying to them for so long. "Your point of speaking where assassins cannot find us was well thought."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan noted the look, the tone and the words. There were things that needed to be explained and said and this hilltop was not the place.

"Right. Let's get this work done and head back to town."

He turned back to Desti

"Please gather medium size rocks when we get lakeside to put in their pouches and pockets. We'll carry the lot of them to a central location where you gather.

This will not be fun work, but it is needful. When they are ready, I will speak a funeral mass and we'll send them hence to Jah's embraces."

Destini

Richard's glance backward confused her, though she couldn't read his expression. Perhaps he was just making sure she was following? But then, they had traveled together often before now and never had he glanced at her then immediately away. Allan was right. Richard was behaving differently, though she couldn't place her finger on how. Had Allan been right? Was it possible her faith and trust in Richard had been misplaced? "There isnae much o' this that's fun," she pointed out in response to Allan's words. "But all is needful."

When they reached the clearing, Richard stooped to carry another of the corpses over his shoulders to the lakeside. Destini kept pace with Allan. "I see yer earlier point now, Allan," she whispered to him softly. "I donae understand what's goin' on, but Richard is behavin' differently."

They reached the lakeside and Destini busied herself with stuffing the pockets and satchels of the assassins with rocks and stones. She ignored the idea that she was ultimately the one that was weighing them down to the depths. Besides, it wasn't truly a watery grave if they died before hand ... was it?

She shook her head to rid her mind of such thoughts. This line of thinking was getting her nowhere. As Richard and Allan arrived with the final corpse, she began to weigh down the final assailant with stones.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The words of the brief funeral service having drifted out across the misted lake, and the bubbles from the sinking assassins dispersing, Allan turned to his compatriots.

"Let's get back to town. I need to clean up, I need some food, and I need a drink. "

He started walking away from the lake edge along the trail.

Stopping he turned and added, "And not necessarily in that order."

He continued a few steps and turned again, "I think a back route into Holywell is best, just to be sure there is not another surprise party awaiting."

With that he headed towards town and did not stop.

--Richard.grimthorn

The town was quiet save for the late-night drinkers about tavern row. Grimthorn placed a hand on Brightpoint's shoulder to stop him before he could make the final turn toward the Town Hall Tavern. "If you value your life, you'll not return to the inn near the town hall. There are other inns in town. I suggest we take our patronage to one of them instead."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded grimly, "I had wondered what motivated you to come out to the lake. When we get settled you can tell me what happened and we'll sort out if a pre-emptive strike is required."

Looking at Destini and then back to Richard he continued, "I do not take attempts to kill my team lightly. Sometimes you have to be...stern."

Allan glided seamlessly through some brush and beckoned them to join him. It was a trail leading into the back of town behind a couple taverns.

"The tavern I visited earlier was nice enough and the keeper is reliable. Let's go there."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn smiled, pleased he would not have to warn Brightpoint away from Barkley's usual tavern as well. As soon as this little matter was cleared up, he wanted to have a word with the little gambling weasel. For that word to take place, he needed Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie to keep their distance from Barkley. Aloud, he said, " Yes, a wise decision. Plus it keeps me from the card tables. Milady?" He stepped aside to allow the lady MacKenzie to enter first then followed her within. "Would you do the favor of securing lodgings?" he asked, hoping she would.

Destini

Destini reluctantly agreed and left Allan's side to make her way to the innkeeper. She was grateful for the inn's wan light. Though she had washed her bloodied hands in the lake water, splashes of red-brown still clung to her cuffs. She hoped he wouldn't notice, or would think it merely mud.

He didn't seem to care about the splotches on her cuffs, only that she paid him for the last two rooms he had available and the space to stable their horses. "Three glasses o' yer strongest at that table as soon as can be," she told the barkeeper when she had finished the lodging arrangements. Allan was right. Drinking was definitely in order this night.

She turned and made her way back to Allan and Richard. "The last two rooms available are booked under the name Simon Sezz. That'll be ye, Richard." She handed him his key. It seemed only fair that he should get the alias after sending her to do the work of leasing the room.

She held up the final key and handed it to Allan. "We'll have to share the other room, Allan. I hope ye willnae mind."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Brilliant," Allan exclaimed, "I had been worried we'd end up at multiple inns. This one has excellent drinks and a fine cooked-to-order menu. What say we make those drinks disappear, order up dinner, and take turns cleaning up while the cooks work magic?"

Allan headed over towards the table, stopping to comment, "Oh Richard--or was that Simon, mm never-mind--I'll need a full briefing on what happened here that led you out in suspicion of the attack. We can discuss that while Destini has her turn at the cleaning up."

Destini

She did not like being shut out, but she was nearly too tired to care as much as she normally would. The arrival into Holywell, the not-quite-finding a ship headed to Ireland, the hours of training in the woods with Allan, the attack, her killing a man, hiding the dead assassins in the lake, and now Richard said they could not go to their originally arranged lodgings because someone there would kill them but wouldn't tell her more than that.

It had been a very bad day.

She downed her drink quickly to take the edge off the day. The too-fast arrival of that familiar buzzing sensation in her cheekbones reminded her of how little she'd eaten that day. She ordered supper and stood. "Have yer talk," she said with a pointed glance at Richard. The pointed glance shifted to Allan in a subtle warning of ye'd better be tellin' me all 'bout this later.

"I'll clean up first. I could use a little fresh air anyway." She turned and left the table.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched the lady leave with a somewhat heavy heart. She couldn't know how much he was simply trying to protect her. Nor could she know how much of a personal risk he was taking for her safety. "She might not forgive me for not telling her myself, but what I have to say will be best if she hears it from you." He paused to swivel his gaze back to Brightpoint. "Or not at all."

He leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of his drink before continuing. "To answer the question of how I knew of the attack, you must first understand where I come from. No, no, Brightpoint, I know you did not entirely believe that whole bit about my being a man-at-arms in Faheud's service sent to bear you that letter of marque. Don't deny it. You're far too intelligent to play dumb with me, you know." His eyebrows arched and he added, "My respect for you is part of what's brought me to this decision. Sappy, perhaps, but there you are."

Grimthorn fished about in his belt pouch until he found the item he was looking for. When he brought his hand back to the table, it grasped a wrinkled piece of parchment. It was the missive from d'Argent the raven had brought before he'd killed it. But Brightpoint didn't need to know that part. "I received this from an old ... associate. I joined your party to carry out my mission, to find out how much you knew, and to stop the lady MacKenzie from reaching Ireland." He laid the parchment on the table and pushed it over to Brightpoint with his first and second fingers.

He waited and watched Brightpoint for his reaction. After all, if Brightpoint decided to kill him now before he'd finished, Grimthorn would be saved the trouble of graveling in this most undignified manner.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan downed his glass and sat silently, looking at Grimthorn for a moment longer than could possibly have been comfortable.

"Aye. I have long thought there was a piece of the story that would explain why the rest of it does not add up.

Let's take it at face value for a moment. There are a couple of questions that linger, dancing in the air between us and the decision of what I will do.

Who is behind wanting these orders carried out? What is their motivation?

How did you come by a letter of marque signed and sealed by Count Faheud?! He is extremely careful about whom he might entrust such power..."

Allan awaited answers with a shin readiness for motion of thought or body in any direction required just below the calm exterior he presented."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn shifted uncomfortably under Brightpoint's gaze, waiting for a killing strike that did not come ... yet. There was still time to make a mistake and incur the attache's wrath. Grimthorn drained his glass and shook his head quickly. "I'll answer your last question first, simply because the first and second question are a little more difficult to explain." What he said was true. But it was also true that he'd spent the walk to save the attaches by the lake side thinking of how he would explain away this little problem. He had this answer prepared. "It was given to me by a man, an annoying little fellow who sometimes helps out those who work for my former employer. The imbecile said he'd gotten it from the saddlebags of an elderly rider heading Northward. My guess is the Cardinal sent him to catch up to you. I know what you're thinking, Brightpoint, but no, I did not ask who the rider was. Understand, when one is in that role, one learns not to ask too many questions."

"As for my former employer," He glanced about the room to ensure neither The Finisher nor any other of Holywell's underground were close enough to overhear what he had to say next. This information more than anything else would get him killed. Grimthorn leaned close and motioned Brightpoint to do the same. When he spoke, it was in a whisper only. "I know him by one name only: The Red Duke." Having spoken the name, he pulled a respectful distance away from the attache who might kill him the moment he had the answers to all his questions. Grimthorn held his empty glass up to the barkeeper. If he was going to die, he was going to do it with calmer nerves than this. "What his motivation is, I've never heard. My role in his enterprise was little more than contractor to large business firm. That's all it was: good business." He smiled a brief toothy grin.

Grimthorn picked at an errant sliver of wood in the table and tried to pull it free. "You were right when you said I dressed as a noble-born. I am." He looked out of the top of his eyes at Brightpoint's unnervingly steady gaze. "Oh, yes, it's true. But nothing holding title or wealth." He returned to pulling at the sliver of wood that just wouldn't break free. "No, second-sons rarely get anything. All that went to my moronic brother. Business was all I had. Still is, really." He met Brightpoint's gaze earnestly and leaned across the table again. "So believe me when I tell you that I am giving up a great deal to give you this information and save your and the lady MacKenzie's lives."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"The Red Duke.... I have heard that somewhere before. Tell me about the person who sent you the letter..." began Brightpoint as he wondered if he should trust any of this man's information.

"It is laudable to save our lives and much appreciated. Yet. That brings up a fairly important matter as well," continued the arch-deacon, "if you were employed by scurrilous sorts who are very dangerous to sever ties with. If these folk seem to be just as happy to murder as to persuade... If you had a lot of profit to lose by switching sides...

Why are you doing it?"

Allan waited to see if Grimthorn was going to reveal a believable underlying motivation, or whether he'd have to be stern with him after all.

--Richard.grimthorn

He had no intention of hiding the truth for either d'Argent or The Finisher. Let them deal with Brightpoint on their own. Better yet, let them deal with a well informed Brightpoint. Grimthorn would not protect them. He scoffed. "Ah, yes, now we come to the crux of the matter: my co-workers."

"The letter comes from a man named d'Argent, a French nobleman, currently in that backwater hole called Ireland. He's as subtle as a bolt of lightning and about as dangerous. As quick and decisive as he is cruel, not a man to be trifled with. Still, despite his laudable traits, I'm a little surprised you haven't taken him out already. D'Argent has no use for pretence or stealth and, as such, is easily found. Plus, he hires the absolute worst employees. The idiot Elias was one of his. Moron. You'll undoubtedly be somewhat pleased to know Elias did not survive his final conversation with me." Grimthorn's grin at Brightpoint was one of cruel delight.

"I did get a look at your handiwork on Elias, by the way. Nicely done! Speaks of a man without mercy. I was truly impressed. I almost wish I'd been there to see the single-minded dolt get the injury he so richly deserved." He raised his glass in toast to his hopeful ally and took a long drink from it.

Setting the glass down, he sighed. "And then there's the reason I came looking for you earlier. I suspected some manner of ill-conceived attack this evening when I saw her." This topic of conversation required further fortification and Grimthorn took it from his glass before continuing. "One of my former associates is staying at the inn near the town hall. She's a real piece of work, that one. Paints herself in the most ghoulish ways. Looks like a pale, sad, clown doll." Grimthorn shuddered out of disturbed disgust. "Can you imagine such an unfortunate creature associating her name to my reputation?! I cannot abide being part of an organization that would outsource work to that tasteless, trumped-up, tacky, traumatized, trashy, little tart!" Grimthorn took a deep breath, and a deep gulp of his ale, to calm himself.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's eyebrows narrowly missed a free trip down the back of his head.

"Elias you say?! YOU did that? Well done! BARKEEP another bottle of scotch over here." Allan drained his glass and waited for Blaike to set down a fresh bottle and a brace of glasses. Allan poured up a double, neat, for each of them and one for Destini.

"She can catch up when she gets here. Slainte Mahath!"

Allan and Grimthorn both raised, saluted, clinked, and drained their glasses.

"So. I can certainly understand why a businessman would not want to side up with that lot. I have heard of the doll girl. She is a rather scary one. I have always expected to need to deprive the world of her presence eventually."

Allan refilled their glasses and another one for Destini.

"To the elimination of Idiots!"

Glasses drained swiftly and clomped back down to the table. Conversation resumed.

"I have also heard of d'Argent. He is a piece of work we will have to sort out as he is behind a lot of the direct poisonings that are assassinating royalty and nobility across England and Ireland.

This Red Duke. Where is he from?"

Allan drained his glass and refilled it and Richard's once again. He filled a third for Destini, who had some serious drinking to do when she arrived.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn, who had been drinking an ale or two more than Brightpoint this eve, was feeling a bit tipsy. "Aaaaaah, the Red Duke," said Richard---Grimthorn--- as he drained his glass alongside Allan--- Brightpoint. "Now There ish a mastermind." He reached for the bottle and poured Allan---Brightpoint--- another glass alongside his own ... and there was the other glass to fill for the lady MacKenzie -- damn, he was losing track ... "You'll find that maniacal maniac in Glashgow. Shomehow, he sheems to find a comraderie amogsht the Sshcottish." For some strange reason, Grimthorn started to giggle.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"That makes a lot of sense," Brightpoint mused, "We wondered why no word was drifting down out of Scotland about murders and assassinations. The Red Duke....I wonder if he is the font of all these festivities or another hired hand."

He looked around the common room of the Tavern and noticed a familiar shock of sable hair moving through the crowd near the door leading to the stairs.

"Ahh there comes Destini our way. She has a lot of drinking to catch up on."

As he spoke, Allan smelled roast boar and various other aromas coming up from behind him in the direction of the kitchens.

"I daresay dinner approaches as well. Excellent timing."

Destini

She felt better having cleaned up, more human somehow. Her stomach rumbled at the smell of dinner being brought to the table. She waited for the kitchen staff to set down the food before moving to take her seat once more.

Three things came simultaneously to her gaze when the kitchen staff moved away: Grimthorn's shaking shoulders as he tried to hold in his drunken laughter, the multitude of empty glasses before Richard and Allan, and the multitude of full glasses before her own chair. Failing to hide a smile, Destini turned her gaze on Allan. "I see ye've been busy."

She sat down and drained two of the glasses with a wink at Allan before taking a delightfully tasty bite of her supper. "Allan," she said after washing down her first bite with the contents of the third glass. "If I recall ye correctly, did ye nay say that drinkin' copious amounts isnae a valid option fer people in our line o' work?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Fair point, love, but in truth it is exceptions that make the best rules.

Now our ruling here, two to none, is that you have some catching up to do!"

Allan grinned impishly and started filling his plate.

"Wake up Richard, the food is here!"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn pulled himself back from the brink of total drunken laughter enough to put a few mouthfuls of food away. Food would help to stem his slide into the stupor of the most-wasted. "Yesh, yesh, lady. you are woefully behind." This, of course, began another cascade of giggles that he tried desperately to stop. Really, this was undignified ....

Destini

Destini downed another of the glasses in front of her out of sheer annoyance. "Richard," she said holding up a fifth full shot glass. She didn't bother drinking it until she had the drunken fool's attention. "Shut it."

She downed the contents of the glass and returned to her food and her conversation with Allan. "So, how is it ye arenae as affected as Richard here?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"You wonder why Richard, unlike Moi (in perfect flipping French) is fitshaced and I am not?

Well, that is because I, unlike Richard have great .....endurance"

Allan smiled at Destini.

"The Welsh and the Irish can drink. The Scots and the lowlanders cannot. Slainte Mahath!"

Allan downed another shot and went back to the bread and boar.

Destini

Destini grinned at Allan's very English pronouciation of the Irish drinking toast and raised a sixth glass. "Aye!" she said heartily. "Slainte Mhath!"

She was beginning to relax. This evening of drinking with friends was feeling more and more like the old days at the MacKenzie Circus with Pagan. It was exactly what she needed. Perhaps Allan knew that and was making an exception to his rule for her sake. He really was an intuitively considerate man. Highly empathic. What had he meant by 'endurance'? She shook off the thought and raised a seventh glass.

"Here's to the health o' yer blood! An' here's to the blood o' yer health! May yer blood be healthy, yer health ne'er bloody, so here's to yer bloody good health!" She downed the seventh shot of scotch.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan toasted back to her.

"lass....love ye dearly, but may I recommend the course of spiriting away a bit of this food before more spirits? Whilst more than pleased to carry you off, it would be infinitely more a joy if you are awake at the time..."

--Richard.grimthorn

Richard-- Grimthorn --- couldn't eat any more. He couldn't even join in the extra drinking Allan-- Brightpoint -- was doing. How was he doing that? And was Allan --- Brightpoint-- flirting with the lady? Richard-- Grim-- was feeling vaguely ill. He stood. The room waffled at his attempts to control the wavy-ness of the wall's straight lines. Still, he held it together. For her. Rich-Grim looked at the lady and muttered a vaguely intelligable "Excushe me," as he hurried out of the tavern.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Welsh 1.... English....zero!"

Allan grinned as he tossed back number 8.

Destini

Destini laughed and ate several mouthfuls of her dinner before joining Allan in shot number eight. She thought a moment about what she'd just heard. Had Allan just said he loved her? No, surely he was as drunk as Richard ... though ... he certainly did control it better. Perhaps that was more of that Shin training he kept telling her about? No, he would have mentioned that when she asked him about why he was able to drink Richard under the table ... well, out of the tavern.

Grinning, she raised her eighth shot to Allan. "To Welshmen..." She paused, realizing possible implications of that toast. She corrected herself " ... well, to one Welshman ..." No, that wasn't really any better, now was it? She sighed. "Jah, ye know what I mean." She downed the shot anyway. Damn! No, she wasn't a drinker like Pagan, but still! Was she actually getting too drunk to make sense?
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"No worries, Lamb, Jah is merciful. He let me trade in pirates for you."

Shot number 9.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn stumbled out into the evening. The cool air had, thankfully, preserved his internal organs from expulsion. Even so, Brightpoint was still in there making flirtatious comments at the lady MacKenzie. He could see them laughing through a window in the tavern if he stood in the exact right place. He sighed and looked to the heavens. "You really do exisht don't You?" he shouted. "Yesh, Jah! I'm talking to You!" He staggered about in a circle as he craned his head up at the cloudy sky. "Do You know what I think?" he asked the sky. "I think that You do exisht. But I think your shole puposh in exishtansh ish to toy with me. Ishn't it?!" A passing homeless lady looked at him like he was crazy. Grimthorn ignored her and continued his conversation with Jah. "Shtill, I have to shay, You do have shtyle, now, don't You? Yesh, I think You do have style."

He was feeling better now, a little less likely to hurl and a little more able to control his speach. "I do appreciate the impetus to change sides, You know. No really! It came at a highly opportune moment! But You knew that didn't You ... what ... with being Jah and all, yes, I shuppose You did. But well, I'm not Jah. And I would very mush like you to know that Your point in the right direction was very much appreshiated."

The homeless lady was still staring at him. He waved his hands at her. "Begone!" She hurried away. Grimthorn looked back at the heavens. "Sshtill, you do have some idiots amongst Your creation, now, don't You?" Idiots ... Barkley ... yes ... some ends still needed to be tied.

Grimthorn staggered off in the direction of Barkley's most frequented tavern.

Destini

The dinner plates were clear and the bottle of scotch was empty. Destini drained her final glass of scotch ... what number was that? She'd lost count. Not that it mattered much. This was a day bad enough to require drinking. She was in a much better mood now.

Her laughter abaited slightly, though she was still smiling. She reached over and squeezed Allan's hand affectionately. The alcohol buzzed under the surface of her skin. She looked at him, losing herself in the way his eyes seemed to change colors in the flickering firelight. Her glance danced from his lips back to his eyes as she recalled kissing him in the Hospital of Saint Thomas. Still she maintained her arms-length distance from him.

She tore her gaze from his and cleared her throat before speaking. "Ah s'pose," she began, her Irish accent slightly thicker for the night of drink. "Tamorrow we'll likely be back ta scourin' da harbor fer a ship ta Eire. An' that means ye, an' me, an' Richard have ta git up early." She stood and felt the room sway a little. Jah, had she had that much to drink? She recovered her balance with a shake of her head. "Ah think that Ah'm one fer bed."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Fairrr Point," answered Allan as he also rose from the table.

"I have no idea where Richard has gotten off to, but I agree bed summons the weary. Today was no picnic, but tomorrow could be worse."

His cheek still felt warm where she had been staring intently. He wondered what that was about as she rarely gave such tangible notice. And he had promised to brief her on Richard's story. Should that wait til morning? No. Desti was not a monument to patience. Better get that caught up quickly.

"Shall we?" He inquired as he offered an arm.

Destini

Just like the ball at Cardinal Faheud's manor at WestGate, she took his proffered arm with a grin and a hearty, "Aye, we sshall!" though, this night the words were slightly slurred from drink and the promised destination was bed, not tea.

She looked about for Richard as Allan led her up the staircase, noticing for the first time that the man-at-arms had not returned. "Ah hope Richard hasnae run inta trouble o' some kind. But then, Ah s'pose he kin look after himself." She had realized Allan hadn't yet said anything about his talk with Richard. But she'd guessed that was that this was a conversation for closed doors, not open taverns.

Though they were not yet behind closed doors, she couldn't resist asking, "Did Richard tell ye o' 'twas botherin' him?" Their room was just ahead, but she never had been one for patience. Still, the conversation could hardly be too serious what with Allan drinking and laughing with the man when she had arrived to dinner. Could it?
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As they glided up the stairs with minimal mis-steps and weaving Allan considered Destini's comment and question.

"Well he is on his own, dear, as of last looking Nothing Richard this Way Comes. And bless Jah for it...his interruption of a quiet chat when he first blundered into our lives was quite....inconvenient"

Up a few more steps

"And he did explain what has been going on. Perhaps it would be good for me to share the long winding story whilst we sample this by candle-light?"

Allan held up a bottle of brandy he had nicked (ok, he left twice its value in the tip jar) from the bar.

Destini

Ah, yes, before Richard. The traveler's shelter. Her carressing his cheek in the fire light. Just as he had done earlier tonight in the woods outside the lake. She looked at the bottle of brandy in his hand and the offer of candlelight and grinned. "Ah always do adore ye in candlelight," she said. Strangely, she did not immediately regret her flirtatious words.

She waited until he opened the door to their room and led her within before speaking further. Lifting a long stick of wood from a nearby metal bowl, she lit it in the brazier and moved the flame to light the candles. Happily, she was not so drunk that she couldn't wield a flame. "Why do ye say 'twas inconvenient?" She cast a sideways glance and smile at Allan as she lit the second candle.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Why inconvenient," mused Allan in a false air of innocent concentration as he relocked the door and watched Destini make short work of lighting candles. He took a second to also bar the door before continuing.

"Let us put our heads together and think on it, shall we?"

He produced a pair of crystal snifters and set them on the table.

"There is a moment in any association where respect turns to camaraderie....another when it arrives at the doors of friendship, and still another when it becomes something more."

Allan pulled the stopper and poured the amber liquid which reflected the candle light well.

"So imagine of you will, the unpleasant nature of realizing that at just one of those moments some great git blunders in out of the rain?"

Destini

"An' which o' these moments is this?" she asked him as she lit the final candle and turned to him with the lit stick of wood dancing firelight in her eyes.

"Camraderie?" She blew out the flame on the lit stick of wood. Her smile's light took the place of the flame. She set the charred stick aside.

"Friendship?' She closed the distance between them and accepted one of the two crystal snifters from his hand.

"Or somethin' more?" She clinked her glass with his and took a delicate sip.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan smiled as the glasses clinked..."here's to more."

He smiled at her and brushed her cheek as he sipped the brandy.

"I had promised you a telling this evening. Do you still want Richard's story? I have to tell you I knew there was more to it than he said, but I rather did not expect what I got."

Destini

She treasured his touch and his words. This time she did not close her eyes when he brushed her cheek. She watched him intently instead, the firelight reflecting in her eyes with ... more.

It took some doing to pull herself back to the topic at hand, but she did so nonetheless. "Aye, Richard," she said, taking another sip of brandy. "Ah do still want ta know. What was he hidin' from us? What did he say ta ye?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded, "Yes, Richard's tale..."

He took a sip of brandy, measuring his words.

"I had long thought something too convenient, too coincidental about Richard having the confidence of the Cardinal. Enough so, that he was handed one of the most secure and powerful documents in England."

Allan held up the letter of Marque. He opened it and showed it to Destini

"Note, if you will, the deep slanting of the Cardinal's writing. Note the almost engraved nature of the punctuation. He was in a hurry, felt very strongly about this document, and sent it with urgency of one in power who will send his most trusted associate out with it."

Allan put it away and continued, "Cardinal Faheud will never send something that important out with a rookie man at arms who hardly knows the names of anyone in the County and has no idea that the Chief of Security is an Arch Deacon, not a deacon."

Allan paced a moment, gathering for the revelation.

"Richard, when accosted with these facts concurred entirely. He pointed out that I had correctly spotted him as noble-born, but that a second son gets upbringing and not a wit of land, title, or wealth.

He revealed he had been hired by someone named 'The Red Duke' out of Scotland to close the information path from England to Ireland. He was sent to meet a courier who had taken the letter of marque off of an elderly traveler."

Allan sipped his brandy again

"He also received a very specific letter from someone with the initial 'A' whom I believe to be the Viscomte d'Argent. It told him to kill you and keep me from getting to Ireland. Unfortunately for his employers, he came to believe in our side more than his.

Earlier today he heard some questionable sorts discussing an ambush plan and came out to warn us. It was of course nearly too late and he had to take out some of the attackers.

There is no way he could possibly go to the other side again, so I do believe he has transferred his loyalty and not inconsiderable skills to our service."

Destini

Her knees dropped her to a seated position on the bed where she took in what Allan was saying with all the wide-eyed disbelief of a child being told a bedtime story. The problem was, of course, that she did believe it. The explanation made perfect sense, filled in all the necessary details that had been lacking. "Closin' da infermation path twixt England 'n' Eire means we were right. Nay only am Ah in danger, but so is Pagan." Richard could have killed her and severed the link in England. What if Pagan had run into the same trouble? There had been no word from Ireland. None at all. Now Destini worried all the more.

But Richard hadn't killed her. He'd saved her. Thrice.

"Ye expect we should trust him?" asked Destini of Allan. "E'en tho he changed sides? What makes ye think he willnae turn on us 'n' attempt ta re-ingratiate himself with his fermer employer? Or he might try ta play both ends 'gainst the middle 'n' werk fer himself. What do ye know o' this Red Duke beyond he lives in Scotland?"

She took a long sip of brandy. "Ah donae know that Ah kin make meself trust Richard, Allan. Nay after ye've told me this." She shook her head from side to side. "Ah cannae believe Ah e'er trusted him."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan filled his glass and effected the same for Destini.

"To be fair, Best One, it can be easily calculated as to whether he should be trusted."

Sensing the imminent approach of a blast of Irish disbelief he raised a palm up

"A moment.. The calculations run thus:

Motivation to stop serving his old employer

Motivation to serve our side

Motivation to stay on our side.

The latter is a less strong case, but that is two and a half out of three. We really only need two in order to believe he will stay put. That and I'll rip out his throat if he betrays us.

And that is why I believe him."

Destini

"Ye'll have ta git in line if he does betray us," said Destini angrily into her glass as she took a sip of her refilled beverage. One thing about having just killed a man this evening, she now knew what she was capable of doing. Removing the sifter from her lips, she sighed.

"Ah trust ye, Allan. More, perhaps, than Ah've e'er trusted any." She turned her gaze to look at Allan in the candlelight. He really was an amazing man. " 'N' Ah will do me best ta trust him, too. Ye're right in that Richard does have skills that kin come o' use durin' our mission. Ah only hope that when we face d'Argent, he willnae have second thoughts."

Her expression darkened. "Jah help him iffin he betrays us." She sipped some brandy from her glass.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"Well THAT is an understatement," commented brother Corwynn as he climbed up off the ledge and into the open window.

"I have been tracking you two for ages, damned if it wasn't a magical, mystery tour!"

Destini

In one motion, Destini set down her glass on the night stand, drew her weapon, and fired at the man in the window.

Being drunk, she missed.

The crossbow bolt hit between the man's ankles and embedded itself into the baseboard.

Realizing she'd missed, she reloaded and aimed only slightly higher. She smirked, daring the man to enter their room further.

She remembered Allan's words when Richard had blundered into their quiet evening and mimicked them. "Who, or what, are ye?"
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

The bolt was still quivering between his ankles. Even as the reloaded weapon raised up to a fairly uncomfortable place he raised his hands in a surrender and grinned.

"Thank you for firing low, or thank Jah for modifying your aim, miss Destini MacKenzie. I am Brother Corwynn duMont, interim Chief of Security to Cardinal Faheud. At least I am til Adventure-boy there gets home. How's things Allan?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked at Corwynn in surprise and at Destini with mock annoyance. Well, it was mostly mock annoyance.

"Destini! I locked and barred the door to keep Richard or some tavern wench from blundering in. I thought you might have seen to the window!

Hullo Corwynn. What in Jah's name brings you blundering in here at all hours, snooping at the window ledge?

By the way, she is better with that crossbow than I am."

Allan made a business out of draining his glass and pouring out more.

Destini

Only because Allan seemed to know and trust the man in the window did she remove the arrow from its slot and disarmed her crossbow. "Apologies," she said to Corwynn, only half-meaning the word. " 'Twouldnae be da first time we've been accosted in this manner."

Turning to Allan on her way for reaching for her own glass, she said, "As fer the window, Ah didnae 'spect any ta come from there. 'N' anyway, Ah was lightin' da candles."

She drained her glass and held it out to Allan for more. Jah, would this day never end? "What are ye doin' here?"
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"I do apologize for the abrupt and unconventional nature of my entry. I will not keep you long, but there is information you need. And I need to know what the hell is going on as the Cardinal requires current news--aye he is now only the Judge of Sussex, as well as being Archbishop of all Sussex."

Corwynn eyed the bottle of brandy.

"I don't suppose that while you are giving me a brief-up you could repair my cup. It is broken. Has a hole near the top....

And. I have bad news. Arch Canon Alberic was murdered and robbed near the Hospital of St. Thomas trying to bring you a letter of Marque."

Corwynn hopefully dug out his wooden goblet

Destini

It hit her at once. Allan had said that Richard had said that he was given the letter of mark from a courier who had got it from an elderly traveler. The loop of logic alone was enough to torque her alcohol-addled mind. But the connection of Corwynn's facts to the situation did still more.

Elderly traveler.

"Alberic?"

One of her hands tried to steady herself on the footboard of the bed and failed.

"Jah, nay!" whispered Destini as she fell to her knees. Tears welled up in her eyes. One of the last conversations she had had with the elderly archcanon was that she should not allow a personal involvement with Allan upset the mission. And the very evening that she found out Allan cared for her as much as she for him, she also had found out that beloved churchman Alberic was dead. It was too much to take.

She should have cried, but instead, only a single tear slipped down her cheek, sparkling in the candlelight as it fell onto the floorboards.

"Jah, how does our mission succeed 'gainst such reckless hate?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan never felt the crystal crumble to dust in his hand.

Alberic is dead.

"No. Why? Who?"

Alberic was dead.

"As Jah is my witness I WILL kill the man that did this.."

Alberic was gone

"Thank you brother for ensuring I heard from family. I...we.. we need to leave all this til morning. Out the way you came. Meet us at table for breakfast and we'll discuss what is next."

Alberic was gone. Allan noticed Destini on her knees and gathered her into an embrace as Corwynn did his normally impressive trick of vanishing out the window without a sound.

Destini

It was the physical sensation of Allan's embrace that broke the frozen hold on her emotions. She sobbed, her knees crumbling beneath her as she cried. Allan's strong arms held her up, kept her standing for the moment. The words Nay, Nay, crossed her lips more than once, muffled in Allan's tunic. Her tears soaked the fabric. "Nay Alberic, Jah nay!" she sobbed, gasping for air between cries of openly expressed emotional pain. She felt she could let her guard down with Allan, and she did.

When her tears were spent, or at least when they abated for a moment, she pulled away and sniffled. Her unshed tears, of which for Alberic she had many, magnified the effect of the firelight on her vision. "What are we ta do?" she asked Allan.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan heard the heartbreak in Destini's voice and it hit him like a blow to the head.

"Only thing we can do, sweets, we keep on keeping on. Alberic WILL not have died in vain."

Destini

She nodded, looking to his strength in body and soul to keep her going. She clung to him, needing to be held in her sorrow as much as she needed to comfort him in his.

His neck being near her lips, she kissed it then pulled away slightly though her arms remained about him. She looked in his gaze for guidance. Had the kiss been too much, too forward after what they'd just heard? She just needed to be held. She moved back in close to Allan, holding him tight against her. "Ah'm done with taday, Allan." she admitted to him, the drink still affecting her accent. "Ah cannae take any more."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Rest for the weary is a blessing from Jah," said Allan, as he helped Destini lay back to a prone position.

Pulling the comforter over her he asked, "Is there anything else you require, dear?"

Destini

She grabbed at his hand, keeping him from moving away. There was something she needed. Him. "Aye: ye," she said.

"Donae leave me alone," she said adamantly.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

nodding and climbing in beside Destini Allan murmured, "Right then. Your wish....."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn found Barkley exactly where he thought he'd be: playing cards in the same back room of the same tavern. He whipped the curtains aside and honed his gaze on the card dealer. "Barkley, ish this what passhes for a shervant of the Namelessh One these days? Good grief, man!"

"You're drunk, Grim," said Barkley with a wide-eyed expression as he backed out of his chair away from Grimthorn.

"A bit under the alfluence of incohol, yes," admitted Grimthorn. "But more than capable of taking care of you!" He drew his sword and aimed it unsteadily for Barkley's throat.

The idiots playing cards with Barkley scattered. Barkley's back hit the far wall. "What did I do, Grim?!" asked Barkley in a pitifully tremoring voice. "I sent the Delaney boys after Brightpoint and the Irish girl just like you asked!"

"No, Fool!" roard Grimthorn as he swung his blade. Barkley ducked it and the blade struck the back wall instead. Grimthorn recovered and re-aimed his weapon. The dolt was now in the corner. Nowhere to run. Grimthorn smirked. "You shent a letter that connected the Delaney boys with me. So when they failed --"

Barkley interrupted him. "They failed?" Likely, the moron was sensing his promised wages floating away on the tide.

"Yes, they failed," hissed Grimthorn, annoyed at being interrupted. He placed his sword at Barkley's throat. It was somewhat steadier. Anger at Barkley's idiocy had done away with that happy little buzz he'd had earlier in the evening. This, of course, only made him more angry. "Luckily, I was able to tear up the parchment bearing my name into enough pieces that Brightpoint did not connect the dots."

The moron relaxed as if his own peril was not imminent despite being cornered with Grimthorn's sword at his throat. "Ah, well, that's all right then. No worries about the connection from me, Grim. I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Yes," backing away slightly from Barkley, giving the moron just enough air to think he was free to go. "You will." Grimthorn stabbed Barkley between the second interspace and into the heart. Death was immediate. As Barkley's corpse fell to the floor, Grimthorn looked down at it. "Silent as the grave."

He cleaned his sword on a napkin and tossed the cloth into the fire. Sheathing his sword, he headed back to the inn.

--Brother_corwynn

Brother Corwynn was scrambling back down the side of the tavern when a cloud came away from the moon, revealing an empty alley aside from various sets of tracks that had walked through since a light rain earlier.

Wait.

That one set looked familiar. It had been along with Allan's and the MacKenzie girl's all the way into town. And those two...what had he interrupted up there. No mind, none of his business, and frankly there was obviously enough heat in that fire to keep the coals warm despite interruption. Bout time Allan had something he did not need to kill people for in his life.

Corwynn followed the tracks as he was thinking all these thoughts and saw they led through some alleyways over towards a pair of taverns.

Interesting.

Was that someone approaching? yes. Corwynn melted into shadows, long-knives ready.

Grimthorn.

As the man passed, a mite unsteadily, Corwynn smoothly swirled out from behind, pinned the man's sword in sheath with one hand and set a long-knife against the man's throat with enough pressure to make a point and whispered into his ear

"elllo Grimthorn, I'd like word with you..."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn stiffened. He couldn't see the man's face. Nor did he know the voice. But the voice knew him. How? Which of the people he'd recently pissed off was this? He reached for his sword and found it jammed into its sheath. Damn. With the blade at his throat, he couldn't reach back for his throwing daggers either. "Well, this is embarrassing, now, isn't it?" he asked instead. "Might I ask who you are?"

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn could not stifle a grin as he felt the man become aware, search for an out, find none, and calmly proceed.

"In a word, no. You can ask nothing. I may tell you some things after I elect not to kill you. And that is far from a certainty at this point."

Corwynn left the knife jammed in to Richard's sword sheath and removed the two throwing daggers at his back--tossing them aside.

"You are a prickly weed in the forest, aren't you?

He turned the man around to face him, backing him into the wall of a building.

"You are obviously a professional, so I will leave off the dire warnings of impending excess ventilation if you attempt to flee or cry out, shall I?

I know that you were working for the enemies of Cardinal Faheud and that you received a sealed letter of marque that left Hastings in the hands of Arch Canon Alberic and arrived in Holywell through your efforts.

What I want to know is nothing more than Did.You.Kill.Alberic?"

He awaited an answer that could change several lives in an instant.

--Richard.grimthorn

Disarmed, Grimthorn let out a soft oof as his back hit a stone building behind him. He faced his attacker with a note of professional respect for the skill at which he had been disarmed. Alberic. That would be the dottering old fool who had carried the letter of marque. So, his body had been discovered then. But the fact that this man was asking if he had killed Alberic, meant he did not yet know, or Grimthorn would likely be dead already. Stick to the story then. Yes. "I received the letter from another man who said he got it from an elderly courier. Beyond that, I know nothing." Seeing the look in this man's eye, he noted something almost personal in his threat. For one, his final question did not include a title with the name. "If this Alberic was a friend of yours, I am sorry for your loss." Grimthorn was surprised to find he actually meant the apology.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn looked into Grimthorn's eyes in the moonlight and for a moment was about to call him down as a liar and end a charade pincushion style.

But then he saw at the end true sincerity break through in tone, posture, and it reached the eyes. Ahh. Truth.

"well then," Corwynn said, taking his sword away, "I am Brother Corwynn, an associate of Arch Deacon Brightpoint. I am much like him, absent his sense of compassion and self-restraint. Arch Canon Alberic was not just a friend. He was my mother's Uncle.

If you were on your way back to tavern, perhaps I can supply an ale by way of apology for my abrupt questioning. I am given to understand you are on our side now."

Corwynn pointed the way back to the tavern.

--Richard.grimthorn

Somehow, it was seeing the other side of his work that caused him to actually regret killing the old man. Seeing the subtle sorrow and loss in this man's eyes was enough to make him wish he could go back and merely knock the old fool out instead of killing him. Regret was a disconcerting feeling. He tried to shake it away. "An ale," he said as he removed Corwynn's long-knife from where he'd wedged it in Grimthorn's sword scabbard and returned it to him. "Yes," he agreed, retrieving his throwing daggers from the ground where Corwynn had tossed them. "But do let me buy the round. You seem to have come a long way out of great personal inconvenience." He headed for the inn's tavern.

--Brother_corwynn

"Well said, Sir. And to be fair whilst I have at need turned down an ale at tavern, the number fits very comfortably in a single digit."

Corwynn walked with Richard over to the tavern he had recently been climbing around on, and tried the odd entry tactic of walking in the front doors.

He pointed at a table in the corner

"There is a table over there, shall we?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn nodded his agreement and took a seat at the corner table. He motioned to the bartender to bring them a couple of ales and took a long sip when the ales arrived. "Do call me Richard. Both the lady MacKenzie and Brightpoint do." He watched Corwynn with interest. "Perhaps you might tell me how you came upon the information that I, until recently, worked for the enemies of the Cardinal? That is something I have only ever told Brightpoint."

--Brother_corwynn

"Excellent question, as it were," Corwynn answered smoothly as the pair of ales were set upon the table.

"You were the second visit I made on my arrival in town this evening. To round out the story a bit, I'll go back a few days."

Brother Corwynn to a deep drink of ale.

"First, I have been trying to catch up to Brightpoint for several days. I noticed that a third set of footprints began accompanying them whenever they stopped, starting at a travel shelter south of here. It showed signed of three recent residents, not two.

The tracks went north of the intersection which would come here, as though bound for Egermont. Half a day north of here I stumbled on a claymore laying in center of the road, with one strange set of footprints running off into the brush. By the way the steps ended well short of the brish I can only guess the owner of the feet making those tracks have dove for cover under some duress.

The tracks continue on horseback a little further north where they meet a set of three on foot coming south. presumably news about ships in Egermont was bad and they headed here.

When I got into town, I found out that three persons under the abysmally silly name 'Simon Sezz' had two rooms here. I gambled and went up to the room with two folks registered and got a briefing from Allan, while telling him my Great Uncle had been slain.

He told me your story.

Heading back outside to look for a tavern with vacancies, I noticed those same tracks as the person who had joined them at the shelter and assumed--correctly--it was you.

Then it was just a matter of....introducing myself."

Corwynn took another drink of ale and let Richard have a chance to get a word in.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn was beyond impressed with Corwynn's powers of observation, and a little intimidated. If this man actually had reason to put the pieces together, he would discover the truth of who had actually killed his Grand Uncle. Grimthorn had to make certain he was not inclined to go searching. "Correct on all accounts. I'm impressed. Simon Sezz was the lady MacKenzie's way of getting back at me for making her set up the rooms." He smiled wryly to Corwynn as he took a sip of his dark ale. "If Brightpoint told you my story, I suppose he also told the lady MacKenzie as well?" Now, he was not smiling. If Brightpoint had been so foolish as to tell the lady of his deception, what would she think of him now?

--Brother_corwynn

"Well, since the Lady MacKenzie was present throughout the telling, I have to assume she is aware." Corwynn failed to stifle a pleasant grin. So. Richard was interested in the girl too. The body language and such were quite evident. May as well help his brother in Jah's service out a bit.

"I also noted she seems quite devoted and attached to Arch Deacon Brightpoint. And I was quite surprised to notice his normally perfect armor against the female attractions of the world have been on holiday as there is strong feelings on both sides."

Corwynn raised his flagon "I wish them well, don't you?"

Sometimes fun was just irresistible.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn couldn't not raise his flagon, and so he did, albeit reluctantly. "Yes ... well ... of course." He drained his glass. "On that note, I'll wish you goodnight, Brother Corwynn. I ... I have to go to my room now."

He turned his back and left the table. Climbing the stairs, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and muttered under his breath. "Jah, I know you're laughing at me now. Oh, yes. I know it." He turned the key in the lock and went to his room ... alone.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn watched poor Grimthorn trudge up the stairs, muttering to himself. It seemed his work was done here. back to the town hall tavern to have a nightcap and then see to his own sleep.

He walked across the alleys to the Town Hall tavern in short order, remaining unseen throughout. He committed the exceptionally odd act of entering TWO taverns by the front door in a single night.

In the common room were some sailors, the Innkeeper, and peculiar looking young woman in the corner who seemed to watch him intently as he approached the innkeep. He smiled broadly at the girl and then turned his attentions to the probably source of a place to sleep.

"Blaike. I need a room for the night. Have any, or is it fireside slumbers for your old friend Corwynn?"

The innkeep laughed. "As if, Sirrah. Number six is ready and waiting." He tossed over a key even as Corwynn tossed over a few coins.

"Thanks lad. An ale to sooth the days trevails, if you please..."

Corwynn sat down at an empty table.

--The_finisher

Lo! Behold the Diary of Ivy, The Finisher, Sleepless Damsel of the Night!

Dear Diary,

So, I had expected to come back downstairs to find Grimy still there trying to make his miniscule little mind work its way to a method of pwning me. But, alak and alas and stuff! He was gone. I suppose I shouldn't have played with my food. Sigh!

So then, I ordered a drink and it took, like, forever to get something resembling a dark coffee. Apparently, this backwater, poncy little port doesn't usually get requests for something as dark and steamy and sinfully stimulating as a cup of coffee. So, yeah, I had to wait for the little man behind the counter to brew a pot. I felt the years of the world pressing down upon my flawless snowy skin as I waited in absolute boredom for a frickin cup of coffee. And I'm all "Woe!" But soon! I had a cup of coffee! And it was all fresh and stuff! Score!

So I went to the darkest corner of the tavern to sit with my back against a wall and watch the pitiful little puppets dance the little dances of their pitiful little lives. Little do they know the Red Duke is pulling the strings! I had to giggle to myself several times as I watched them. They are all so pwnd when Dukie's plans are finally unfurled!

But then! There's this guy, you know. And he walked into the tavern all mysterious and stuff. And I watched him. He was totally not like the rest of these posers. No, this was a man who embraced the night like a storm cloud covers the moon. And he had curly black hair and dark eyes and I'm like thinking I'm all in love and stuff ... except, I'm not. For The Finisher is above being pwnd by an urchin in a diaper. I mean, honestly, the bow and arrow as a weapon of love? Seriously, I mean, Whatever.

Anyway, so this guy walks in and he totally smiled at me! And I'm all swoon! He totally wants me. So, I got up from my dark corner and stepped over to his table with my steaming cup of coffee in my hand. I popped my hip out all seductive and stuff and waited for him to look up at me.

I wanted to say something that would totally get his attention and let him know that I was all love-at-first-sight and stuff - except I wasn't, being too cool for that - but I didn't want to be all freaky enough to, like, totally ruin my chances with him.

So, yeah, the best I could come up with was, "Hi." Sigh. I'm such a loser.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn heard the tension-wrought, young, female voice say, "Hi."

He looked up with mingled surprise and amusement and saw that the camp-follower was actually speaking to him.

"Hello, Miss. Shouldn't you be in school?"

He took a sip of ale and awaited whatever was next.

--The_finisher

Dear Diary,

OMJ! He totally spoke to me! I guess 'hi' isn't such a loser way to begin a conversation after all! But then, like, the meaning of his words, like, totally hit me in the head like a shooting star, and I'm all, "As if!" and stuff. Like, seriously? He thought I should be in school?

I mean, yeah, my snowy complexion is, like, the envy of many a maiden. For lo! The Finisher exudes youth and vitality and an attitude of steamy hot coolness! But still! I'm like not a child.

Just to show him, I gave up the seductive hip pose in favor of a taller more shoulders-back sorta look. Some guys just don't go for the hip pose, you know? So, I tried this new pose and hoped he'd be more into me.

"It's, like, summertime," I said to the mysterious tall, dark, and handsome dude. "I mean, seriously, only losers go to school in the summer!"

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn looked at the girl a moment longer than was comfortable and said, Hence..."

He went back to sipping his ale and watching the room.

--The_finisher

What follows is the diary of Ivy, The Totally Pwnd

Dear Diary,

I have never been pwnd with a single word before. I knew, I just knew the moment this guy stepped in the tavern that he would be, like, you know, only the coolest boy I'd ever met! I mean, honestly! Poncy love weapons aside, that little cherub has totally shot my breast with his arrow of love!

I'm, like, not worthy to even stand in the presence of someone who can so totally pwn me with a single word. I'm sure he's all like W00t, and stuff. Because after that, I totally had to leave.

But not before giving him my best sultry pout and flinging my raven black hair over my shoulder with a husky huff. I sashayed my hips as I returned to my seat all come hither and stuff. Maybe this is a guy that works better with a hard-to-get sorta girl.

Sigh. Yeah, I'm totally going to have to look him up when I get back from Dukie's assignment in Ireland.

--Brother_corwynn

This world is going to the dogs, thought Corwynn. I mean really. How did that tousled tart survive long enough to get to a tavern?

No matter. Time to drain the ale and head off to bed. He'd be barring the door and window.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan stirred in his sleep and slowly woke up as the distant rooster nagged a drowsy world to have done with the night and embrace the day.

I must go kill that rooster, thought Allan, who noticed he and Destini had fallen asleep where they lay and slept the peaceful slumber of the alcohol-soaked dead.

Desti was still sleeping deeply, so Allan decided to step out to the washroom, clean up, and arrange for a gentle break of fast in a couple hours.

He left without a sound and went about his daily habits before speaking to the cook on duty. He expected Richard had crawled in--or poured himself into bed not long after he and Desti had declared it a night.

There would be some hangovers to deal with today--even Allan had a slight headache and he was rarely affected in that way. The potion of lemons, honey, salt, and spring water would do much to ease the suffering of his comrades.

At least he hoped it would, they had a lot to do today. Perhaps he should meander to the docks and see if any ships had come in...

Destini

Jah, silence those damn bells. Each chime of the bells along the docks was like a blacksmith's hot nail through her skull. Come to think of it, the blacksmith down the street wasn't much help either. She opened her eyes a sliver. The broad daylight burned through the window and pierced her vision like a firey brand. She winced and shut her eyes again, moaning in pain. Bad idea. Even her own voice was excruciatingly loud. What torture was this? Had Richard turned on them despite his words to the contrary? What did he want? She'd tell him anything to get him to stop this pain.

The thought occurred to her slowly like a tendril of smoke wafts in a still afternoon. No, not Richard. Alcohol. The drinking the night before. Dear Jah! She'd never experienced a hangover this severe before. She pulled a pillow over her head to muffle the sounds outside and block the sunlight.

It was at that moment that she realized Allan wasn't beside her. They had gone to bed together, hadn't they? Or had she dreamed that? No, the pillow smelled like him. Her belt pinched her waist and she moved to a more comfortable position. Jah, she'd fallen asleep without even dressing for bed. Ok, maybe not fallen asleep. More like passed out. Oh, Jah, what would Allan think of her now?

She had to get up. It was midmorning already and they had a lot to do today. Slowly, she removed the pillow and pushed the comforter aside. Her eyes still closed, she pushed herself to a seated position on the edge of the bed. She sat there a moment, acclimating herself to her over-sensory surroundings before attempting to open her eyes.

The act of lifting her eyelids was difficult for two reasons. She had braced herself for the brightness of the light. But her lids were also swollen from crying the night before. Alberic. There was a weight of sorrow at his memory.

She looked about the room and found it empty. Where was Allan? She saw her shoes beside the door. At least she hadn't slept in them, too. Clumsily putting her shoes on, she made her way downstairs to find Allan.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn opened his eyes only once. He closed them again and placed his arm over his eyes to stop himself from foolishly opening them again. "Jah," he muttered softly, "I know that I've not behaved like a saint in my life. But if you could find it in Your heart to cease drumming on my skull, I would be eternally grateful." The drumming did not cease. Grimthorn rolled over away from the window and pulled the covers over his head. He did not want to go to work today.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was just heading up the stairs with a large goblet of his mum's hangover remedy (Lemons, salt, honey, and mint-water) when he saw a dark shadow slowly making its way down towards him

Compassion controlled the volume of his voice--but not the chipper tone--as he said, "hello dear! I have brought you something for a hard morning after a thirsty evening!

Fancy a sit down while I tell you what I did *not* find down at the docks?"

Allan's sunny smile did battle with the shadows on the stairs, but he gave way to allow her the option of continuing down to sit at a table.

Destini

Destini glared down at the chipper tone of Allan's voice. How in Jah's most holy name did he manage to be so lively? He'd even been all the way to the docks at this hour? The heat of her gaze diminished when she saw that he had been on his way to take care of her in her misery. She managed a weak smile and ran her fingers through her tangled hair to tame it. She must look a frightful sight.

"Aye," she said, her voice soft and a little hoarse. "I hope yer tonic is powerful enough to combat this." She held a palm to her head and made her way down the stairs to a table close to the staircase.

"Let me guess," she said miserably as she dropped her weight into the closest chair and rubbed her face with her hands. "Ye didnae find a ship to Eire."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Good news and bad news my dear," Allan began as he sat down beside Destini, "if you drink this it will make you feel better in minutes. Fit to fight in twenty."

He handed her the goblet.

The bad news, however, is that there are no new ships at the dock. The Harbormaster is not in yet, so we do not know if any ships are due in. I'd guess the ferry to Egremont should be due at any time, though.

We may soon have to decide between waiting for a direct ship, the ferry, or a ride up to Egermont. We really need a plan by day's end I think. It is a matter of time til the next batch of ruffians turns up.."

Destini

Destini took a careful, skeptical sip from the goblet and felt the tingle of lemon and honey soothe her ravaged throat. She took a deep breath and did, indeed, feel much better. She smiled gratefully to Allan. "I have to hand it to ye," she said. "Ye know yer herbs an' how to make a person feel better."

She took several more sips of the brew while pondering the problem of passage to Ireland. "I agree that we cannae tarry much longer here in Holywell without promise or hope o' a ship. Last night's attack proves that. Who knows how long before whoe'ere sent those men finds they didnae succeed an' comes lookin' fer us again?"

"What o' Richard an' Brother Corwynn?" she asked Allan. "Do ye think they will also come with us or will they stay here in England? I admit to bein' skeptical o' Richard's motivation. An' I know too little o' Brother Corwynn's mission." She looked about, alert enough now to take in her surroundings. "Where are Brother Corwynn an' Richard anyway?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's face took on a focused, dour countenance

"I think we have three days before word of the attack failing makes it to the correct ears and replacements are sent out to finish the job. Therefore we must be gone in two, on boat or horse.

I expect Richard will go with us and Corwynn will return to His Grace with word of all that has befallen.

I will be honest, Desti...

I am damned worried that Peck never returned. That cannot mean anything good. At All. I do not mean to frighten you, but it just feels wrong. I will be thankful for one of Richard's wits having our backs. Speaking of which, I need to shop for a new crossbow and I think I will take Richard with me to find out how much he really knows of fighting and such."

He looked off towards the folk gathering round a buffet breakfast

"I am not really at all sure where Corwynn and Richard are. They'll turn up I am sure."

--Brother_corwynn

"MORNING Richard, " exclaimed Brother Corwynn cheerily as he bustled into the room with a large tray of breakfast. He set it down on the table and faced the mildly moaning mass on the bed.

"Rise and Shine! Let Jah's light brighten your heart and a warm breakfast start your day!"

As he threw open the shutters and let light stream in, Corwynn realized he really did love his work.

--Richard.grimthorn

He was going to kill him.

Grimthorn moaned loudly in pain as a voice he eventually recognized as Corwynn's broke through the blessed silence and the light of that firey damned daylight star pierced his dark, peaceful, blanketed cocoon. And to think he'd felt sorry for this man not just last night.

He was going to kill him in the most painful way possible.

Being awake and angry, now seemed the perfect time to start. He reached for his sword at his bedside and quickly realized he wasn't awake enough to wield it properly. The blade dropped to the floor with a clatter. His throwing daggers were on the nightstand. Yes, they'd do better. Grimthorn knocked one of the daggers onto the floor before finally grasping onto the second with a cry of both pain from his hangover and victorious surprise that he'd managed that tiny feat given how blind he was in the morning sun. "You, Brother, are the most vile, villainous, viper that I have ever had been cursed to endure!"

He stood and lunged for Corwynn only to find his legs were tangled in the bed sheets. He fell to the floor and found himself not three inches from Corwynn's boots. "Trust me," continued Grimthorn pulling himself off the floor and trying to maintain whatever dignity he had left. "I know villains."

--Brother_corwynn

"Really? Well done!" inquired Corwynn with the air of the student hearing epiphany from the teacher, "You know villains? Brilliant! When do you advance to defeating bedsheets in single combat?"

Corwynn grinned and set down the sword and daggers out of reach of the groggy initiate. Wait. Had he told him he was an initiate? Damn..

"Are you aware that by changing sides you have both a path to heaven and a great deal to learn now? One such thing is that breakfast and sweaty labor make a hangover vanish. Come. Hair of the dog and a decent meal will sort you out!"

Corwynn loved this part of basic training. Well he had since he was no longer the trainee.

--Richard.grimthorn

"I did not change sides to become a student to a man so evil he should be working for the Red Duke!" exclaimed Grimthorn as he ate a bite of the food Corwynn had brought him. He really had had no idea the good guys were so evil to one another! Perhaps he had found his calling in life after all.

"I mean, honestly!" said Grimthorn, just to twist the knife a little in Corwynn. After all, Corwynn was being mean to him, so why not? "If I had but known that this would be my fate, I might have accepted being forced to work with the idiot clown girl!" Grimthorn was beyond exasperated.

--Brother_corwynn

"Life is about choices my friend, " mused Corwynn. "One cannot join a team successfully without understanding and living the rigors of that team. Now if we examine the source of the evil to which you refer we find a cup or cups that emptied themselves with far too much frequency."

Corwynn handed Richard a goblet of that remedy Brightpoint always used.

"Have a sip or three of that. it will ease your headache a great deal. While you do that, please consider the relative merits of blaming me for the lifting of yestereve's many glasses. Most of it occurred before I met you, based on your relative reflexes in the alley.

Oh, the constable was asking funny questions in the common room of the Inn I stayed at last night. Seems some bloke got himself stabbed next door by an angry gambler last night right about the time we met for a chat in the alley..."

--Richard.grimthorn

The bit about the frequently emptied cups went right over Grimthorn's groggy faculties and slammed into the wall on the other side. As such, he ignored that part of the conversation. "I am not blaming you for yesterday's raised glasses. I am blaming you for entering my room uninvited and waking me from a pleasant slumber," muttered Grimthorn sourly he drank the remedy Corwynn had given him. Looking over at the door,Grimthorn frowned. "How did you get in here anyway? I'm certain I locked and barred the door."

He sipped more from the glass and went back to breakfast feeling a little better. "As for the man who was murdered last night, if you need an alibi, I might consider providing one for you in the spirit of our new alliance."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn laughed. he did rather like the cheek in this new convert. If it became matched with actual skills....formidable.

"Actually, given that only on set of prints came up the alleyway, yours, I was concerned I might need to provide you with such assistance of the alibi variety.

As to your door...The lock is obvious and the bar placement was weak.

I was able to unlock it and lift the bar with my long knife in about a second, without setting down your breakfast tray.

I figured you'd appreciate a hangover remedy and some breakfast before the cleaning staff turned up in a bit to hammer on your door as it is already mid-morning.

Try the apples, they are excellent."

Corwynn snatched up a slice of apple and bit into it with enthusiasm.

--Richard.grimthorn

"Cleaning staff will at least go away when they're told," muttered Grimthorn under his breath, but easily loud enough for Corwynn to hear. He paused a moment to munch on a slice of apple. Something else Corwynn had said struck him. "Regardless of the fact that my needing an alibi is complete poppycock," he prefaced casually so Corwynn wouldn't go down that road, "you would provide me with an alibi? Not just seek to be rid of me at the first convenient excuse Jah offers?" This was a new concept to him. His old compatriots would have thrown him to the wolves if he were so daft as to get caught by local law enforcement. He had expected no less amongst this new group. Perhaps he'd judged them too soon.

--Brother_corwynn

"As you wish..." Corwynn trailed off and snagged another bit of apple.

"And of course you get an alibi if you needed it. If Allan Brightpoint says you're on the team, then you are on the team. You cannot convince him without a fairly high degree of sincerity. And to be fair I am not entirely unskilled at spotting stable-sweep myself.

Besides, we are more than sufficiently stern with folks that turn on us as to discourage it as a repetitive occurrence.

So. I will leave you to your morning ministrations for the moment. See you downstairs.

We have a lot to do today..."

Corwynn snagged a last piece of apple and was out of the room far too quickly for the apparent ease of stride he presented.

Destini

The hearty buffet breakfast was much appreciated and Destini finished the last of her plate with relish. She was about to suggest they leave Richard to his slumber and see to the markets before the sun got too warm when she spied Brother Corwynn descding the stairs.

She stood out of respect for the man and curtsied to him when he reached the bottom of the staircase. "Good mornin', brother," she said pleasantly. "I trust ye found lodgings that didnae require ye to use a window as a means o' entrance?" She grinned at him to show there were no hard feelings. Sometimes, she just couldn't resist the tease.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"Good morning, Miss MacKenzie," Corwynn beamed, "Aye there were lodgings elsewhere that included doors for entry--albeit some of the ambiance was a bit unsettling."

He sat down and joined Allan and Destini.

"I trust you lot slept well after my extemporaneous visit? I have just come down from providing our new recruit with a tender wake-up visit.

Strangely, he did not seem wildly appreciative of the kind gesture."

Destini

Destini blushed slightly when Corwynn asked if she and Allan had slept well. She glanced at Allan without moving her head, wondering if he took the question as innocent as it seemed. She wondered, too, if Allan's words the night before had been the result of too much drink. Had Allan meant what he'd said to her last night? Did he truly hope for more between them?

She covered her momentary embarrassment with a soft chuckle at Richard's expense. "Aye, I imagine Richard had a rough night. Seems Allan was able to drink him under the table."
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"Good at that, is our Allan, and I took the liberty of adding ales to the butcher's bill when I left you lot and had a word with Richard." Corwynn smirked impishly at the memory of how unsteadily Richard had climbed the stairs last night.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint grinned, "So did that 'word with Richard' involve blades this time? Often your quiet words are punctuated with the presence of steel."

Allan sipped at some tea and continued, "So what do we think our best options are at this point? We have some challenges surrounding transit to Eire, and staying here in Holywell is eventually get more attention of the ambush variety.

Desti your instincts are good, what say you?"

Destini

She frowned as she pondered their predicament a moment. "Yer thoughts this mornin' before breakfast were well-thought, Allan. We shouldnae tarry here longer than three days - two if it can be helped. By ship or by horse, we must needs leave Holywell by the end o' the week. We cannae risk another ambush."

She looked to Corwynn. How much had he heard when he had been outside their hostel window? Did he know of the ambush in the woods? And what had Allan meant when he'd asked Corwynn if steel was involved in his chat with Richard? Come to think of it, how did Corwynn know Richard?

Damn these useless questions. Despite that it was late morning, from her point of view, it was too early to let her mind wander off on tangents. But wander it did, whether she willed it or no. She couldn't resist the questions. She never could. "If Richard is - or was - workin' fer the enemies o' the Cardinal, an' not a man-at-arms as he says, how do ye know Richard, brother?"
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"It turns out that I heard a great deal of your conversation last night and followed a very distinctive set of bootprints I had seen join your party while tracking you. It did not require the mind of a Cardinal to surmise the Richard you were talking about was the same person who belonged in those boots.

Incidentally, he confirmed my supposition when I addressed him by name. He was passing towards here through an alley leading to the other taverns in town.

The same taverns the town constable was asking questions this morning regarding a murder last night.

I agree on getting out quickly, as there are numerous indicators of real trouble brewing up."

Corwynn looked at Allan.

"So how stern did you have to be to get Richard to join us?

I have been treating him like a recruit til you say otherwise as we cannot have him blundering about and ruining the mission."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Me? Stern?" asked Allan with an impressive show of innocence no one smarter than an apple core would believe.

"Actually, I did not have to be stern with him. He decided to change sides on his own. I gather he is very underwhelmed with the quality of some of his former co-workers.

He seemed sincere enough, and had saved Desti's life time and again. Hardly the act of someone dedicated to killing her."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn snapped his fingers with a look of realization, saying "Ahh yes! He did seem rather smitten with Miss MacKenzie."

Destini

Men!

"I'm right here!" said Destini glaring at both Allan and Corwynn. But try as she might, there wasn't any heat behind the expression. She was truly more amused than irked. Still, to prove her point, she threw a wadded up napkin at Corwynn.

"I'd like to thank ye both fer provin' that men o' Jah are still men." The corners of her mouth belied her forceful words as she turned her half-amused gaze on Allan.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"Thank you, my Lady, We live to serve...." Nothing could hide the imp in tone and eyes.

"I shall treasure this holy artifact of Your Radiance always...."

He held up the napkin on high

"Behold...The One True Napkin.."

--Constable_wainwright

Victim: Josiah Barkley

Age: 39

Occupation: Gambler, former broker of information, now retired after a deal made with the constabulary.

Status: deceased

Cause of Death: Direct stab wound to the heart. In short: Murder.

Witnesses: 3 - Marcus Lloyd, George Marley, and Thomas Peyton. Stories match. Perpetrator was angry and drunk when the crime was committed. Witnesses could not elaborate on description based on the darkness of the back room and their haste to make a speedy retreat.

Evidence at the Scene of the Crime: Footprints, one pair. Size, Large. An uneven stride corroborates perpetrator was drunk. Footprints led to another tavern on the other side of the street.

Conclusion: Possible lead within

Another dirty tavern. Another ten or so drunkards to question. Anyone foolish enough to commit murder on his watch found themselves with a short drop and a sudden stop. The problem was finding who.

He needed a suspect soon. Already the trail was growing cold. The very last thing he wanted was a long chase out of town to catch a murderer roaming the English countryside. Or worse, roaming the seas to find him. The murderer was, without a doubt, male. Even if there had been no witnesses, the position of the victim's wound had told him that much. But who and why? Harder to answer.

A familiar face caught his attention the moment he entered. "Allan Brightpoint. I might have known you were in town. Why is it whenever you enter Holywell, I'm cleaning up corpses?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Because, dear constable, " Allan grinned without mirth reaching his eyes, "If Holywell was clean before I got here, there would be no laundry to hang out, then, would there."

Allan stood, standing half a head taller than the tough-looking constable.

"We are, as always, upon the same side. Whatever mess you are cleaning up today certainly does not involve me. I have barely arrived and had no time to look after your....loose ends."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn did a rare thing. Alright, rare for him. He goggled.

"Allan... Is this your 'friend' from Holywell?

Honestly, I expected someone....well...taller...

Good day to you, Constable."

Corwynn smiled into his ale.

Destini

Destini swallowed. This man was the law. This man had the power of an entire county behind him. He could put them in jail if he found the right evidence. She was not so naive to think that there wasn't evidence out there in the woods for him to find. Allan, Richard, and she had just killed five men. If there was ever a moment for a performer's skill, this was the time.

She kept the anxiety from her expression as she watched Allan face down the Constable of Holywell. This might not go well for them if Allan chose to take offense at the constable's words. "My lord, I've believe ye've made a mistake."
_________________

--Constable_wainwright

He looked to the man and woman at Brightpoint's table. Unknowns. To be investigated later. A job for the under-constable. Not for him. Unless things got dicey, that is. Brightpoint was his business. Brightpoint had caused too much a ruckus the last time he was in town to be dismissed with entirety. This new man and woman, however, until proven otherwise, could be dismissed for the moment. "Good Day to you both." Being constable, however, he could not resist peering at Brightpoint's companions with his keen eye. "You both know the deacon, then. Well enough for him to tell stories to you. I may have questions for you later. That is, if this situation turns out how I guess it will."

He turned his attention back to Brightpoint. Yes, the man stood taller than him. But he was used to that. Didn't let it bother him. Never really had. He eyed the man's cold smile with an icy stare of his own. "So you're inferring that I cannot look after my own business? You're wrong, Deacon Brightpoint. Per usual. This murder occurred late last night. Perhaps after midnight. Early this morning, even. Yet, undoubtedly before the sun rose. I'll check with the gate guards ... or the tavern owner, perhaps. I think you arrived sometime earlier than late last night. Now, did you not?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint sat down, his posture showing mirth, disbelief, and ridicule of the moronic.

"Well, first, That is Arch-Deacon to you, Chief of Security to the Head of the Church and Speaker of Parliament.

My authority out-ranks your every breath.

As evidence will show to any competent investigator, I have been in this tavern since well before dark yesterday, and only after sunrise ventured out."

Allan waved a dismissive hand," I suggest you find another way to cover your inability to control events in your town, or I will be forced to call martial law under this document."

Brightpoint displayed, but did not let go of, the letter of Marque.

"Tell me what it shall be, constable. You catch the real criminals, or I lock you up and do it myself....as usual..."

Brightpoint was finished with local idiots.

Destini

Destini stood and placed herself at Allan's side, facing the constable. She rested a gentle hand on Allan's shoulder. He was being far more harsh with this man of the law than she thought he should be. Did that parchment truly give Allan the ability to remove the constable from his duties? She wasn't comfortable with that. Her hand on Allan's shoulder was as much to steady him as it was to steady herself for her own words to the constable.

"My partner speaks perhaps too harshly, my lord," she said respectfully to the constable. Her hand grasped Allan's shoulder firmly now, wordlessly willing him to understand that she was still on his side despite her opening argument. "We donae wish any ill to ye or yer town. We donae have any desire to take yer duties from ye. Our only goal is to reach Eire as quickly as Jah will allow it. As soon as there is passage thence, we will be gone from here an' out o' yer way."

She released her hand from Allan's shoulder and continued evenly. "That said, yer suspicions o' Allan are unfounded. I can vouch fer my partner's whereabouts. He has been with me. We havenae been separated fer more than an hour since our arrival in Holywell. I swear it to ye."
_________________

--Constable_wainwright

Wainwright's teeth ground together in irritation at Brightpoint's gall. The line of his jaw was more defined with the bridled tension behind the lines of his face. He nearly took the man in for impeding his investigation. Indeed, his right hand went so far as to grasp the hilt of his sword. The view of the seal on the letter of marque stayed his hand.

The woman spoke. Her words were reasonable. Her respectful tone was a direct counterpart to Brightpoint's insolence. So she was Brightpoint's partner. She said Brightpoint had been with her since they had arrived. "Indeed. Is that so?" asked Wainwright of the woman. He stepped closer to her. Her account of events garnered her his inquisitive scrutiny. "If you are arch-deacon Brightpoint's partner, tell me this: wouldnt a good partner offer an alibi if needed?" Wainwright closed the distance on the small trio enough to peer at the woman closely. "If your testimony is true, I shall have to consider it. But If.It.Is.Not ...." He allowed the threat to hang in the air between them a moment.

He turned to lean on their table and gaze in Brightpoint's humorless eyes. There was nothing he, as constable, could do here, at present. Brightpoint knew that, was counting on that. "If I find so much as one piece of evidence leading to you or your party, I will get a warrant for your arrest and it will be I who locks you away. That little paper of yours will do you no good."

Wainwright straightened to his fullest height of five foot eight inches, turned as a soldier would about-face, and left. He had a story to corroborate. What could the gate-guards tell him of Brightpoint's comings and goings? He wondered.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint looked at the departing back.

He looked over as his partner who had certainly had some merit in tempering his harshness, and had a lot at stake here. He was not especially delighted at getting called out by his team in front of a known hostile, but that was irrelevant.

He looked over at Corwynn with a 'We are certainly buggered now' look in his eyes.

"That went well," stated Holywell's (apparent) number one enemy.

--Brother_corwynn

"Went, well?!" exclaimed Corwynn. "You have just been basically accused of some unknown murder by the local constable. And why was it necessary to throw your weight around?"

Corwynn did not entirely feel this way, but he wanted to be 100% convinced.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

After subduing an angry response, Allan calmed himself and explained things.

"It went as well as I could possibly expect. At face value I was entirely too harsh on the facts of him only wandering in and rousting me out a bit."

Allan grinned with a pained expression as that bit settled in.

"Turns out, though, that on my last two trips through here I have been ambushed, lost team members, faced anything from 5-3 to 20-3 odds, and never had backup from the town constable when the fighting was over.

He lets cut-throats and contract assassins lurk in his town and accuses the surviving victims of foul play. He is either a typical local constable and wants peace and quiet--thus smacking whomever he perceives to be why the noise happens, without regards to the rights and wrongs.

The other option is that he is well paid to appear that way. I believe the former not the latter. If he can pin the tail on the Brightpoint, he will feel like it is a job well done and case closed.

I explained more about the who and why of my being here and let him know if he wants to build a frame and see how I fit as the picture, he'd better have more than guesswork.

At any rate, he will know we came to town and when, he will learn Destini and I went outside and were joined by a third, and he will know the third was not you Corwynn. I do not like Wainwright, but I respect his detecting skills.

I f he decides to take the easy route and pin it all on me, I will go along quietly and you three can get safely away to Eire."

This was going to be another very long day...

Destini

"No, Allan," said Destini firmly, shaking her head as she returned to her seat. "E'en if the constable's choice is to take the easy road, I willnae leave ye behind to rot in some prison or be killed fer a crime ye didnae commit."

But there was the matter of the crimes they did commit. An uneasiness settled about her stomach as she thought of last night's ambush presented by the Delaney Boys. She was as much in the constable's sights as her partner ... at least, she should be if the constable were doing his job and not trying to pin every murder on Allan. The thought occurred to her that Allan was right. She could get away with murder if she left Allan behind to take the fall for her. Inwardly, she recoiled at the thought. How could she even consider the thought? Allan was her partner, her friend, her ... more? Would she -- could she -- really throw him to the wolves in order to escape justice herself? A sickened expression crossed her face. "I donae like bein' on this side o' the law." she admitted to her compatriots.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"No crime was committed by this company by the lake. Self Defense is just that.

Allan looked at Destini intently before going on

"Lives were taken, to be true, but they themselves put that on the butcher's bill when they ambushed us without a word or a cause."

He turned his tone to the barest edge of stern command

"Hear me though. Nothing will keep you from Eire and the mission therein--be it a lazy constable, or my sudden need to learn knitting in the county jail."

Faheud

Cardinal Faheud, Count of Sussex, and now suddenly an Earl of a new territory, was writing letters and logistical instructions when there came a tapping at his study window.

He looked up and realized it was a familiar pigeon trying to get in,

"Peck! What has brought you here?"

The Cardinal opened the window and let it into the study, trading treat for letter.

It read:

"Dearest Desti,

I don't know how to put it gently, so I put it blunt. Zan's dead. He didn't take the antedote. I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say. I still live but not because of lack of effort! There has been numerous attempts on me life, I've been poisoned, beaten, tortured and mangled. It's a miracle that I still live. A man called Viscomte d'Argent is behind it all. Him and one Callaghan. They run their operation from the Luvafair - ye remember that empty joint, don't ye? Well, it's not empty anymore. They run some kind of operation from here - selling weapons to the NNGO and other criminal groups and finance it all through slave trade. Nasty business. Tomorrow I'm going to raid that place and rest assured d'Argent will die slowly fer all he's done. If he's still there. I'm sorry I still don't have any better news fer ye. I hope this letter finds ye alive and well.

May Jah and all the other gods up there help us all. Me thoughts and prayers are with ye.

Pagan"

Faheud needed this out to the intended recipient as soon as possible. He took out quill and pen and set down these words:

"Allan. Get the attached letter to Destini yesterday. I pray you are all well and in one place.

A report back on status would not go amiss.

SE Faheud"

He attached the pair of letters to Peck and whispered, "Find Allan" before sending it on his way.
_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn's weary footsteps descended the wooden stairs. His heavy boots and rough morning made his gait seem even more lumbering than usual. His companions were seated at a table nearest the stairs. Well, Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie could be considered his companions. That ruffian Corwynn was there as well, but could hardly be called a companion. They were speaking in low tones about something serious. He might have wondered what it was if he hadn't still been feeling mildly hung over. Instead, he plopped himself down in the extra chair at the table. "I trust you're all having yourselves a better morning than I," he grumbled at them.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As it turned out, Allan was pleased to see someone having a worse day than he was heading for.

"In a word, Richard, NO. We were just pulling odds on whether safe transportation would arrive before an arrest warrant."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn allowed one eyebrow to raise slightly at the word warrant. Barkley or the Delaney boys? Or something else entirely? "Well unless you," he looked to the lady MacKenzie, "completely failed to weigh the Delaney boys down, we're fine." He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath in an effort to return some of the clear-headedness he'd had before drinking last night. "You did weigh them down, didn't you?" he asked.

Destini

"Of course I did," said Destini in a hushed tone that carried with it a note of irritation. She frowned, then, and looked to Allan, suddenly uncertain. "At least, I think I weighed them down enough."

She chewed on her bottom lip. "Allan, if we did nothin' wrong, why did we nae go to the constable an' tell him we were attacked? There'd be none o' this suspicion on us now if we'd come clean to begin with." Why hadn't she thought of this before? Why had it taken until now to think about telling someone in authority that they were attacked? Too frightened, maybe. Too overcome by events. Now, of course, it was too late. They'd hidden the bodies. But had they hidden them well enough?
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan resolved himself to not sound patronizing.

"We could have done that, Destini, and gotten the same reaction from the constable as he displayed this morning. I rather think with bodies as evidence, the warrant would come swiftly. Constable Wainwright is not a self-defense-matters official. He'd make the arrest and let a judge sort it out.

And you did a fine job weighing down our uninvited guests.

--Brother_corwynn

Brother Corwynn looked on at the interplay between Richard and Destini, Destini and Allan. Interesting....

"Richard, I doubt it was a picnic by the lake that got our dear constable's attentions today. I believe he was talking about a late-supper in the back room of a tavern in town...

What say we make trails, Richard, and see about replacing those worn out boots of yours...they are in a singularly poor state...

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched Corwynn carefully as he spoke of Barkely's murder. Did the brother know he had committed the crime? This was not the first time the man had brought it up. It was almost as if he were seeking information about the crime. Grimthorn would not be fooled. He did not address the incident at Barkley's favored tavern and looked down at his boots instead. "What these?" he asked Corwynn. "They're fine! So they have a few miles on them. What of it?" The look in Corwynn's eye said he was not joking about the boots. Grimthorn gave way. "But if you insist..." He left the conversation at that and followed Corwynn out of the tavern.

Destini

Destini watched Brother Corwynn and Richard leave before turning back to Allan. Worry lines gently crinkled her brow. "I fear our original plan to be gone to either Egermont or Eire in two days willnae be soon enough. If the constable finds the bodies ...." She did not finish that sentence. Both she and Allan knew that if the constable had some sort of hard evidence, he would not rest until they were brought to justice. It would mean the end of their mission to Ireland.

"We must find a ship, Allan," she said hopelessly. She was beginning to think there were no ships to be had. "We cannae tarry here."

She stood. She had to do something. She couldn't just sit here. "The constable isnae the only one out there lookin' fer ye," she said. "Ye said ye needed a new crossbow, aye? If we were attacked now, ye'd have only yer hands fer defense. I refuse to lose ye so easily." She smiled gently at him as she made the mildly flirtatious comment and reached her hands out to his in an effort to pull him to his feet.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan allowed himself to be pulled up to his feet by Destini and grinned at her flirtatious manner. It injected a bit of nice into what had begin as a fairly toxic day.

"By all means. I have felt somewhat undressed without that bow to hand, to be honest.

What say we get to market and sort that out whilst we yet have the run of the town?"

He took her arm and pointed towards the door

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn grumbled as he and that whip-cracking, meddlesome, far-too-chipper Brother Corwynn led him directly to a leather shop specializing in, amongst other things, boots. "Honestly, Brother," he emphasized the title. There could be no mistake that he meant its use as anything but sign of respect. "I see no reason to replace these boots. Surely, you used that lame suggestion as an excuse to get me out of the tavern and into this horrid daylight." The sun was certainly too bright on his still-recovering eyesight. The hangover from last night had been worse than he'd thought. "I mean, seriously! These boots still have some life left in them," he complained.

--Brother_corwynn

"Aye," Corwynn answered smoothly, poking at merchandise, "They certainly have enough life in them to dangle nicely as you dance at the end of a rope."

Corwynn whirled on Richard and spoke softly from inches away

"Hear me, Richard. I know you were in the tavern where a Barkley was murdered last night. I know your boots made tracks that led directly over and back, with little variance aside from a bit of drunken tottering.

You *will* be a material witness if not the prime suspect about two seconds after the Constable spots you have the boots which make very distinct tracks. Wainwright has three witnesses that will be able to pick you out as the man who entered the back room of the tavern.

So select a pair of damned boots, pay for them, and do not leave here without them on. You can explain to me why you killed the man afterwards. I will be outside.

Are we clear?

--Richard.grimthorn

All complaining, jesting, and dodging died on Grimthorn's lips as he listened to what Corwynn was saying. Good grief, this man could turn from cheerful to threatening on the head of a pin! Corwynn's hushed but intense words cut through Grimthorn's hangover haze. He knew. By Jah, he knew. Were they clear? Oh, yes. "Inescapably," he agreed.

"One thing, Brother," said Grimthorn before Corwynn could leave, and this time there was respect in his use to Corwynn's title. "Why have you not told Brightpoint and the lady MacKenzie? Not that I'm not grateful, of course, because I am. But why?"

--Brother_corwynn

"Because," explained Corwynn, "You should be the one to do that. I'll see you outside."

Corwynn left Grimthorn to the task of paying for his new boots.

--The_finisher

For Lo! Hence are the pages of the diary of Ivy, The Finisher, Dark Servant of the Red Duke and Shopping Extraordinaire!

Dear Diary,

Yeah, OK, I can never resist the markets in a port town! I mean, you know, all that cute stuff from other countries is totally just sitting out there waiting to jam with my clothing ensemble. I bought a pair of uber-cool gloves that come up to my elbows. Black, of course. With pink embroidery, just 'cause. I had a pair like it once, but they got completely disgusting after I killed that one church dude a few months back who got a little too in my face with the holier-than-thou crap. Ok, maybe I got a teensie weensie bit over-zealous with my torturing methods, but hey! I had to make sure he hadn't been sent by that loser Cardinal Faheud. Turns out he was just a total poser and was being annoying just for the hell of it. I know, right? Bad manners, much? Totally gives us true evil-doers a bad name!

Anyway, so ... right ... where was I?

Oh, yeah, the market.

So, there I was with my new amazingly awesome elbow gloves. I'm all slinking through the marketplace like a graceful, black cat when Lo! I spied the one thing in this market I totally couldn't ignore. It was my heart-throb from the hostel! He looked even more amazingly mysterious and totally available in the daylight. Which is odd, because, you know, normally, I prefer the darkness.

Fear not! The Finisher is far too set in her ways to succumb to the wiles of any man. Even one with such excellent skills at pwnage. They don't call me the Black Widow for nothing ... no, really, they don't. No one calls me that. Prolly 'cause I've never been married. But if i had, they'd totally call me that. Because I'd totally kill my groom before he was cold in his bed. Not that I'd ever stoop so low as to actually be married ... but, still ... Geez, you can only take an idiom so far before it becomes loser-esque. Sigh.

So, I decided to play the situation all cool and stuff and totally ignore him so he wouldn't think I was all into him. Besides, I needed to see if they had some countess boots to go with my new gloves and it turned out the hostel heart-throb was standing by a merchant selling just such an item. Score! So I sashayed over to the other side of the merchant booth. He was standing 10 feet from me when I started checking out the boots.

And if that's not all I was checking out, well, who could really blame me?

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn noted with a hint of a grin the complete failure at subtle ogling going on near him in the Market. It was a woman and she looked familiar.

SNAP

That was it. The very odd little lady from the tavern the other night.

Had he been in town long enough to collect a stalker?

So it would seem.

Sigh. Nothing to do for stalkers but stalk right up to them. He walked over to her and greeted with a cheery, "Hello, Poppet...."

--The_finisher

Dear Diary,

So there I am all (mostly) minding my own business and stuff when the hostel hottie walks up to me and goes, "Hello poppet."

And I'm all 'Oh no he didn't!' Because, seriously. The Finisher is not a puppet. No, she follows her own direction ... except when she follows the Red Duke's orders. But still! A puppet is all mindless and stuff! I don't know what the hostel hottie was thinking because The Finisher is more of a spontaneous let's-break-more rules-than-we-follow kinda girl.

You can't do that if you're a puppet.

So, yeah, I was totally non-plussed.

While I tried to decide what to do about his total lack of clue, I crossed my arms across my chest and pushed my chest up at him to give him a brief view of what he was missing. I might have pouted a little seductively at him.

Little did he know, I was also reaching my right hand into my left sleeve. Like a cat pouncing on her prey, I unsheathed and drew forth my hidden dagger of death and placed its wickedly curved blade at his throat. Its sinister edge totally glinted in the midday sun. I kid you not!

I pressed him against the wall of the leather merchant's stall and leaned close to whisper seductively to him. "Do not call me poppet! I'd totally hate to kill a hottie I might want to kiss again later." And I kissed him, so he knew I wasn't kidding.

I wickedly twisted the point of my dagger at his jugular vein and watched his heartbeat there a moment. "I'd love to stay and ... get to know you better, but I have a ship to Ireland to catch." My dagger was away and hidden again in my black dress sleeve before I'd turned around, because, yeah, I am that fast.

"Ta!" I called to the hostel hottie over my shoulder as I sashayed to the docks.

--Brother_corwynn

"And a deadly poppet, it would seem... And with a temper. Point taken..."

Corwynn smiled and replaced his own dagger at the small of his back.

"That one could be interesting. Dead or Alive."

Corwynn went off to find the others and let them know he had word of a possible ship, not caring if the picky poppet had heard his comment as she left the market.

--Constable_wainwright

Suspect's Name: Allan Brightpoint
Gender: Male
Age: early 30s
Profession: Arch-deacon
Known facts about his current visit to Holywell: Suspect entered Holywell around midday yesterday with two companions, a woman (identity unknown except that she claims to be the Suspect's partner) and a man (Simon Sezz, based on the name in the hostel log-book.)

Gate guard states that the Suspect and his party split up just beyond the gates. The Suspect and Simon Sezz went west into the tavern district. The woman headed north to the docks. At Sunset, gate guard saw the Suspect leave the city again with the woman. Tracks lead to the lake outside the city walls.

Evidence beside the lake: Signs of a struggle. Blood, probably a day old, was found in three locations: the rise beside the road before the land slopes to the lakeside, the clearing on the south side of the lake, and further into woods between the clearing and the shore of the lake. Further investigation revealed a broken crossbow. Item was shattered with a heavy object that likely had a cutting edge: A sword perhaps.

No further evidence found. No bodies. No other weapons. Further investigation may be required.

Continue known facts of Suspect's current visit: Gate guard states the Suspect returned to town with the woman and Simon Sezz after dark but before the compline bell had rung. Innkeeper states they had supper and drank heavily until late in the evening before parting ways before dawn.

If the Suspect's partner cannot be believed, there is no knowledge of the Suspect's whereabouts until the next morning when he had breakfast with his party. Interrogation of the woman (and possibly the Suspect) is required to corroborate the woman's statement.

Current location of the Suspect: Innkeeper states he heard talk of the Suspect and his party visiting the markets.

Constable Wainwright closed his logbook and thanked the innkeeper with a word and a payment of coin. Now to find Brightpoint ....

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was delighted. He saw the perfect hand-bow. Lifting it, he knew he had found the replacement, after so many stalls tried and failed.

"Here it is, love, the perfect bow!"

Allan paid the stiff price asked by the vendor without haggling. He just wanted to feel complete again.

As Allan attached the crossbow to a clip on his belt he heard a familiar--yet entirely unexpected fluttering of wings.

Whirling around, he saw Peck the Pigeon alighting on the pole of the awning at the front of the stall.

"Peck! You little lazy bugger! Where the ell have you been? Gimme that!"

Allan took the message...messages apparently...off the bird and absent-mindedly doled out the appropriate treat.

He scanned the first one, blanched, and turned to Desti.

"This is for you. Word from Eire. Sent to the Cardinal, who forwarded it on..."

He handed over the letter unread

Destini

Destini looked on the familiar bird with a smile of relief. She'd grown quite fond of Allan's annoying pigeon -- she seemed to recall him introducing her to Peck using those exact words -- and was glad to see the bird was alive.

The color drained from Allan's face and Destini's smile vanished with it. He did not open the letter he'd said was for her. She wondered how he knew it was addressed to her. With a worried glance at Allan, she took the piece of parchment. Pagan's familiar handwriting became evident as she anxiously unrolled the paper.

Dearest Desti,

I don't know how to put it gently, so I put it blunt. Zan's dead.

No.

Destini gasped after reading only the first line. Her knees felt weak. She pushed past Allan through the market crowd to a quiet alley. Once out of the crowds, she could breathe again. She re-read the first sentence of the letter. It hadn't changed. Despite how much she wish she'd misread, the first sentence hadn't changed. Destini's knees could no longer hold her. She dropped her weight onto a crate of goods stocked outside a baker's shop.

No, Jah, no.

Why was Zan dead? Why? How? She read on.

He didn't take the antedote. I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say. I still live but not because of lack of effort! There has been numerous attempts on me life, I've been poisoned, beaten, tortured and mangled. It's a miracle that I still live.

Anger burned within her like the awakened coals from a fire long lost. She had seen her friend beaten from duels. But this. This was different. For this Destini's Irish anger would not be stilled. Who had harmed her best friend? Pagan was Destini's clan-kin. Who would pay for the blood that was spilled?

A man called Viscomte d'Argent is behind it all. Him and one Callaghan. They run their operation from the Luvafair - ye remember that empty joint, don't ye?

Destini did remember the old joint. She remembered it well. It was abandoned. Occationally a person or two would be there out of simple curiosity, but mostly, it was cobwebs and dust. Barely worth the coin to pay the taxes for the land it sat on. She continued reading.

Well, it's not empty anymore. They run some kind of operation from here - selling weapons to the NNGO and other criminal groups and finance it all through slave trade. Nasty business. Tomorrow I'm going to raid that place and rest assured d'Argent will die slowly fer all he's done. If he's still there. I'm sorry I still don't have any better news fer ye. I hope this letter finds ye alive and well.

May Jah and all the other gods up there help us all. Me thoughts and prayers are with ye.

Pagan

She re-read the letter, pausing over the important lines again and again. Viscomte d'Argent. Cardinal Faheud had mentioned that name at the briefing in Hastings before she'd left. It had been difficult to put an emotion to the name at that time. It hadn't meant anything to her then. The name was a part of her mission to Eire, nothing more. Now, however, it did mean something. Anger coursed through her Irish veins. Eventually, she couldn't hold it in any longer. She stood and found she could see the sea from this marketplace alley. She looked to the northwest, to Ireland, to her homeland. And this time, she did not turn that direction out of nostalgia or worry. No.

Now, she turned to Ireland out of anger.

"Ye were WARNED!" she cried to the just visible ocean. Allan had come to Eire to warn her kin of the danger to her king, her kin, to Zanditin. Now he was dead. Pagan had been poisoned and tortured. And they had been warned! Anger to D'Argent turned to anger for her kin. Her voice which had started low turned quickly to shouts. "Ye were HANDED the path to SALVATION! An' Ye. Did. NOTHIN'! NOTHIN'!!!"

She fell to her knees with the letter in her hand. "Ye didnae save him!" Her anger was quieting now to despair. "I didnae save him." She had left Eire in an effort to save her kin.

She had failed.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"WHAT in Heaven's Name did that letter say?" asked Allan, "The Cardinal's note just said that letter had arrived for you, was urgent and you needed it immediately.

What in heaven's name has happened?"

Allan was worried....

Destini

Destini looked up at Allan. His face was a reminder of all they had been through together. All she'd been through for the sake of her beloved kin. Still, for Allan, she would continue, would try to persevere. "High King Zanditin." she managed through tears that had not yet fallen. "My king ... my kin ... is dead."

As much as she wished that was all the letter had said, she continued. "My best friend, my kin, Pagan has been tortured by this Viscomte de Argent ... or one of his agents ... I amnae certain which." She handed Allan the letter so he could read for himself.

"I've failed, Allan," she said. Her gaze drifted out to the early afternoon light on the sea. "We've failed." Despair clouded her vocal tone. "King Viceroy o' England is dead. King Zanditin o' Eire is dead. What have we left to fight fer?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Justice calls when good men fall. We have to stop further poisonings and bring d'Argent and his folk to bloody justice.

I swear it. We.Shall.Find.Them.

Nothing can save them from me....."

Allan was determined, and more, he was Pissed.

Heads would roll.

Allan considered these things as he pulled Destini into a hug...

Destini

She relished Allan's arms about her, needed him to hold her always. Unlike when news of Alberic had reached them the night before, this time, the tears didn't fall. Zan's passing was too much of a shock. She couldn't believe he was actually gone. Pagan's letter said it unequivocally. Her king, her kin, her friend... Zan was gone. She simply couldn't fathom a world without him.

No more than she could fathom a world without Allan. She held him close to her, needing his strength. Her anger boiled beneath the pain and she longed to see Pagan again, to ensure she was alright. Even so, what use would they be in Eire? Even if they found a ship to Eire, even if they found this Viscomte d'Argent, what good could they do against such reckless hate?

"We could be walkin' into a maelstrom." she said to her partner. Allan was her partner in the Cardinal's line of work, in friendship, and in ... more. She pulled away enough to look into his eyes without sacrificing her arms around him or his around her. "E'en with Peck bringin' us the missive, this message has undoubtedly taken some time to find us. We donae e'en know if their attack was successful. Viscomte d'Argent could be dead." She hesitated a moment before adding, "Pagan could be dead." It was time to consider the worst could, indeed, happen. Destini tried to prepare herself for it.

A thought occurred to her. Allan had blanched before handing her the letter. Why? "How did ye know this letter would be bad news? Ye hadnae e'en opened it when ye handed it to me."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan answered directly. "His Grace used my first name in greeting. He has never done that unless I am meant to drop all shields and do what the message says. It is a very old code with us, and invariably dire. I am sorry for your King and hope we may yet save Pagan. Perhaps we should to the docks and see what may be seen?"

--Constable_wainwright

The broken pistol-crossbow had been a fine piece of work. It had clearly been well-cared for up to the end. Whoever had lost it would likely want to replace it as soon as possible. If Brightpoint was headed to the market, perhaps that was why. There was one craftsman in town who specialized in ranged weapons. His bows were utilitarian works of art, the best Wainwright had ever seen. If the broken crossbow's former owner wanted to replace it, that was where he'd go.

Wainwright was almost dismayed he did not see Brightpoint checking out the merchandise when he arrived. Still, there was some information to be gathered here. "Master Bowyer, a word if you please."

The craftsman came out from behind his counter where he had been working at his string jig. "What can I do for you, my Lord?"

Wainwright scanned the small shop and noticed one or two items were missing. The craftsman turned a fine profit from his work. He turned his direct gaze on the craftsman. "I am searching for a man who may have bought a hand-crossbow sometime this morning. Tell me, do you craft such an item?"

"Why, yes indeed, my Lord. Though most prefer my hunting bows. Not much use for hand-crossbows unless there's a war going on. Plus, they don't shoot as far as the full sized crossbows. Not enough leverage, you see."

"Nevertheless," said Wainwright dismissively. "Did you sell such an item this morning?"

The master bowyer nodded. "Indeed I did, my Lord. The customer didn't even bother haggling for it. I made my wages on that one, I did indeed." he grinned.

Wainwright described Brightpoint. "Was that the man who bought the crossbow?"

Again, the craftsman nodded. "Why, yes, indeed, my Lord. That'd be him."

Wainwright thanked the master bowyer and left. His eyes scanned the marketplace. Now, he really had some questions that needed answers. Where would they have gone next? The woman with Brightpoint had said they were headed for Ireland. A ship, then. Sooner or later, they would end up by the docks. He would catch Brightpoint there. His steady gait headed for the docks.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn heard Richard inside, just finishing up his purchase.

Good. And really...twenty minutes to pick out a pair of sodding boots? He had never taken Grimthorn to be an overstuffed popinjay, but there you had it.

What was that over there by the Bowyer and Fletcher shops? That damned constable again? He was asking questions of the Bowyer. The same spot Allan had been purchasing a replacement bow from. Damn.

Matter of time, Allan, matter of time.

On the good side, Brightpoint and MacKenzie had headed off toward the docks. If Jah was merciful, Richard would soon shut the codfish up in there, stop haggling, and pay the man-- they could whisk their friends away to the ship he now knew awaited them.

NOW Richard......for love of. Jah, now..

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn sighed. "Would you be patient!" he said to Corwynn in an exasperated tone. "I thought patience was one of those virtues you men of Jah harped so much upon!" Still, he was done with his haggling. The greedy merchant had been charging far too much for the boots he'd bought. With a bit of persuasion (strangely enough not the usual deadly persuasion he was accustomed to using) Grimthorn had been able to haggle the merchant down to a reasonable price. These things took time. He paid the merchant, unlaced his old boots, and put on his new boots. Yes, these would do very well indeed. However, the old boots were still in good enough shape to be worn again. Waste not. Grimthorn shoved the boots in his pack. If the over-careful brother wanted him to get rid of them later, so be it. If not, that was fine too. He emerged from the merchant's stall and met Corwynn outside. "Fine. Let's go."

--Brother_corwynn

"We need out of this market, before *that* constable there," Corwynn pointed at Wainwright across the way, "Decides to come question us and sees those boots bulging in your pack."

Corwynn set out the back way from the market at speed.

"We'll circle around to the docks. I got us four passages on a ship leaving the harbor in an hour. Looks like you and I are bunkies en route to Ireland, Richard.

And yes I have patience. How else would you be walking around all un-ventilated and what not after last night?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Bunkies? Ireland? Oh, no. Five or more days on the Irish Channel with that annoying prat as a bunk-mate was more than he could take. Grimthorn thought he was going to hurl. And he wasn't even on a boat yet. "Ireland? I don't want to go to Ireland." Grimthorn complained. He increased his pace to catch up to Corwynn. "I can just as easily assist you in thwarting the Red Duke without going to Ireland. Fist and fire-fights are best left to those well-trained. I've learned as I had to. I'm not bad in a fight, no, but still. I'd rather hand you the not inconsiderable information I have on my former co-workers somewhere I won't have to worry about getting killed! I do not want to go to Ireland." said Grimthorn emphatically.

"And I certainly don't want to bunk with you."

--Brother_corwynn

"Ahh then we are agreed! And eventually, you will get to the part where I care.

You can always stay here and spend quality time with that Constable and his stout lads. I expect they might be a bit stern with you though."

Corwynn smiled widely as they arrived at the docks. He spotted Destini and Allan nearby

"Ahh, Brightpoint! I got us passage on the ship leaving here for Liverpool and Eire. Two cabins. Richard and I insist upon sharing one."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn almost decked Corwynn right there. Almost. He held his fist back in favor of emphatically disagreeing with Corwynn's final statement. "I do not insist upon sharing a cabin with you!" Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. The constable was coming toward the docks. "However," said Grimthorn a little less annoyed now that he realized his demise was inbound on the docks unless they got out of there. "I do insist we board the ship immediately. We can work out the matter of the cabins once aboard." He turned to Brightpoint. "Unless you'd like to spend some quality time with the inbound constable.... Because I certainly don't" He inclined his head subtly behind him in the direction of the constable.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint could not have agreed more.

"Excellent point. Let's get on a ship and lay low as soon as possible!

And yes, Richard, you will be sharing a cabin with Corwynn. As Arch-Deacon and Chief of Security for Cardinal Faheud Archbishop of Southwark, new Earl of Horsham, and Speaker of English Parliament, I officially appoint Brother Corwynn your mentor."

Allan took Destini's hand and led her up a nearby gangplank on the ship Serenity, which Corwynn had pointed out.

--Constable_wainwright

Constable Wainwright spied Brightpoint and the woman boarding a ship with two others behind them. By Jah, he hadn't been fast enough!

"Brightpoint!" he shouted through the dockside crowds to the gangplank. "Brightpoint! I swear you'd better come back here now or you'll face the hangman's noose the next time you set foot in Holywell!"

The ship's gangplank retracted and the anchors were raised. The ship began to row out of port. "Brightpoint!" cried Wainwright in anger at being thwarted. He stood at the edge of the pier as the ship pulled away.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint looked over the railing at a familiar--if unloved voice. That idiot Wainwright.

Allan waved at him with a smile, though his eyes said what he murmured, "You incompetent git, I shall have your job for the unlawful town you keep...."

He turned away from the railing after having caught his enemy's eye.

--Brother_corwynn

"You do keep the most interesting friends about the lands, Arch-Deacon." commented Corwynn as he rubbed the corner of his eye with the tip of a middle finger.

"Come! Student! Let us settle into our quarters and then begin some fitness training...."

Brother Corwynn bustled his new mentoree in the direction of below-decks as ship's crew set the sails to full and clambered about the rigging...

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn muttered a series of curses under his breath. He lifted his pack onto his shoulders and stormed after Corwynn. Student? Hardly. Was this how the 'good-guys' treated their lackey's? He almost preferred being one of the 'bad-guys'. At least he lived in relative comfort ... even if always under the threat of possibly being killed. Grimthorn paused his cursing to think about that. Corwynn knew he'd killed Barkley but hadn't said anything to Brightpoint or the lady MacKenzie. Nor had he indulged in any revenge for besmirching the 'good-guy' code. Perhaps this 'good-guy' thing had merit after all.

... then again ... there was that horrid fitness thing that Corwynn seemed so eager to begin.

Destini

A part of her wanted to laugh at Corwynn and Richard, but the news of Zan's death weighed heavily on her still. In less than a day, she had been informed that two of her dear friends were dead and a third had been tortured and mutilated.

"First Alberic now Zan," she murmered as she looked across the deck of the Serenity to the NorthWest. "The best o' us are dead or dyin', Allan. While the rest o' us are left behind." She was speaking aloud, but she didn't really expect Allan to answer.

She went to the railing and looked out across the open Irish Channel to the unending horizon. From here, she couldn't see the shores of the Emerald Isle, but she knew it was there. Beyond that endless horizon lied her homeland. The place where her kin were being successively murdered. From here, she could do nothing to stop it. Her jaw clenched in determination and barely-bridled anger. "How, in Jah's most holy name, did it come to this?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded at the logic of despair and its matching tone in Destini's voice.

"Well, it is all down to that damned freedom of choice thing. Jah grants us that and we must either use it for good or for ill.

I believe our task is to save whom may be saved and at the very very least, avenge the fallen."

Allan looked at the fading port and wondered if he'd see England again...

Destini

"Seems there are more who use their will fer ill than good." she said. Despair riddled her tone. "I think our visit to Eire will be more one o' vengance than o' rescue if things continue as they are." It was a morbid thought, but she couldn't say she was overstating the situation. When had they last had something go exactly the way they'd wanted?

She looked to Allan and watched his gaze wander backward to his own homeland. What must he be feeling now? She reached for his hand with her own and interlaced her fingers with his. Her gaze searched his face for signs of what he was feeling. As a performer, she had a sense of how to read a person. It was one of her traits that made her a perfect attache to the Cardinal. She read tavern audiences all the time. She knew whether they wanted a fast song to dance to or if they needed a slow ballad to refill their tankards and enjoy a quiet chat. But Allan was different than the average farmer and craftsman that entered the taverns. There were times, like now, that she couldn't read him at all. Right now, she had no idea what was going through her partner's head. It worried her, but it did not invite inquiry.

She bottled her worry, her anger, and her despair in favor of planning for upcoming events. Vengence for Zan's death focused her thoughts. "Brother Corwynn stated this ship will go to Liverpool first, an' then to Eire. Will Richard an' Brother Corwynn disembark in Liverpool where the constable cannae reach them? Or do ye think they will come to Eire with us?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint looked down into the water a moment and then up at Destini.

"You cannot think of it that way. The numbers who work for ill by will or ignorance are irrelevant. It is the skill, knowledge, and determination of those who oppose them that matters more.

To be fair," he continue before the glint he thought he spied in Destini's eyes could ignite, " it is not pleasant to face such an array. We will not do so alone. I have decided that Richard and Corwynn need to travel with us."

He grinned

"It would not be the first time I jimmied a door shut in the night to keep a sailor where he needed to be...but that is another tale..."

Destini

She swallowed the despair as best she could. Allan was right. Determination and skill were required here, not emotion. Knowledge they didn't already have could be acquired once they landed in Eire and were able to assess the situation. She was glad Richard and Corwynn would be with them. "We arenae soldiers. We are attaches," she said softly. "I agree that we will need Richard an' Brother Corwynn. I fear we will need all the help we can get."

Her thoughts returned to Zan. With the thoughts, the emotions also returned. She glared her anger into the water beside the ship. She almost believed if she stared at it long enough, it might start to boil. "Allan," she began hesitantly, uncertain how exactly to phrase her question. The edges of her voice were harsh and she tried to soften it with whatever vocal skill she could muster. "How do ye maintain yer focus? I've watched ye put aside yer emotions to do what the mission required. Ye did it when ye were poisoned. Somehow, ye continued on e'en despite the odds. How do ye do that?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"The mind, it turns out, is much like those spyglasses we see ship's captains use. You can focus it well on a specific place and go straight to it. Or you can pull back and see a broad picture--in less detail--with many different bits clamoring for attention and action."

Allan pointed to the crows nest above them

"Ignoring something you do not have time or energy to deal with is like focusing on that crows nest above all else until the rest fade to the background. With willpower, that focus becomes like the spyglass and brings you in much closer and blocks other images more completely."

Allan rubbed at that spot on his shoulder where Elias had struck

"I had to completely ignore this wound in order to continue, so I had to grab onto something intensely important which would draw all focus an energy away from the wound and the creeping poison.

In that particular case it was getting you safely to Sussex."

Allan heard the sounds of good-natured bickering at the other rail and grinned, "Some are better at focus than others..."

--Richard.grimthorn

"What do you mean I'm rationed to one pint a day?" complained Grimthorn to Corwynn. Grimthorn was feeling a little seasick already. Ale helped to dull the feeling, but his tolerance was such that one pint would not completely quell the uneasiness in his stomach. "What kind of horrid treatment is this?! You mean we paid to be catered to so poorly?!" He grasped the railing as a larger wave rocked the boat. His stomach lurched at the sudden movement. No, this trip would not go well at all. "I swear I'm getting off this damned piece of flotsam as soon as we make port in Liverpool!"

--Brother_corwynn

"Richard."

It was a touch of steel beneath the tone of geniality, perhaps. Or maybe it was the lack of a quip. At any rate the discussion was suddenly shrouded as though heavy wool had just surrounded them both.

Corwynn continued.

"This is not a pleasure voyage or a holiday cruise. We are not Royalty to be feted with virginal serving wenches and dainty drinks and treacle tart at a whim. This is different."

Corwynn's unusually stern presence backed people away instinctively.

"This is serious. This is about saving lives. Including yours."

Corwynn let his tone drop to a whisper just within hearing as he ended, "Do you think for one moment that you will evade both the law (I presume the chap in Holywell knows how to send a warrant to Liverpool) and the people to whom you tendered a recent resignation?"

Corwynn let the stern cloak fall away.

"We'll stay on board, help complete this mission, and then see how the Cardinal can make excellent, well-paid use of a highly astute businessman with a slight flaw in his character. Shall we?"

--Richard.grimthorn

"My resignation from the service of the Red Duke is one of the reasons I do not want to go to the front line in your little war." hissed Grimthorn in return. "The matter with the law makes things admittedly more complicated, but based on the constable's manner as we left the port, I have to assume I am not his primary suspect." The ship lurched again and Grimthorn swallowed to maintain his composure. Once the feeling of being ill passed and he'd steadied himself, he watched Corwynn a moment before continuing. "I still have information on my former co-workers that I have not yet given you. If I do indeed have no choice but to come with you to the front line, you'd best ensure that I remain alive to give what information I have to your cardinal, then, mm?"

--Brother_corwynn

"That is a fair expectation, and one I am happy to report a good history of succeeding at. Unlike some people in the Service of His Grace, I tend to come home with all people and equipment I started with."

Corwynn smiled and handed Richard a flask from a cloak pocket. It was silver and sloshed happily with near a pint of whiskey in it.

"Settle your spirits with that and lets talk about what we can do to harness your acuity of observation into making you and all of us more....durable...."

--Richard.grimthorn

There were times when being a good business man came in handy. It seemed this was one of those times. Grimthorn, who had been expecting a harsh rebuttle to his comment, was delightfully pleased to accept the flask and drain a mouthful of spirits from it to settle his own. He handed the flask back to Corwynn with an appreciative nod. "I think we may be able to work together, brother." He grinned.

Destini

Destini thought about what Allan had said about focusing on the important in order to block out that which she could do nothing about. Currently, the one thing she eventually had to do something about was the very thing she was too far away to do. D'Argent. Pagan's letter stated she was preparing a raid in order to bring D'Argent to justice. Would she be successful?

A part of Destini hoped that Pagan hadn't been successful. Of course, she wanted her best friend to be alive. But she also wanted a word with D'Argent herself, wanted to make him pay for what he'd done to her kin. Vengence was not out of the question, no matter what Allan had said. "Allan, what do we know o' this D'Argent? How cunnin' is he? What do ye think his motivation is fer attackin' my kin? How can we defeat him?" She wanted a profile of this man. "The more we know o' him, the better we can eventually defeat him."

If Pagan had not been successful -- and if she was still alive -- she should know that a small company of folk were headed her way. Together, they might turn the tide against D'Argent and his men. Suddenly, Destini had another question. "An' where is Peck?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"d'Argent is pure Evil. He tried to pretend to be noble and good to gain arcane knowledge from Mother Mary and from the Cardinal. He was spotted as unworthy of lore and sent back to France. he will never have forgotten that insult.

He is part of a larger scheme to prosper through chaos. Some in it want power, some in it want profit, d'Argent wants vengeance and to harm anyone associated with good.

Your Kin are too powerful and too steadfast in wanting stability. They are natural enemies to all d'Argent stands for."

Allan pondered for a moment, "Think of d'Argent as Anto Capone but with a sense of strategic planning, ability to stay focused, personal hygiene, and interpersonal skills."

Allan then withdrew from his hood a sleeping pigeon.

"Peck is right here. I have been wondering whether to send him back to His Grace with a report, or to let you send him to Pagan to know help is coming."

Destini

She weighed the options. "On one hand Pagan knows that help is comin'. I have told her that in previous letters. Though, she doesnae know I bring allies." Her fingers gently petted Peck's downy feathers. Strange as it might be, the pigeon was also an ally. She hated constantly sending the dear bird into danger. "But we must also consider that if we send Peck to Pagan, we may gain more information regardin' the situation in Eire prior to our arrival... assumin' o' course that Pagan is able send a missive back before we make landfall."

Looking up at Allan, she presented the other option. "On the other hand, His Grace doesnae know o' Richard. Nor does he know we are plannin' on takin' Brother Corwynn with us 'gainst D'Argent. We have found a ship to Eire 'board the Serenity." Her fingers touched the railing of the vessel. "The Cardinal may wish to know that we are safely set out on our mission to Eire."

"Though whether we come back equally safely is another matter entirely." She looked into Allan's clear eyes and could not resist drifting a gentle finger down his cheek. Her pain at Zan's passing and worry for Pagan was all a part of her passion for life. It was a passion she wished to freely share with Allan. At this moment, her soul was open. But now, there was a decision to make. She wasn't sure she should be the one to make it. "Ye are the higher ranked o' our party, Allan. I'll leave the decision in yer capable hands."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"ah then. You will use Peck. What I have not shared is that I can go ashore at Liverpool and send a courier from the Cathedral there."

Allan handed peck to Destini for her to use forthwith.

"Now... this seems a rather dull lot. Perhaps some shanty music to make the decks more lively?"

Allan withdrew a steel whistle from his cloak...

Destini

Destini smiled gratefully to Allan and gently cradled the bird a moment before pulling some corn from her pack to feed the recently awakened pigeon. The feed would keep it occupied whilst she pulled parchment, pen, and traveling ink well from her satchel. With her tools, she fashioned a letter to Pagan.

~5 June 1459 ~ Betwixt Holywell & Liverpool, Westmorland, England ~ Aboard the vessel Serenity ~

Dearest Pagan,

I am deeply sorrowed and angered at the death of our king and friend. Pagan, my friend, I will not lie to you. I want vengence. I hope you have killed the Viscomte d'Argent. But if you have not, I want a word with him myself for the atrocities he has committed against our kin. You know what I am like when I want vengence. This time, I will not back down.

I have secured passage aboard a ship named Serenity. I come with three allies, agents of Cardinal Faheud, to aid you. Though we are not soldiers, I think our information and talents will be of use to you. Look for our arrival by light of the third day. We should be in port in Eire by then.

If you are able (and I pray you are) please send us word on the situation before we make landfall. It will help us prepare.

Yours in allied service,
~ Desti

She fastened the letter to Peck's leg and sent the bird off with the whispered words, "Find Pagan."

After watching the dear bird fly off to the NorthWest, Destini pulled out her own Irish whistle and joined Allan in his sea shanty.

When the tune had faded away, Destini placed her Irish whistle back in the pouch upon her belt. "Allan," she said after a moment of silence. "Ye said ye also trained with the Reverend Mother Mary. With Elias, too, unless I have mixed up the stories ye told me. Was d'Argent with ye then? Did ye know him personally?" She hesitiated, not wanting to ask her next question, but needing the answer all the same. "Are ye in personal danger by headin' to Eire to face him?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan laughed, "Aye, he was with the Cardinal's attache training unit back in the day. He was let go because those in command found him to be all too willing to explore ways to harm as he was interested in ways to help. To be fair, my duties have always been a mix of both...but he took excessive satisfaction from succeeding at learning new ways to end a life.

I cannot say I am in any more danger facing him directly than I would be dodging pirates, ambushes and assassins. More to the point, I know his weak points in fighting. Direct conflict is not his specialty. He likes to have the jump. Let him get behind and surprise you, and you may quickly whisper your apologies to Jah, for he will end it all soonish."

Allan commented wryly, I do believe we have a fairly impressive array of skills on our team. And I'd pitch our collective Intelligence against any forty of the enemy.

That said, we cannot afford to be arrogant. Always assume the enemy are better than they have any right to be. I did not sufficiently respect Elias' skills and caught a poisoned bolt for my stupidity.

Thank Jah I had you there to have my back..."

He leaned over and kissed Destini on the forehead.

Destini

The warmth of his kiss on her skin soothed her ravaged spirit, her worry, her anger. It focused her somehow. Her shoulders released some of their tension and she smiled slightly. Her eyes glinted in the early evening light when she looked up into his face as he moved away. She now had an idea what Allan was talking about now when he'd told her to focus on what mattered at present.

But they also had to prepare for the future. "We should meet with Brother Corwynn an' Richard this eve. Perhaps o'er dinner," she suggested. "They donae yet know the High King o' Eire is dead. Brother Corwynn may have additional information he didnae tell us last night due to his ..." she paused to grasp the right words, "... unconventional arrival whilst we were, well, slightly inebriated." The barest hint of a blush colored her skin. She recalled trying to fire a crossbow bolt at Brother Corwynn. Thank Jah that the whiskey's effects had caused her to miss. "I also think Richard has some information he hasnae told us which may help us."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well, I am certain that tea we had last eve may have had a bit of a kick to it, but all is well that ends without an arrest."

Allan smiled as he spoke, and then shifted to serious tones

"You are right. If you will order up dinner for four in our cabin, I will let the others know to join us there.

Allan grabbed a passing cabin boy and gave instructions.

"You, boy! Go over to the other rail and let those two men know they are kindly invited to join lady Destini and Arch-Deacon Brightpoint for dinner in our cabin. Tell them half past the dinner bell. And to wash up. There is a good lad."

Allan released the cabin boy and tossed him a sixpence for his troubles.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn stared at the food being served in the mess hall in utter dismay. "You have to be joking. Cold biscuits and dried fish? We're expected to eat that? I know you said we're not on holiday, but really, there's only so far a man can go on such limited fare." Grimthorn cast Corwynn a grimace. "Is this what passes for food here?"

--Brother_corwynn

Brother Corwynn was just about to answer that they would eat what they were served when a small boy scampered up.

'Beggin yer pardon sirs, but the Sir and Madam over on the Port Rail send their compliments and ask if you would join them for dinner and conversations in their cabin below-decks."

Corwynn grinned, "Jah provides, Richard, Jah provides. Thanks lad, tell them we will be along after the dinner bell sounds."

He threw a coin to the boy, whose eyes widened as he chortled, "Cor! Thanks, mate!" and scampered off again.

"You worry too much, Richard," admonished Corwynn, "too much worrying either sounds like whining or is depressing or both."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn's eyes cast down to the floor boards. Corwynn was right, of course. Grimthorn realized he was beginning to sound like that idiot Elias. "Understand, Brother." he tried to explain. Why he tried to explain was beyond him. For some moronic reason Grimthorn actually believed Corwynn needed to know where he was coming from. Good grief! Was he actually beginning to respect this man of Jah, too? "My duties to the Red Duke were to stay in a given locale and report on the actions of parties he found either useful or harmful to his cause. I did not go traipsing across the country or galavanting about the seas. I only ended up here because the idiot Elias failed so miserably in his duties that I was forced to take over his assignment. Lucky for Brightpoint and your team? Yes. Lucky for me? It would seem not."

He sighed. "So if my words are depressing you, Brother, I could apologize, but i won't bother. The world is full of depressing injustices and terrible situations. Mark my words. Where we are going, things will only get worse."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn nodded soberly, but a twinkle hid poorly in his eyes.

"Of course things will get worse and life is not fair. Can you imagine if the world were actually fair? If we actually deserved everything that came our way?

No, I prefer to delight in the general hostility of the world and let it go at that.

If Brightpoint feels your perceptive abilities and skills at weaving out of tight spots--not to mention business acuity--are a worthy addition to our team, he must see a great need for it.

We may as well make the most out of it and have a laugh at what we cannot control anyway.

There is the dinner bell! Let's get below and see whether the fare is better than topside, shall we?"

Sure enough the dinner bell was jangling up on the foredecks.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched Corwynn's back a moment as the brother headed below decks before following on unsteady sea-legs. The cabin Corwynn headed for was next to their own shared cabin. After knocking gently on the door, they entered. The delightful aroma of roast meat greeted their arrival. Grimthorn belatedly returned the grin Corwynn had given him above decks. "Jah does provide."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's face lit up as the party was now complete. "Come in, gentlemen, come in! Dinner is served!"

The display, whilst simple, looked hearty and well tasty. Allan handed a pouch jangling with coin to the cabin boy who left saying "Wine for six on the way, Sirrah!"

Destini

Destini turned to look at Allan. "Six?" she asked him. "Are ye expectin' others? 'Twould be best if we four could have a chat an' compare notes, as 'twere."

She beckoned Brother Corwynn and Richard to join them. "Aye, I admit. Dinner was a ruse to get ye both here. Nay such thing as a free meal, as they say. Allan an' I have information ye both donae have. An' I think ye both have information we donae have. Consider this dinner a meetin' o' the minds." She stood and began to serve food onto her own plate.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well...." began Allan, "I ordered wine for six because I saw the bar bill that went onto Richard's tab last night. Beastly. DO help yourselves to a plate, gents, 'tis hot and fresh and we have much planning to do."

Allan sat and began to fill his own plate.

--Richard.grimthorn

"What do you mean my tab?" asked Grimthorn as he piled food onto his own plate from a seated position. These damned floorboards were constantly moving. It made doing anything standing impossible. "From what I recall of last night, you," he eyed Brightpoint. "continued drinking long after I had left the table." A smirk lifted the corners of his mouth as he handed the serving utensils to Corwynn. "Besides, the tab wasn't for a Richard Grimthorn. So I believe Simon Sezz will end up paying the bill."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan laughed loudly. "Well said Richard! Well said!

Except

I might have been feeling prankish in my cups and corrected the accounting a bit, since you had left table without leaving a tip.. Frankly, I'd steer clear of Holywell for a bit....."

--Richard.grimthorn

The smirk died on Grimthorn's lips. "Steer clear of Holywell. Hm. Yes. For more reasons than that one, I'm afraid." His flat tone threw a sudden damper on the merriment of the evening. The silverware clattered as Grimthorn dropped his fork onto his plate. His eyes glanced to Corwynn and he met the brother's gaze. Taking a deep breath, Grimthorn folded his hands and considered his words carefully before speaking. "As you say, my lady," he bowed his head slightly to the lady MacKenzie, "I do have information you do not. I haven't been entirely honest with you." The latter sentence was said to Brightpoint. "A shock, I'm sure." he said sarcastically. They knew as well as he did that he hadn't told them the full truth. Merely enough truth (and enough lies) to keep them from killing him.

His gaze locked on Brightpoint's. "You were not the prime suspect of the tavern murder last night... or at least, you shouldn't have been. Any crackpot constable would have been seeking me ... not you. But apparently, he had an axe to grind with you." He leaned back in his chair. His muscles tensed slightly. He prepared to defend himself, if necessary, before clarifying his confession beyond all doubt. "I murdered the man in the tavern last night."

--Brother_corwynn

"Ahhh, " said Corwynn, stabbing up a healthy chunk of roast pork, "Confession makes such a spice to a fine meal, does it not?

Well Done Richard. We must have no major unknowns if we are to navigate the already treacherous waters that surround us.

Don't you agree, Allan?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Jah's coldest Hell, man!" We are trying to lay low after being ambushed and you wander, seven sheets to drunk to a tavern and kill someone? Do you absolutely need to display for the world the possibility that your brains are where you may sit upon them?"

Allan slapped the table and he reflected it was good the wine had not showed up yet.

He sighed

"What is done is done. Why did you kill that man? Lay it on the table, we need to know what we are dealing with--i.e. will their be half an army sitting in Liverpool with a Bailiwick Special on manacles for us all?"

Destini

Destini looked on Richard with a wide-eyed glare. There was no sign of the friendship that had always been there from the moment he'd saved her life at the River Thames. "Ye'd throw Allan to the wolves to escape justice yerself?" she stated her question quietly. Her anger was tightly contained -- but only barely.

She stood to her fullest height. Her shoulders were held back in defiant fury. She felt betrayed. Not because Richard had betrayed her, but because he had betrayed Allan. Still, throughout her anger, she was able to maintain her eerily quiet manner. "Allan tells me ye have renounced the side o' evil, an' yet ye commit murder an' allow the blame to fall upon yer own comrade?!"

Her gaze looked at him as if she had never seen him before. Her right hand fingered for her crossbow, though she did not draw it ... yet. "Ye'd better have a damned good reason."
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

The look in the lady MacKenzie's eye caused him to hesitate. He had braced himself for an angry retort from Brightpoint, but had not considered the lady's response. His gaze caught the way her hand moved for her crossbow. He recalled how adept she was with the bow and spoke quickly. "It was for your safety!" he said. Which was true ... from a certain point of view. Despite all he had done, Richard had no wish to hurt these folk. Shielding the truth was a means of protecting them.

"It was not idle drunkeness that brought about the murder." he said looking to Brightpoint. Sensing his new comrades would need more information if they were to believe him, Grimthorn obliged. "I found the man responsible for sending the Delaney boys after you." Also true. Barkley had also sent the assassins. "My silencing this man was as much to keep you out of manacles as to stop him from sending more assassins after you. If he couldn't get you outside the law, this man would have tried to confine you within the law. I've had dealings with him before. I knew what to look for." Grimthorn looked to Brightpoint. He was the man who held the decison here. If the Arch-Deacon believed him, the rest would follow his lead. "Trust me, your problems would be multiplied if I had not done as I did."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan considered all this news for a moment before replying. "Actually, Richard, it is not that you silenced a known hostile. That happens in our business.

Doing so while drunk is risky at best and a disaster at worst--but we got past that.

It is actually the failure to quickly communicate you had to take such severe action that put every one of us at high risk."

He looked around the table and went on, "We all have to communicate critical information at first opportunity. We are sailing towards a dicey situation in Eire that can have very painful and fatal disasters awaiting a team that does not share information in a timely way.

Does everyone agree on that?"

Destini

"Aye, Allan," said Destini. But even as she spoke her agreement, her gaze remained fixed on Richard. Her hand moved from its position at her crossbow, but her muscles did not release their tension. She had trusted him. Defended him in front of Allan. But that was before he had confessed to working for the other side. How could she trust a man who had changed sides once already?

His actions at the tavern might not be what they seemed. Perhaps he had intended the constable of Holywell to arrest Allan and send him on a date with the hangman. Perhaps he had come clean only because they had escaped the constable's reach.

But why tell them at all?

Destini's eyes moved to Brother Corwynn who seemed completely at ease with the situation. Coersion, mayhap. Brother Corwynn had figured it out. Yes, that made sense. But did that lessen the offense of the deed? The murder? Destini thought not. And suppose he did want Allan dead. For herself, she would lock and bar the cabin door tonight, and pray to Jah that Corwynn slept armed.

"In the spirit o' tellin' all we know, Brother Corwyn ... Richard ... ye should both know whilst in the market, Peck, one o' the cardinal's pigeons, returned from Eire where I'd sent him to my kin. The bird bore dire news."

She paused long enough to gather herself for reiterating, once again, the death of her kin. "High King Zanditin o' Eire is dead o' the very poison we set out to stop."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Four bloody months of my life spent taking them the antidotes and they.did.not.use.it....." Allan growled.

At that moment the cabin boy was back with two very large bottles of wine and six glasses. "Yer wine sirrah and madam"

The young fellow flourished a bow and departed as quickly as he had arrived, closing the door behind him.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn wished he could fail to notice the tension in the lady MacKenzie. Nevertheless, he tried valiently to ignore it and poured one of the bottles of wine into four glasses for each of his compatriots. He drained half of his own before speaking. "My condolences, lady. A pity, to be sure. To be expected though, I think, based on the culture of Ireland. The Red Duke was counting on the culture to work to his whims, you know. Those who live in Ireland seem to have a bone to pick with any who seek to change them. Many of them emmigrated to Ireland to escape the so called English oppression. Great stupid morons, if you ask me. But probably why, I think, their king died, rather than accept help from an Englishman." He raised his glass in salute to Brightpoint. "Cheers."

Destini

Destini's hand lifted a knife from the dinner table. She was around the table with two strides before she knew what she was doing. The knife was at Richard's throat before she thought to pull back the strength of her arm. To Richard's benefit, however, she did pull back in time.

"First o' all," she hissed at him. "Allan is Welsh nay English." She allowed a little more of the pressure she'd withheld to surge through the hand that held the knife. The blade came dangerously close to cutting through the layer of skin at Richard's throat.

"Secondly, 'tisnae their king, 'tis mine. Zan was my kin -- an' friend to me long before he was king." Her eyes met his. Fury at his insolence to her kin, king, and culture burned through her veins. Grief at Zan's passing manifested into anger at Richard.

Richard had placed Allan at risk and now he was mocking her kin. Indeed, he had known her kin would die. Her hand longed to end his life here and now.

She didn't.

Instead, she pulled back and thrust the knife onto the wooden table. The blade punctured the surface. The utensil stood upright. The knife vibrated in front of Richard and it's silver blade haphazardly reflected the lamplight as Destini moved away without taking her eyes off Richard.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn watched the lady MacKenzie with something akin to the danger and awe he'd first had when she'd leveled her crossbow on him those long weeks ago in a damp traveler's shelter. His blood rang in his ears, free to travel unthreatened through his veins once more, as she took the knife away from his throat and he was safe ... for the moment, at least. The blade's ominous quivering in the lamplight was enough to draw the lady MacKenzie's point home. Grimthorn was safe ... for the moment only. "As I said," began Grimthorn rubbing his neck. He swallowed, glad that he still had the muscles available to make such a simple motion. "A pity. My condolences for your loss."

--Brother_corwynn

No one would have seen him rise from the table, nor remove the knife from the table in gentle, unyielding pressure. And yet all this happened in the blink of an eye.

"What Lady Destini is saying, apprentice Grimthorn, is that you would do well not to assume everyone has as little skin in the Irish game as you do. And also ill done would be assuming that passions are not high about it."

To Destini he said, with an imploring tone, "Forgive him, milady, he has not yet completed his journey to relevance. I accept responsibility for his gaffe and will endeavor to help him correct it."

To Allan he said, "Arch-Deacon, you command this mission. I recommend to you that we make best speed to Eire, even in light of this news, and find what has befallen your brother, find Lady Pagan, find and capture d'Argent, and put an end to the plot there. Let the Red Duke rot in Scotland for all we care as long as he has no sway in Eire or England."

"I would also like to commend Richard for freely admitting his crimes to you and for taking ownership of failing to communicate properly.

Can we move on, then?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan listened to Corwynn and as often was the case calmed down.

"You always were the peacemaker and voice of reason when blood ran hot, Corwynn.

That all makes a lot of sense.

I think we need to establish some simple code words to let the other know we have urgent news.

If you have urgent business, tell me you have just received word from Brother Jerome, and I will know you need a moment."

Allan paused, "I think I need to share more with you all about d'Argent, some things not even Corwynn knows.

d'Argent came to the Hospital of St. Thomas where (then) Brother Elias and I were learning about herbology, poisons, and antidotes, herbal medicines and the like.

He had been sent by (then) Father Faheud who agreed to help an old friend out by providing training for his third son.

d'Argent was smooth, but stand-offish. Brilliant, but sharp. He could ignore pain and discomfort and possessed no perceivable compassion. He does not enjoy causing harm, but is perfectly happy to do so at need.

When it became clear he was using the training to increase his arsenal of deadly skills, Faheud sent him away.

I have never seen such dead eyes. He would slit a throat just to make a room feel less crowded.

I am certain he is the purveyor of the trinary poisons being used in England and Scotland. He works for someone called The Red Duke.

Richard... Can you tell us more about this Red Duke?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Ah, at last. The question Grimthorn had been waiting for was spoken. "I could tell you quite a lot about his grace," said Grimthorn casually as he wiped the grease from his fingers on his napkin. "But I won't."

He sat back in his chair with a subtly smug expression as he faced each of the cardinal's attaches in turn. "Come now, Brightpoint," he said as his gaze landed on the man. "You didn't really expect me to play fair, did you? If I were to tell you everything I know, what is your insensitive to keep me alive in the Irish game?" His eyes shifted to Corwynn when he quoted the brother's words. "When it comes to detailed information about the Red Duke, I will speak only to your cardinal."

He paused a moment before handing them a morsel of information so they would know he did indeed have knowledge worth bartering for. "I will tell you this: that few who see his face ever see it again. Even when my assignments were brought by courier, it was never the same boy twice. His Grace does not deal well with bad news. He didn't obtain the title The Red Duke because he wears red clothing. No, no. Nothing so innocent. Which is precisely why I have no intention of ever crossing his path again." He forked a piece of meat into his mouth and finished the morsel before moving on.

"In any case," he said, turning the conversation away from the Red Duke. Speaking of him was akin to bad luck and invariably shortened one's lifespan. "It's not the Red Duke you should be worried about, at present. It's The Finisher." Grimthorn looked to Brightpoint. "The ghoulish girl was in Holywell as recently as last night. The tart may seem innocent enough, but trust me, she's not to be underestimated. She's as quick and loose with her daggers as she is with her affections."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was frustrated but not surprised. Grimthorn's strength was also his weakness. He was a game player and a barterer. A Negotiator. Had he played himself into a corner? Easy enough to find out.

"If there is one thing I do not need and will not tolerate, Grimthorn, it is distractions during a mission. You can play your games of information barter to a point, but if the game becomes more of a distraction than it is worth, the game ends.

We do not, as of now, know if you can be trusted. You have proven you are holding back, and so it is also possible you are holding back pertinent, critical information of a more-time sensitive nature.

We *do* know you are holding back information that could have fatal bearing on our overall mission."

Allan looked at Destini and Corwynn

"What say you, Destini and Corwynn? Is this game too risky a distraction or irrelevant? Shall we take Grimthorn to Eire as an ally and member of the team, or decide he is holding back too much and let him barter with the fish? Sending him off in Liverpool is no longer an option..."

Allan awaited the thoughts of his companions

Destini

Destini didn't want Grimthorn coming with them. She didn't trust him. However, she also didn't want another death on her conscience. "Let him live, Allan," she said icily. She hated it, but she could see Richard's point of view. She could understand the probable reasons why he was doing what he was doing. "There isnae any point in killin' him fer wantin' to live. We all o' us want to live. As much as I hate to say it, Richard here is doin' so the only way he knows how."

She took a drink of wine, sealing her words. Even knowing what she knew, she had now willingly drank with the man. Courtesy and chivalry sealed her fate with Richard this eve. She couldn't harm him after drinking with him ... no matter how much she wanted to.

"May Jah show ye a better way than coersion an' barter to get ye the salvation ye so richly require."
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"If she whom you have most offended accepts you, then so shall I, Richard.

But please understand. You really need to pick one of two courses, this very minute, my friend.

I am happy to teach you, to speak to the Cardinal of your worth as a future attache, to offer assistance patience and guidance.

But I will not have a spy in our midst, or an unconvinced convert to our cause.

Please pledge to our cause and be one of us, or flee for the ships rail at once and dive overboard--taking your chances with survival.

I hope you choose the former, I really do.

I await your answer."

Corwynn waited attentively.

--Richard.grimthorn

"Do you honestly think for one miniscule moment that I can go back to being in the service of the Red Duke?" Grimthorn asked Corwynn incredulously. He shook his head, answering his own question. "No, I didn't think you could be that daft." He poured a little more wine into his glass and continued. "Even if I wanted to return to his Grace's service ... which I don't by the way, though no one has seemed fit to ask me that ... I'd be dead before I'd uttered the words I apologize. I don't want to be dragged into your mission of hopeful idiocy. But if that's what it takes to bring down my former employer ..." Grimthorn sighed before he committed himself to the sentence, "... so be it."

--Brother_corwynn

"Actually.... you make good points Richard, but you did not actually answer my question..."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn sighed. "Really? I thought I'd been abundantly clear. I cannot go back to work for his grace and you will not allow me to leave you peacefully, so since I don't want to die, there is but one option left to me. I am, through both my decision and yours, your ally." He watched the attaches a moment before adding, "In any case, if you've already decided you're just going to kill me anyway, have done with it and move on. I tire of this game."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan grinned at the rapid exchange.

"Right then. I am sufficiently convinced. Corwynn, it should not be a surprise to you that offering them man join up or die is going to land poorly. If you are expecting Richard to be a cheerful, respectful soldier, you have not been watching closely.

Richard, a message, when delivered with a cloak of belittling arrogance is doomed to land with diminished value and be taken in the most hostile way.

Perhaps a few steps off the extremes here might improve morale and team-work all around."

Allan took a drink from a flask.

"So tell us more of this Finisher...."

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn raised his glass in toast and thanks to Brightpoint, glad that at least Brightpoint was on his side. When he mentioned The Finisher, however, the smile left Grimthorn's face. "She is chaos embodied," began Grimthorn setting down his glass on the table. "I suppose the Red Duke must find her chaos engendered to be worth the service rendered. If she is here, then she was called to assist with his grace's plans. When she wishes to be the center of attention - which is often - she paints herself in the methods of an Oriental courtesan. I can't even say it's false advertising. Except, of course, that she's a born and bred English woman." He leaned over across the dinner table and dropped his voice slightly as if The Finisher herself was outside listening to his every word. "Still, there must be something about her that endears her to the Red Duke. In all my dealings with his grace, I have never known him to suffer fools idly."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn's face danced between horror and amusement.

"Oh. Dear. Well. I believe I ran into a very English, very painted, oriental courtesan in Holywell. Odd turns of flirtation and daggerment.

I hope we have seen the last of her. One ocean channel between us is hardly enough I think. It took me a while in the tavern to realize that broken doll girl was actually hitting on me..."

Corwynn had a hefty drink from his ever-ready supply of flasks.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan yawned, "Well enough that is. If we spot her on board this ship or in Eire I want to know. That said, I think it is about bed time for this Arch-Deacon.

Sleep well, gents."

Brightpoint rose to see his companions off.

Destini

Destini agreed readily. "Aye, I couldnae agree more." She finished her glass and stood. "Cooler heads an' calmer tempers may be easier after we finish with this day o' bein' murder suspects. Ne'ermind if 'twas well deserved or not," The last she said to Grimthorn. She wasn't sure how she felt of having him on their team. A night of rest might clear her mind.

"We will be in Liverpool by dawn an' from thence to Eire. Goodnight, Brother." she curtseyed with a mild smile to Corwynn then turned to Richard. "Richard," she said as a means of farewell to him. She busied herself with cleaning up the dinner dishes.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn stood with a grin etched on his face

"That's our cue to be off, Richard. You are shriven and well set as a member of the team. Let us get some shut-eye and see what the morrow brings. Rest well Allan...Destini.."

Brother Corwynn led the way out of the cabin without a backward glance...

--Richard.grimthorn

Whereas Corwynn had not glance backward at all as he left the cabin, Grimthorn, however, did. Despite that Corwynn had just said he was an accepted member of the team, it didn't quite feel that way to Grimthorn. Changing sides was turning out to be harder than he thought. At least he had kept the information he had about the Red Duke to himself. He disagreed with Brightpoint. Some information had to remain in his possession alone until he was back in England. It would ensure his safety. "Until the morrow," he said with a bow and followed Corwynn back to their cabin.

Destini

As soon Brother Corwynn and Richard had crossed the threshold into the outter hallway and shut the door behind them, Destini turned to Allan. "I stick to my assessment back in the Holywell Inn. I donae trust Richard."

She piled the dishes in a neat stack on one side of the table and left them for the cabin boy to clean up whenever he would appear next. It was busy-work, and idle busy-work at that. The cabin boy would have cleaned it up regardless if she had stacked the dishes or not. Still, it was something for her hands to do ... if only for a moment. She sighed, suddenly horribly weary herself, and set her weight onto the edge of the cabin's bed. "What do we do now?," she asked Allan. "Aye, we're 'board a ship to Eire, but what then? An' -- assumin' Anto's pirates donae doom us to a watery grave -- how do we spend the crossin'? How do we prepare fer makin' landfall if we donae e'en know what will be waitin' fer us 'cross the Eire Channel?" She was sorely worried for Pagan and the rest of her kin. More than that, she was angry and still mourning both Alberic and Zan. It was as if the emptiness of the void they left behind did battle with the weight of what she feared was currently happening in Eire. Her own helplessness amplified it all. The only thing she could do was sit and wait.

"I cannae say I e'en know who to trust anymore, Allan." Her voice was a dismal, even tone. "When loyalties change like fireflies flickerin' in the evenin' summer's heat ... when the best o' us die before their time an' leave the rest o' us behind ... what, in Jah's most sacred Name, can we do?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan listened to Destini as she expressed her worries and concerns, to the many questions.

"I share your concerns my dear. Richard is on a fence. he knows he cannot go back to where he was, but it is difficult for him to leap wholehearted onto our side. I do not believe he would betray us, but I do believe he might panic and just disappear.

I think we can probably impact that outcome by spending the actual crossing working on a game plan, major objectives we need to accomplish, and a clear path back out again to England."

Allan got up and paced

"We cannot let d'Argent run unchecked. We need to take him out. We need to track down his accomplices in Eire and see that the killers of your kin are all punished.

We need to make sure Pagan is safe. And we need to not lose any of our company in the process."

He stopped short and looked at Desti, wondering if he was going to make her feel better or more likely to panic with his next thought. "Much as I hate to say it, we need some time and space between our party and the constable of Holywell. For all that I dislike him, he will certainly discover the bodies in the lake, know it took more than one or two of us to survive the ambush so completely, and be warming up spots on the gallows for us unless there is a compelling reason to do otherwise.

I have to tell you that I'd be very bitter to lose Corwynn or Richard--" he held up a hand to temporarily stave off any outburst about Richard "I see Richard as what he could become, not just what he is and is not now. My real point is that I'd be bitter about losing one or both of them in the Eire operation, but I would be entirely undone if something happened to you. It seems that without trying I have become rather attached to having you nearby.

I know, unremitting worldliness..."

He sat down again, remembering he had not finished answering her questions. She seemed to draw him off track in subtle ways.

"Our crossing should be spent planning how to accomplish our goals and how to overcome the risks that will become real issues once we are there.

In the meantime," he filled their glasses, "Here is to unremitting worldliness. Slainte Mahath!"

Destini

Allan's words were well-chosen and Destini found herself listening to his every word despite her almost violent disagreement on the matter of Richard. It seemed she and Allan were doomed to be on opposite sides of this issue. But she respected his experience and judgement. More than that, she respected him. She smiled softly to him and raised her own glass. "Slainte Mhath," she responded in kind.

She thought on all that Allan had said and realized he had unknowingly brought up a point she hadn't even considered. "Returnin' to England ...I hadnae thought that far. Aye, it must be considered, I s'pose. I joined ye to save my kin. An' now that Zan is dead, we return to save those that're left ... an' we avenge those who arenae," She couldn't help but add the last part. For her, this mission was as much about vengeance as justice. Her hand not holding the glass clutched into a ball. Her fingernails bit hard into her palm as she thought on d'Argent. "Ye're right. D'Argent must be stopped."

"Still, " she continued her original thought, "Returnin' to England implies that nay only are we successful in defeatin' d'Argent, but that we will survive the ordeal. I amnae interested in dyin' fer this cause without a fight, but I also hadnae considered I might survive it."

His words about her echoed through her head. I would be entirely undone if something happened to you. There was a warmth in those words. Aye, she felt the same. And here they were walking into certain danger. She again considered the problems with having a relationship in their line of work. "Danger an' death are what we deal with, Allan. 'Tis what we do. Ye cannae place my life higher than Brother Corwynn's ... or e'en Richard's." She added the latter reluctantly. "An' ye certainly cannae place my life higher than the mission or countless more could die." She paused, thinking of how dark the world would be without people like Allan to protect it. The thought brought a soft smile briefly to her face. "But I do understand how ye feel. For I, too, would be completely lost without ye."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Fair point, dear, and one I agree with." Allan set down his glass and took Destini's hand.

"I will never put one over the other or over the mission. It is not in me to do that. Ever. I was speaking more about the impact of paying the price in personal loss."

He smiled, "I firmly believe we will accomplish our mission and get back to England. We will have another leg of the mission when it comes time to identify and neutralize the Red Duke. I am not so naive as to believe that solving the problems in Eire will make the problem on this side of the Irish sea any less likely to bite us."

Destini

Her clenched fist softened when Allan took her hand. She nodded her agreement. "Aye, this Red Duke willnae cease his attacks upon the English-speakin' world simply because we're able to stop his minions. If we survive this, there will be more to do. Yet I worry my kin willnae understand if I return to England with ye." The last phrase was spoken more to herself than to Allan. It was part of a fear she had not meant to voice. How would her kin greet her return? With open arms or with cold shoulders? What would be their reaction if she left Eire again?

She sighed heavily and shook her head, trying to clear the questions from her mind. "In any case, 'tis all moot right now. Only Jah knows what the future holds fer us. We who cannae see the future must take things as they come." She set her glass down next to his to take Allan's hand as he had taken hers. The movement shifted her to face him more and she found herself looking into his eyes.

"I agree that the only way we shall survive this operation is through careful plannin'. Yet whilst we prepare fer the worst, we should also hope fer the best."

As she ended her sentence, a subtle smile bloomed on her lips and she lost herself in his gaze a moment.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"As long as we are not overwhelmed by the worst that we may face, we are well served to keep our minds on the best that may come.

Kin rarely like what one who travels a lot may do. If they are wise, they will not try to force your hand as I do not expect you'd react kindly to that."

Allan enjoyed the holding of hands--an all too rare occurrence in the life of a traveling attache. He squeezed her hands affectionately before going back on topic.

"We cannot stop the Red Duke just by taking out his minions. We can certainly set his aims back a goodly bit that way, though. Anything that hinders the force behind these terrible events is a good thing in my mind."

Allan examined a half empty bottle "Care to split this before bed?"

Destini

She glanced at the bottle with a half-amused, half-wry smile. "So long as we are more restrained than last night, aye, I wouldnae mind a refresh o' my glass." She chuckled. "Not that I would dislike repeatin' some o' last evenin', but the mornin' was a bit ... brutal." She grinned at Allan.

She disliked letting go of his hand to present her glass to him, but propriety demanded she do so. She returned his affectionate squeeze before un-mingling her fingers from his to reach for her empty glass. She held the goblet steady for him to pour some of the bottle's contents into it.

"We must also discover what happened to the attaches His Grace had stationed in Eire, aye?" It wasn't just Cardinal Faheud's attaches in danger, though, was it? Her posture stiffened slightly. "Yer brother ... he's in danger too. We must do all we can to find him."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As Allan tipped the bottle to Destini's glass he could hear the growing staccato of rain beginning to fall topside. "Ahhhh when it rains we pour!" he said with enthusiasm, filling her glass and then his,

"I recommend this be the last of the wine for the night." He set the mostly empty bottle down on the sideboard.

"I have had no word from my brother for some time, and I have no idea which other friendly operatives might be about. I will be satisfied if we find your kin Pagan well, and my brother unharmed."

Allan sipped at his wine as he brooded on thoughts of what mayhem might have come to pass while they were in England...

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was standing on the deck of the Serenity, along the rail near the gangplank. The ship had docked in the wee hours here in Liverpool and sailors were busily moving cargo around. He had been waiting for over an hour for Richard to wake up and come topside so that they could stretch out a bit on shore. Hopefully any excursions would not involve brawls or arrests.

Never a given with this lot, though, never a given.

--Constable_wainwright

Victim: Reginald DeLaney, deceased
Age: Early 40s
Occupation: Hired hand, often for farmwork, occasionally for more nefarious works
Family: Four brothers, all now apparently deceased
Means of Death: Two knife wounds. Small blades. Possibly throwing daggers.

Means of Victim's Brothers' Deaths: One knife wound, punctured, small blade, possibly the same as Reginald DeLaney. One knife wound to the chest, possibly a long knife. One crossbow bolt to the chest, small, likely from a hand crossbow found earlier this week at the scene of the crime. One crossbow bolt to the throat.

Bodies were discovered by a local fisherman who found them floating in the lake. Rocks filling their pockets likely weighed them down until this morning.

Conclusion: Murder. Hand-crossbow bolts and broken bow hints to Brightpoint being the perpetrator. Examination of the scene several days ago had revealed blood splashes in multiple locations. Distance between the splatters and number of victims implies Brightpoint had accomplices, probably two others.

Brightpoint was last seen boarding a ship bound for Liverpool and Ireland with two others, possibly three. A letter sent by courier might reach Liverpool in time for the constable there to detain them.

Constable Wainwright put his case book away and sat down at his large, maple writing desk to pen a letter to the constable of Liverpool....

--Richard.grimthorn

Clunk.

Clunk.

Clunk.

Grimthorn opened one eye. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Grimthorn closed his eyes again and started to fall back into a light doze.

ClunkClunk.

What on Earth? Grimthorn pulled the covers over his head. That annoying prat Corwynn was probably up to something to get him up. Was it even dawn yet?

Clunkity-Scraaaaape!

Right! That did it! Now, Grimthorn was awake. He was up. And he was pissed. He shuffled with his new boots then angrily thrust open the cabin door. "Brother Corwynn!" he cried as he arrived on deck and saw the brother standing next to the rail of the ship "What in bloody hell is going on?!"

ShuffleShuffleClunk!

The sound came from behind him. Grimthorn turned and saw the ship's crew loading crates of goods into the hold. The sound hadn't been Corwynn trying to wake him after all. Grimthorn's anger evaporated and he sheepishly uttered the most eloquent phrase he could think of. "Oh."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn smiled. He found such amazing humor and interest in this torn soul that was Richard. And he adored his task to annoy the living scones out of the man until he became what he was meant to be, Jah loved those who loved their work. Corwynn felt Jah's love more with each passing day....

"Ah. Richard. Better morning than yesterday, no?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn swiveled his head to Corwynn, a glare in his eyes. He was about to respond in a very foul manner when he realized this was a better morning than than yesterday. Yesterday, he was completely hungover. Today, he was only woken with a start. Damn it! How he hated it when he couldn't even argue his point with Corwynn! Instead, he sighed. "Yes," he agreed reluctantly, "Still it seems my fortunes haven't improved much."

He wanted to add 'I'm still here with you,' but Brightpoint's criticism the night before stopped the words before they left his lips. As much as he hated to admit it, Brightpoint had a point. Arrogance would not serve him in the long run. Grimthorn bit back his retort in favor for, "You're up early."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn grinned at Richard as he walked up and spoke to him. "Early bird gets the brekkie my friend! Would you be interested in a walk shore-side to stretch our legs a bit?"

From where they stood, Corwynn could see a fairly lively port-side market here in Liverpool

--Richard.grimthorn

"Anything to get off this damned boat," said Grimthorn with a scowl. Now that the startle and anger of having woken up the way he did was wearing off, he was again beginning to feel seasick. Going landside would be a delight in and of itself. Breakfast, too, had a degree of appeal.

The port side market Corwynn was looking at seemed decent enough fare, though he couldn't help but notice it was close enough to the ship to make escaping into the city and avoiding the trip to Ireland impossible. Grimthorn suspected this was not accidental.

--The_finisher

Behold the Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Dark Damsel of the Dawn!

Dear Diary,

Being a night owl is so totally un-cool when the ship you're on docks in port at dawn. But since this was, like, my only time to get off the ship and hit the English markets before heading to Ireland, I really needed to get up early. So, I forced myself to sleep the slumber to the night rather than staying up and sleeping during the day.

Ugh. I don't know how those day-dwellers do this all the time! I mean, seriously, what loser gets up in time to see the sun rise? Geez. But, there I was, on deck with the day-dorks. Like I could have slept anyway with all the clunking and shouting as the sailors loaded these huge crates on board. OMJ don't these losers know not to interrupt The Finisher's beauty sleep?! I mean, yeah, really!

So, anyway, as soon as those grubby sailor-dudes were off the gangplank, I was finally able to get off the boat. I'm all swooping down the gangplank all smooth and graceful-like, you know, when a breeze swept my black-as-night cloak behind me like the wings of a raven descending on its prey! ... if, you know, ravens hunted instead of picked over the bones of corpses ... but, then I suppose a corpse could be prey too ... it just can't run away ... obviously. Shut up! My metaphor works, 'kay? Geez, picky much?

Yeah, so.

Ooooooooh! I, like, totally have to leave this diary entry right here because I just spied the cutest corset known to womankind! Sah-weeeet!!!11!

Peace out!

(... ps, that last part is not to be taken literally ... For lo! The Finisher is sooo not peaceful!)

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn saw something odd, and it took several seconds for his brain to accept what he was seeing.

He blinked his eyes, and it was still there. Damn.

"Richard... Going down the gangplank and into the port....do you recognize that...odd...little woman?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn looked off in the direction of the gangplank. His shoulders visibly slumped when he realized what Corwynn was talking about ... or rather whom. He sighed heavily. "That is The Finisher. I rather hope this dismal port is her destination." He glanced at the quiet town of Liverpool and realized the only damage an agent of chaos could perform here would be minimal at best. Not The Finisher's style. "Though, somehow," said Grimthorn continuing, "I highly doubt it."

--Brother_corwynn

"I have a degree of skill at writing letters that appear to be from someone else," explained Corwynn, "Perhaps a note to the local Constable would get miss Finisher held over for questioning for long enough that we could get away from shore sans her company?"

--Richard.grimthorn

"It might work," said Grimthorn, nodding slowly. "But only for a little while. There is no way her incarceration would last for long, I'm afraid. Lawmen are usually just that ... men. I don't think you have any idea what The Finisher's methods usually entail." He grimmaced and shuddered a bit before explaining as much as he could with as few words as possible. "She's one to, shall we say, play with her food. She'll be on the very next boat out of here."

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn nodded... "Fair point you make. And yet, even if she is on the VERY next boat to Eire...it will not in fact be our boat."

--Richard.grimthorn

A slow smile formed at the corners of Grimthorn's mouth and cascaded into a full maniacle grin. "I do like the way you think, Brother!" He placed a friendly hand on Corwynn's shoulder and headed for the gangplank.

"Let's fetch some parchment, shall we?"

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn worried away at the parchment for a few minutes, sensing probable impatience on Richard's part, but these things took time.

"To the constable of Liverpool greetings.

I am investigating multiple murders here in Holywell, and they all point to a young woman named Ivy. She is nick-named the finisher. She is very much faster with dagger draw cuts than any woman should be.

Do NOT let her escape Liverpool

Do NOT fail to search her thoroughly

Do NOT underestimate her.

Holywell will pay for transport of the prisoner back to our jurisdiction. I recommend multiple guards. And a Gag.

^#$%@$ Constable, Holywell

Corwynn looked up, very pleased with himself and handed Richard the letter to examine.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn read over Corwynn's words upon the parchment and actually giggled with conspiratorial delight as he finished reading. "Well done, Brother! With skill like this, you would have been a great asset on my side of the world!"

He read the parchment again and grinned widely before handing it back to Corwynn to send via a pigeon to the local constable. "I must say, I had no idea the side of good was so delightfully ... evil!" Admiration laced his tone.

--The_finisher

Being the Further Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher, Failed Haggler of the Liverpool Bay Area ... amongst other Epic Failures.

'K, so, like, there I was sitting outside that shop where I saw the Cutest Corset Known To Womankind ... tell me you do remember the corset, don't you?! OMJ, Diary, you have a serious lack of attention span! For lo! It was all Black as the New Moon Night with lacings dyed in this tres-cool color of pink that would fry the eye sockets of anyone who dared gaze upon the uber-beauty of The Finisher! Forlorn! I, the Mistress of the Night, could not, in fact, afford it! Sob!

I think I need to ask Dukie to increase my allowance .... again .....

So I was all sitting on a bench outside the store all emo and stuff when this broad shouldered guy wearing a chainmail halberg and a breastplate like totally blocks out the light of the morning sun. Not that I minded him blocking the sun. For The Finisher's pale skin does not, in fact, enjoy the sunlight, at all. But still, it was the principle of the thing. And still, his breastplate was so shiney that the sun he did block was reflected back at me anyway. Dude, I mean, seriously. He must spend like hours in the backroom of whatever hole he lives in polishing that piece of iron to get it to look like that. I wondered what he was compensating for. I mean, he clearly didn't have a girl. So, I'm all put off and stuff by his mere presence and I totally had that bench first. So, I put on my toughest voice and stood up straight so my assets were like all in his face and stuff and I'm all, "What the Hell, like, are benches in Liverpool a comodity now?"

And he's all, "Are you Ivy?"

And I'm like, "Uhm, ye-ah! But it's The Finisher to you, tin can."

And he goes, "I'm the constable of Liverpool and I have a few questions for you."

So I stand and get in his face and go, "Well, go ahead and ask them, coP," I said popping the 'P' just to annoy him.

And he's like, "I have to take you to the Bailiwick, miss."

I pushed one hip out and pouted up at him. "No, you don't" I said to him.

And he's all, "Yes, I do."

And I'm all, "No, you don't."

And he goes, "Yes I do."

At this point, it's a game, so I grin and go, "No, you don't, coP," popping the 'P' again.

That's when he totally spoiled my fun by saying, "Enough." I probably pouted a little more at him.

So I go, "You gotta warrent? coP?"

And he's like, "Yeah," and pulls out a couple pieces of paper.

So I totally get in his face while I take the papers from him. The first one was a letter saying I killed some guys in Holywell. Which, you know, I totally didn't. The letter totally framed yours truly, damsel of complete innocence (for once). Yeah, I know!! I'm sooo not kidding. Who would do that?! But I didn't have time to think about that then, because at that moment, I realized the second piece of paper was, actually, a warrent.

Epic fail!

I thrust the papers back at the constable's gut and would have totally left him breathless except he was wearing that over-compensating breastplate of his. And I'm all, "The letter is lying, coP."

But it was no use, for he put me in shackles and began marching me to the bailiwick. Yeah, I know! I totally have better uses for shackles. But, Whatever! So, now I'm sitting in this dumb, smelly, gruesome jail cell waiting for the copper to come back here. Maybe some feminine wiles would get him to let me go?

Ugh, Total epic fail.

Dukie is so going to kill me.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan set down his tea, which was nearly gone. The idea to pre-order some scones and jam and tea to be delivered at ten bells was brilliant. A lovely evening transformed into restful sleep and an excellent wake-up.

He looked across the small table at Destini

"Shall we go topside and find out how fast we'll be shipping to Eire?"

Destini

She smiled across the table to Allan and took her hand from his before placing the napkin from her lap onto the plate that now contained only crumbs. "Aye, she agreed.

It felt like this would be a lovely day. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, though when, exactly, she wasn't sure. She'd slept far too deeply and too well. She cast another smile to Allan as she tugged on her shoes.

"We should also see to Richard an' Corwynn," she said as she tied her laces. "I do hope they havenae gotten into any trouble o'er the eve."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As the pair made their way up to the deck and out into the breezy late morning, Allan heard Richard and Corwynn cackling hysterically about something. By Jay, those two looked more happy and pleased with themselves that he and Destini did. Hmm...

He turned to Destini, pointing at the laughing men and said, "Now what do you suppose they are laughing so hard about, all smug looking and such?"

Destini

The sight of Richard and Corwynn laughing together definitely wasn't what she had expected when she had suggested she and Allan ensure that the two men hadn't gotten into trouble during the night. She shook her head slowly from side to side in wonder. "I donae know," she admitted to Allan.

"Richard, Brother Corwynn," called Destini to the two men. "Would ye care to share with the rest o' us?"
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn's eyes literally sparkled with mischief as he saw tell-tale signs that little sleep had come to pass in the port-side guest quarters. "Finally awake and about,are we? Well then, Better Fiesta than Siesta, eh?

So I really need to tell you the most amazing thing that has happened in just ages..."

Corwynn paused to make sure it all sunk in

"O wait... for you lot, probably the second most amazing thing in ages, but I digress."

Brother Corwynn winked at Brightpoint and looked knowingly at Richard

"So. I must applaud the sheer brilliance of Apprentice Grimthorn, who this day has assisted with an enormous milestone towards our ongoing safety!!" This last was said with the air of a person announcing holiday was here ten days early with a large gold bonus attached.

Destini

Destini blushed bright crimson and turned to Allan, hoping he would know how to handle Corwynn. She'd never seen the brother in this kind of mood before and was far more accustomed to being in the background and watching or helping quietly on the side rather than being the center of attention.

"Allan ..." was all she could think to say.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn stood up proudly like a robin showing his chest. "Aye, Brother, I gave you the information." He took credit for the piece he had contributed. "But you, Brother! I have never seen such consummate skill in forgery! That, was truly a work of not only skill but art."

If he had been holding a dark ale, Grimthorn would have toasted Corwynn. Instead, he clapped him on the back conspiratorially. "You, Brother, are a craftsman!"

--Brother_corwynn

"Nay, Richard! It was you! "protested Corwynn. "The great undoing would never have been managed if you had not identified the target and inspired my cunning plan!"

Corwynn was enjoying this. Lovely blush on Destini, really...

--Richard.grimthorn

"Ah! But you, dear brother!" continued Grimthorn. "Would we have ever gotten a chance to watch the arrest if you had not found the exact proper spot to hide where we could not only see but hear?" Grimthorn shook his head emphatically. "Somehow, I sincerely doubt it." He couldn't help but laugh as he remembered watching Corwynn's plans unfold into such a delightful reality.

"You, Brother, are a mastermind!"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan's face became stony.

"ENOUGH! Tell us what in the bloody hell is going on. What did you do?"

Allan scowled from one miscreant to the other and back again, awaiting an explanation...

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn chuckled meekly. "Right you are Boss, here is what happened..." He waved Richard off for the moment, "No Richard, we do need to tell the Arch Deacon what we did lest he feel the need to go all stern on us...

So. We spotted that Finisher woman heading to shore down the gangplank and immediately were much concerned with sharing the same boat with a known assassin en route to Eire.

It is as Richard suggests, that I did come up with a plan so cunning it could not fail twice. I crafted a forged letter from the Constable of Holywell to the Constable of Liverpool, naming the Finisher woman as prime suspect in multiple murders.

We saw it delivered to said constabulary, and then enjoyed some hot, roasted corn whilst the strange girl was hauled away in manacles.

There is now practically no chance she gets back on this ship and we'll beat her to Eire by days and days.

Brilliant eh?

Richard?"

--Richard.grimthorn

Although he had seen the work that Brightpoint could do when (what did Corwynn call it? Ah, yes) stern, He was not worried that what had happened to Elias would happen to him. "Yes, indeed, Brother! I think your ingenious plan has sufficiently taken The Finisher out of play ... for the moment, at least." He looked about the boats that occupied the Liverpool harbor and wondered if any of them were going to Ireland. How fast would The Finisher be able to follow if she escaped?

"So long as this boat sets sail within the next few hours, we should be away before she can join us. I, for one, will certainly sleep better if that girl is not aboard." His head inclined toward the towers of the bailiwick and he nodded to his compatriots matter-of-factly.

Destini

"I amnae sure whether to commend ye both or pin ye in yer cabin until we reach Eire," said Destini, exasperation lacing her voice. "Still, I s'pose commendations are in order since ye did get rid o' a possibly dangerous problem."

She was about to say something more when the captain called to raise the gangplank and loose the sails. She closed her eyes briefly and realized the winds were in their favor. While she knew winds from the East were not favorable, their destination lied to the West. Any help Jah could aid their sails would be greatly appreciated.

As the ship pulled away from the dock, Destini smiled to Allan. "At last we're off to Eire."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan chuckled. "Well spoken, my dear. But seriously, gents, that was *well* done indeed. I am very pleased we are operating at this level now.

And it seems happily completed now that we are moving out of the harbor, one maniac short of a crew.

Richard! Did you re-supply our whiskey whilst gallivanting about on shore?"

--The_finisher

These are the Continuing Chronicles of Ivy, The Finisher: Voted off the Boat, Not the Island

For lo! Furlough. That's how I had to get out of jail. Sigh. The poser tin-can cop never did come back to check on me. Yeah, I know. Total loser! Happily, the under-constable seemed more than happy to let me out of my cell for a few, well, you know, pounds. Besides, he was cuter than the tin-can anyway.

So, as I'm turning to leave, the under-constable tried to stop me with these uber-cute puppy eyes. He totally wants me. Too bad for him. The Finisher is far too busy to be tied down by any one man. So, I totally spurned him ... with my daggers.

As I'm walking out I'm all, "Bye, coppy! Thanks for the fun, but you know, I totally have a ship to catch! I hope you don't hold that slit throat thing against me." I blew him a kiss and shouted, "Ta!" as I escaped the bailiwick's prison in all my dark-caped glory.

I'm all walking toward the docks through the market day crowd parting in front of my dark aura. That's when I realized the boat I was supposed to be on was sailing away! And I'm all, "No, wait!"

And it's all sailing away anyway.

So I stood on the docks all emo and stuff as I glared at the parting ship.

I am so pwnd.

Daddy Dukie's totally going to kill me now.

And I need a word with that Tin Can coP ....

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn looked back to the shore in time to see a familiar waifish figure standing forlorn on the docks. He grinned and elbowed Corwynn in the ribs, pointing to the shrinking figure of The Finisher. "Seems Liverpool is opening a dockside bakery, Corwynn. See the tart?" Grimthorn raised his hand to elegantly wave farewell to the annoying little girl. "Good riddance." he muttered happily to himself.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Brightpoint came back to where Richard and Corwynn were waving at the dock. A very distraught, strangely clad woman was standing there in a sulk.

"Well done lads, well done. I think you two make a hell of a team."

Allan smelled something in the air as the ship eased out of the harbor. Something familiar. Something he did not like at all.

"Richard. Please inform the captain that we have ugly weather inbound. I have felt these winds before..."

The Archdeacon remembered his last trip to Eire in a storm. It ended with a long swim...

Destini

The ship was pulling out of the large bay that lead to both Holywell and Liverpool when the winds hit full force. At Richard's urging, the captain had furled the sails so the winds that refused to work in their favor would, at least, not work to their detriment.

Destini's hair whipped about her face as she stared to the West, in the direction of Ireland. The ocean had whitecaps. It churned about the boat like a boiling pot of water. She could smell the water on the winds. She could taste the spray of fresh water from the sky as it mixed with the salt of the sea. Despite the turbulent surface of the ocean, she could see the rains ahead of the ship's bow like a sheet of fabric obscuring the Western sky. The winds from the West were pushing that sheet of water closer to them. It would arrive in minutes.

She looked to the sailors. They, too, were watching the incoming wall of water. Some genuflected and prayed to Jah. She merely watched. Her free locks of hair whipped faster now, tangling in her long eyelashes. She pulled her hair back at the nape of her neck. Her nimble, minstrel's hands quickly braided it into a long rope that ran down her spine. She would need to be ready when her hands were needed. Seafaring was amongst the studies she'd taken in England. She would help the sailors as she could. This ship had to survive this storm. She and her compatriots must get to Eire.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan was not pleased... He shouted over the rising gale at Destini, "I have a bad feeling about this! Get below and hang on Desti, this is going to be a bad one!!"

Even as he said it a spar was torn free of its moorings and took his legs out from under him. He tumbled across the deck, trying frantically to grab hold of something before earning a trip into the angry sea...

Destini

She was going to argue about getting below decks. No, she would be on deck working with the rest of the sailors to survive the storm. They would need her help. Before she could respond, a spar knocked Allan backwards and toward the ships rail. "Allan!" she cried as he was pulled away from her.

One hand latched onto the railing and secured her footing. The other reached for his hand. She wouldn't lose him. Not if she could do anything to help it. "Allan!"

The rain began to fall.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

As Allan started to go overboard, he managed to catch hold of a loose mooring line. This broke his momentum a bit and he crashed to the deck. Brightpoint got his bearings and hurried over to where Destini and the others clung to the deck railing.

"We HAVE to get below. There is nothing to kep us on the deck with this wind. Now MOVE!"

The command in his voice was of the archetypal tone that demanded compliance.

Destini

He might be commanding her, but her fiesty Irish nature would not allow her to back down. "Nay!" she shouted over the wind to Allan. "I willnae cower below whilst good sailors work an' risk their lives to keep this ship afloat! Allan, this ship is our only hope o' reachin' Eire. An' these sailors need our help! I have two hands an' I intend to use them to help them!"

She turned and grabbed a rope and made to tie it about her waist. Allan was right, the winds were strong. But winds alone would not stop her. She would tie herself to the ship and serve where she could.

Looking to Allan, she saw the command in his eyes and returned the look with a question. "Will ye help to save this ship?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The wind screamed nameless obscenities at everyone and everything and Allan agreed with it.

"Dammit, Destini, you are not trained in working as crew on a ship during a storm. What good is it for a sailor to be distracted from his duties if one of us are in the way or in peril? We can be below-decks making sure there are no leaks, that the powder stays dry, and that the crew is not chasing us overboard?

I adore you, and yet I will throw you over a shoulder and lash you to galley door if I have to. Richard, Corwynn, get below decks NOW!"

Allan was feeling the anger of the storm and was losing control of the safety of his companions...

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn wasted no time getting below decks. Indeed, he was already at the stairs and holding the door for the others when Brightpoint gave the order to get below. He looked to the stubborn Irish wench. "My lady MacKenzie, please!" He inclined his head to the stairs. An unusual desperate look was in his eye. Grimthorn had never been one to beg before, but in this instance, it seemed appropriate.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn knew he'd pay for this. he knew there would be trouble in the long run, but there was nothing for it.

"Sorry Arch Deacon, Lady, but the time for debate is past."

Corwynn dipped suddenly, swooped up Destini right over his should and barreled down the gangway after Richard towards below-decks where a thrashing would probably ensue.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan paused for a fraction of a second in shock at Corwynn's action.

Then he saw it. The wave was higher than the Crow's Nest. he had heard of such things as a part of a massive storm surge.

It would heel the ship over if not capsize it outright.

Brightpoint dove for the stairs and pulled the hatch shut after him just moments before the ship was slammed almost horizontal with the ocean as the wave struck with a terrific crash.

The last thing he heard before the darkness took him was Destini's angry voice

Destini

Destini was carried below kicking and screaming. A stream of Gaelic curses spewed forth from her lips as readily as the rain hit upon the boards of the ship's deck above them. She was attempting to reach for her crossbow and place it at Corwynn's throat to shoot him the way she should have shot him when they'd first met. But Corwynn's grasp was such that she couldn't grab hold of her weapon. She doubted that was accidental.

She settled for screaming Gaelic obsenities at him.

At that moment, the world lurched. The floor was no longer the floor. The ceiling was no longer above her head. She was spinning, falling. What direction was up? Her back struck something. The wall? The ceiling? She couldn't tell. The air rushed from her lungs and she gasped for breath. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish recently brought out of a lake. She couldn't breathe, though she tried valiently. She looked about, trying to understand what was happening.

She was lying next to a wall sconce. The flame was extinguished. The cabin was in darkness. The boat was turned, capsized, maybe. She couldn't tell. In the wan light from who knew where, she could see Allan's still form.

Jah!

As her breath eventually returned, she whispered his name, "Allan," Her passion gave her the strength to move despite that the breath had been knocked from her lungs She squirmed from Corwynn's grasp and went to Allan, cradling his head in her lap as she knelt upon the wooden wall of the area below the deck.. "Allan," she gasped. "wake." The air was becoming easier to breathe as the moments passed. "Speak to me, please!"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

From out of the midnight depths came a light of consciousness, at least for a short span.

Allan stirred, looked up at Destini and said matter of factly, "I would like some whiskey... And a couple of scones..."

Then he passed out again, the knot on his head winning the day. Elsewhere, the ship had righted itself and the storm chucked it out the other side in rainy but calmer waters.

Destini

The cargo of the ship was heavy enough that the ship righted itself. Destini, hoping for this eventuality, had braced her and Allan closer to the floor than the ceiling. The righting of the ship didn't affect them as much as it might have affected others who had not thought ahead.

The waves still buffetted the side of the boat, but not as ferociously as it had done during the peak of the storm. Allan's head was still in Destini's lap. She stroked his hair which was damp from the spray of water that had managed to make its way through the wooden walls and into the area below deck. He was unconscious again, though he had surfaced briefly. Had he said something about whiskey and scones? Destini shook her head. Nonsense. Probably nothing he'd remember upon properly regaining consciousness.

She took a deep breath, glad that she had recovered enough from her own fall to be able to breathe properly again. Looking about, she tried to find Corwynn and Richard in the dark mayhem of the recently righted ship. Who was in charge of their party now that Allan was unconscious? She took it upon herself to find out how the others were. "Brother Corwynn! Richard! Are ye alright?!"
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"MMMRFPHFS!" exclaimed Corwynn, spitting out a mouthful of seawater as he threw a heavy object off his chest.

The barrel slammed against a bulwark as he said, "Having a barrel of laughs over here. Are you alright? What happened to Allan?"

Corwynn scanned the flotsam for Richard.

Wait

Flotsam!?

"Damn! We are taking on water!!"

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn winced as he pulled a palm-sized shard of glass from his lower back. It was probably from one of the wall sconces. All of the lights seemed to be broken now. In the darkness, he couldn't tell how bad the injury was, but the salt water caused the wound to sting something terrible.

Wait ... Salt water?

Corwynn's words reached him. They were taking on water? Great. No need to worry his companions about his own injury then. Clearly, they all had enough to worry about. Besides, the injury was probably not that serious. For the first time Grimthorn could remember, he put the goals of others above his own discomfort. It was an interesting sensation.

"I'm here, my lady. What in blazes do we do about this damned water?" he shouted.

Destini

She looked to Allan's unconscious face and wished more than ever that he was awake to tell them what they should do. "I'm fine, but Allan is unconscious. He took a bad blow when we were struck. More than that, I donae know."

Her gaze searched for Corwynn in the wan light. She was barely able to distinguish his silhouette, but by following the direction of his voice, she was able to determine where he was in general. All anger against the brother for hauling her down the stairs against her wishes was gone. If he hadn't done it she would have been washed overboard or dead. She looked to Corwynn now desperate for guidance. Lost.

She bowed her head to look again to Allan, glad she had him propped up on her lap so his head was held out of reach of the salt water. "I donae know what to do, brother."
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

"There is some good news, my friends," came Corwynn's voice out of the gloom.

"This water is receding, which means it probably came in when we almost capsized, and the captain has the hand-crank bilges working to clear the hold of water. If you two can see to Allan, I will get topside and lend a hand at the bilge if I can."

Corwynn headed towards the stairs to climb up topside and paused, "Sorry for the impertinence earlier Destini, but I was rather short on ways to explain the peril in one second or less."

He went up the stairs to see if he could help.

--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn stood stiffly. The water was, indeed, receding. The pain in his lower back, however, was not. He watched Corwynn head topside to assist with the bilge leaving he and the lady MacKenzie to tend to Brightpoint. It didn't take an expert to know that Brightpoint was too heavy for the lady to carry. Not that she wasn't strong in her own right, but Brightpoint hadn't exactly been sitting about reading books his whole life. He'd been training and working. The life of an attache required physical ability as well as consumate skill. Grimthorn would have to assist the lady MacKenzie in carrying Brightpoint back to his cabin.

Moreover, he would have to carry Brightpoint without letting on that he, too, was injured. This would be fun ... in a way that wasn't. Grimthorn sighed and went to the lady MacKenzie. "Allow me, my lady." Bracing himself, Grimthorn lifted Brightpoint and moved slowly in the direction of thier cabins. He kicked open the door to Brightpoint's cabin and laid him carefully on the bed. Once Brightpoint was safe, Grimthorn staggered backwards and leaned most of his weight on the table. He was unwilling to sit down, thereby showing weakness in front of the lady. But his injury was such that the exertion of carrying Brightpoint made him feel a little light-headed.

Destini

Destini followed Richard to their cabin and watched him lay Allan on their bed. He seemed to be moving stiffly, but then, they were all moving more stiffly than normal. She herself was still only just able to breathe. She smiled wanly at Richard. "Thank ye, Richard," she said, and meant it wholeheartedly.

Digging in her satchel, she recovered her flint and steel together with some tinder cotton. The bag was nearly completely soaked, but the tinder cotton had been kept in a second leather pouch inside her satchel and therefore had escaped a lot of the waterlogging. For the first time, Destini was glad she had not brought her harp with her. It would have been ruined if exposed to this amount of water.

She turned and struck the flint and steel together to light the tinder cotton. This she used to light the wick of a fallen candle and bring light back to the room. Being wet, it sputtered and guttered, but in the end, it lit. The light it cast wasn't much. But it would be enough to examine Allan's injury. She extinguished the tinder cotton and set the flint and steel on the table next to the candle.

Several whisps of hair had escaped her long braid during the storm. A hand moved to tuck one of these strands back behind her ear so she could see enough to tend to Allan. There didn't appear to be any blood from the blow he'd taken, but the water in the hold could have washed the first signs of that away. Still, clearly, this injury could have been worse than it was.

She looked back to Richard. He seemed slightly more pale than she remembered. Maybe that was simply the effect of the wan light. Even the candle didn't put out enough light to truly see by. Still she asked, "Are ye sure ye're alright?"
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

"Fine, my lady," said Grimthorn quickly, not wanting to show any weakness to her. He was better now that the level of exertion was over, but still, the wound needed to be dealt with. "If you don't mind, I think I'll see if Corwynn needs any assistance." Without waiting for her response, he left the cabin and shut the door behind him. He had to get to his cabin and tend his wound quickly and quietly without anyone knowing.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan felt consciousness returning as it did every morning. The only difference from normal was the amazing, painful headache that went with the fuzz of just-woke-up.

Allan sat up and found a distraught -looking Destini eyeing him with a bleary expression.

Brightpoint said the first thing that came to mind, "Good morning, love. Are there scones?"

Destini

All night, she had waited for him to wake. All night, she'd kept her emotions in check as she watched over him, barely daring to think about what might happen if he didn't again wake. When at last, he surfaced into the conscious world and uttered his rediculously silly request, her distraught expression turned to a wince just shy of bursting into tears. She laughed at his words as the tears rolled freely down her cheeks. He was alright! Thank Jah!

"Allan! Ye poncy Welshman! Ye had me worried sick fer ye!" She wrapped her arms about him gladly. When she pulled away, she informed him, "There arenae any scones, I'm afraid. At least, nay at present. But we may find some on shore, if ye're up to it. The storm forced us further north than intended. We're dockin' at An tInbhear Mór in Laighean before the afternoon."

Her voice was strained as she mentioned the county's name. She wondered how much Allan knew of the county of Laighean. She wondered if he knew how quiet their mission would have to be if they were to reach An Mumhain and Pagan without incident.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Poncey?! I don't think a Welshman can *be* poncey!!" Allan objected, sitting up abruptly.

His head fogged and he winced, "Ow... diving down the companionway stairs was not a dream then. Is everyone else all in one piece? That was about the largest bloody wave I have ever seen..."

Allan tested the back of his head and found a painful lump there.

"I need to learn to stick the landing with my feet..."

Destini

She watched Allan's vision unfocus briefly and steadied him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Be easy, Allan. Ye were unconscious fer more than twelve hours."

She could do nothing to ease his pain, but she could, at least ease his mind. "The rest o' us made it through unscathed, I think. Though the captain lost several o' his crew in the wave. We've been helpin' assist in shifts. Brother Corwynn an' Richard are up there now."

Guilt welled up inside her as she watched him find what was certainly a very painful spot on his head. "'Tis my fault ye're injured. If I hadnae argued with ye about gettin' below deck when we were approachin' the storm, ye wouldnae have had to dive through at the last minute."

Ashamed, she bowed her head. "Please, forgive me."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Forgiven," Allan replied, "Your need to know why about things is a saving grace far more often than not. Corwynn and I were shocked into spluttering speechlessness by the sight of that wave bearing in.

I am glad we made it through as well as we did.

I expect that storm blew us way off course. Any idea where we are?

And don't say on a boat..."

Destini

The fact that Allan was making an attempt at humor should have meant he was feeling better. It should have set her mind to ease that he was going to be alright. But it didn't. Destini didn't laugh. His question before the joke worried her. "Aye... the storm did knock us off course," she said slowly. Hadn't she told him that already? Her brow furrowed with worry-lines. What if Allan wasn't as alright as he seemed?

"As I said when ye woke, we'll be dockin' in the port o' An tInbhear Mór in the county o' Laighean."

Sitting on the bed beside him, she watched him carefully as she asked her next question. "Do ye nae remember me tellin' ye that?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan looked blankly for a moment and then laughed at himself.

"Aye you did at that. I think the sudden burst of pain from finding the knot did a little job on remembering the words spoken seconds before that.

I think I will be taking it easy today. No more than three scuffles and two great escapes..."

Destini

"The one escape we should be worried 'bout is the one that gets us out o' Laighean," said Destini with a dour expression. "I donae know how much ye know o' the counties in Eire. I can tell ye a great deal o' Laighean ... nothin' fortunate."

She paused as she remembered the time during the Laighean War and the information that was shared by those who returned. "PEACE rules this county," she told Allan. "Donae be fooled. The name o' the political party that rules Laighean acquires their peace through silence, fear, despair, an' the hindrance o' freedom. This is Springtime's realm."

Restless, she stood and began to pace. "We must be quiet, subtle. We must blend in. The Aristotelian faith is nigh non-existant in Eire so there will be few abbeys an' churches to aid us. As much as I wish to reassure Pagan o' our arrival, we also cannae risk sendin' a pigeon to tell her we've landed or we will certainly be spotted ... which means we also cannae send word back to the cardinal." She sighed. Already, she could tell this mission would be difficult, at best.

Sharply, she looked back to Allan. "Are ye sure ye're alright? Are ye sure ye're up to this?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan considered the problem a moment

"We're always subtle and quiet. Frankly, until Elias turned up my time on land during the last trip was quiet.

That said, I am well up to this. I just need to avoid all out brawls for a span.

I doubt our friends or our enemies are running around in this crazed county.

The faster we are shut of it the better. Corwynn will be a large help as he is well trained in escape and evasion in plain sight."

Allan fidgeted in the bunk, already weary of lying still. This was going to be a long day...

Destini

Allan's figeting caught her attention. Constantly in motion, Allan never seemed to sit still. Destini smiled slowly. She liked that about him. He had been much the same when he'd been stuck in a bed at the Hospital of St. Thomas. Not that she could blame him. She knew she was similar in that way.

Perhaps that was why when Allan was still, she found herself worried sick for him. He hadn't moved all night and she hadn't slept a wink. Her worry had kept her awake. He seemed fine now, but his mis-remembering earlier still had her on edge and overly-aware of his health for the moment.

He might need the rest, but given his figeting, she doubted she could keep him confined to bed until they docked. She ceased her pacing and went to his side to offer him her strength to stand if he needed it. "Shall we go topside an' see how close to dockin' we are?" she asked him.
_________________

Faheud

Allan looked closely at Destini and noted the weariness showing. "We can go topside, but you seem as though you might make good use of a bit of shuteye before we are up and about...."

He peered at her, looking for the nonverbal signs that would belie her likely response.

"And, no, I'll not fade away from having to sti or lie still for a span..."

Destini

She opened her mouth to argue with him, but the look in his eye told her she wouldn't be successful if she tried. She had been awake for more than a day and was absolutely exhausted. Plus, how long would it be before they would be able to sleep freely again without worrying for their lives? Too long, probably.

"Aye, I am tired," she admitted to him. "An' since ye, too, need the rest whether ye admit it or nay, can I talk ye into stayin' with me?" A subtle grin crossed her face. She didn't give him a chance to respond before crawling into bed beside him and curling up with her head on his shoulder.

She was asleep in minutes.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was, as often ever the case, the first awake and off the ship when she docked.

He had not been to Eire in a long time, and never out of disguise.

There was something about the lush and vibrant green of the country side above the port town that always made him smile.

What dangers would greet their crew of dedicated souls? Same as always, he thought, unknown and many.

Corwynn walked back onto the ship to see if Richard was up and about.

--Richard.grimthorn

It was late afternoon when Grimthorn felt the ship dock. Of course, he was awake well before noon, but staying on his bunk made him feel not quite as seasick. When the ship came to a stop, or as much of a stop as ships can do when floating on the miserable ocean, Grimthorn made his way topside and was standing at the top of the gangplank when Corwynn returned to the ship. "Do you honestly think it's wise to walk about shore during the day? D'Argent could have spies everywhere for all you know." He glanced back to the companionway where Brightpoint was still below deck hopefully recovering. Despite his lack of love for the ocean, Grimthorn was perfectly happy to wait until their unconscious leader awoke before going ashore. Truth be told, he didn't want to be here anyway. "I sincerely doubt Brightpoint would be pleased if you got yourself killed so soon into this mission of yours."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

The ship had stopped moving.

Distant, tiny thuds when the harbor current knocked the ship against the dock.

Callous cries of crew moving cargo and supplies

Steady breathing of Destini asleep next to him.

Staccato boots on the gangplank. Corwynn?

Boots strike a cabin floor heavily nearby. Richard.

Smell of cooking and revelry in near distance. Dinner hours beginning at a seaside tavern?

Allan shook Destini's shoulder lightly and whispered, "Time to wake up. We are docked and everyone else is stirring."

facts assemble.

Destini

A smile graced Destini's face even before her eyes blearily fluttered open. There was something pleasant to waking at Allan's side. Her smile faded, though when Allan's words sunk in. They were docked. They were in Ireland. It was time to go to work, now.

She nodded and rose. "Aye, no more rest for us. We have murderers to find an' stop. An' we have to get out o' Laighean."

Looking back at Allan, she gave him an appraising glance. "How are ye feelin'? Are ye up to this?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan felt much better after the long rest and rose out of bed in a fluid motion. "Aye, we have much to do and I am well rested, ten feet tall, and crossbow proof.

Let's to it then. I'll gather the others up on deck.

Allan picked up his pack, the new pistol bow and kissed Destini on his way out of the cabin.

Destini

Beaming a smile, she raised her satchel to her shoulder and followed Allan up the ladder to the deck. She paused when she reached the top and stood on the deck staring out at Laighean with an observant gaze.

The English ship stood out in the harbor amongst the Irish ships. Although it was a normal trade cog, somehow, it was different. Her artisan's eye was drawn to examine this peculiarity. At length, she realized the English ship didn't stand out because it was different, but rather because all the other ships in the port were exactly the same. The red paint on the railings, the weave of the sails, the grain of the wood, even the figure heads adorning the bows of each ship were all exactly the same. The only difference was the names of the ships. It was a little eerie.

This was not the homecoming Destini had expected. But then, she hadn't expected to end up in Laighean at all. She tried not to focus on the eerie similarities. There would be plenty of time for sightseeing when they got off the ship.

Right now, she needed to know what their plan was. Corwynn and Richard were both about. She went to meet them. "We've docked. We've made it this far. What now?" She looked to her compatriots for their thoughts.
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

"I suggest staying on board until nightfall, my lady," said Richard quickly. He glanced at Corwynn and hoped the brother's going ashore before the others hadn't already got them noticed by the wrong sorts. "So long as Corwynn's antics didn't get us noticed already, darkness would provide better cover for the going ashore than late afternoon."

--Brother_corwynn

"aye, and I cannae say fer certain th' nay a sooul hasnae spootted me as a ferigner, but it willnae be fer me dialect, now willit?"

Corwynn spoke this in a pefect irish accent as though he had lived here all his life.

'Sean o Clan MacGarraigh at yer service..."

Corwynn smiled at Richard, whose body language suggested irritation that he had went ashore.

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan spoke in a clipped tone

"Corwynn, I have full confidence in your skills at blending in. Next time make sure one of us knows you are doing it. We are on hostile ground now, and gross assumptions will get people hurt.

After dark it is then."

Allan wandered around a bit, then, looking at the storm damage and also at the Irish ships in port...

Destini

Destini's mouth fell open at Corwynn's impeccable Irish accent. "Ye ne'er cease to amaze me, Brother," she said in awe. She had been trained by the monks of An Gort a long time ago and learned many vocal skills, but nothing akin to what she'd just watched Corwynn do. "Where in Jah's name did ye learn to do that?"

The sun was beginning to set in the west, in the direction of An Mumhain, her kin, and her home. After dark, they would begin their journey there. An hour or two more to go ....
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan Brightpoint hated to wait.

He hated the way time slowed down

He hated the way worries sped up

He hated the way Richard could not just shut the yardarm up and deal with it patiently.

Allan Brightpoint hated to wait

But, happily, time does move even when you are watching it (So there Aristotle!)

A deep moonless night had swept over the port town and the quartet were at last ready to make their way into what was next.

Allan grinned at his companions, beckoned them to follow and strode down the gangplank into town...

ooc: you may follow the four in Eire in the neighboring thread "Sword and the Shield" Correspondences with England will still occur in this thread.

--Mary_persephone

Reverend Mother Mary Persephone stared out of her office window at the Hospital of Saint Thomas to the west, toward Ireland where Young Brightpoint, Attache MacKenzie, and Dear Corwynn had disappeared. It had been a month since Arch-canon Alberic's death, a month since she had buried her best friend. Still she watched for the return of the cardinal's attaches. Every day she prayed to Jah for their safety. Of all the people she had ever trained, Young Brightpoint and Dear Corwynn were the best. Even Mary had to admit that Attache MacKenzie, although not specifically trained by the Cardinal's means or in her care, was a perfect fit for their team.

Every day, the Reverend Mother worried for them.

Mary sighed heavily. The world she knew was changed. It was no longer the realm of the faithful and loyal. Those who knew of science and had information within their grasp ended up defeating those who were utterly devout to Jah. Her order, based on healing, had to stand against those who based their dogma on death. For that reason Mary had to send one of her sisters to obtain information none of them currently had.

She looked to the northwest and thought on Young Brightpoint, Attache MacKenzie, and Dear Corwynn while she waited for Sister Aubrey to knock upon her office door.

______________

--.audrey.

Sister Audrey was in the Hospital of Saint Thomas' scriptorium, making a copy of a translated Chinese manuscript Arch-Deacon Brightpoint had brought back with him upon completion of his training in the Orient. The Wushi'er bingfang contained recipes for fifty-two ailments. It was a centuries old text in China, but here in England its imparted knowledge was unique. More copies would extend its legacy.

There was serenity in calligraphy. Though highly useful in the preservation and proliferation of books, it was as much an art as a necessity. Audrey enjoyed it very much. So when Sister Margaret came to deliver a summons to the Reverend Mother's office, Audrey was loathe to abandon her task.

Obedience to the rule was one the oaths Audrey had taken. For the most part, she was content to follow the rule. There were moments, however, when Sister Margaret's often bossy manner made following that rule quite distasteful.

These thoughts were kept behind a silent mask of control. She refused to allow Sister Margaret to destroy the serenity her calligraphy had brought her. Rising from the writing desk, Audrey followed Sister Margaret down the hall despite that she knew the way as well as Margaret. Rather than focus on that bit of indignity, she found herself wondering why the Reverend Mother would want to speak to her.

No matter. She would find out soon enough. Sister Margaret rapped upon the ornate office door and opened it to announce Sister Audrey's acquiescence to the Reverend Mother's summons. A moment later, Audrey was beckoned within.

Upon entering the chamber, Sister Audrey bowed her head to her chest respectfully and curtsied once. "You wished to see me, Reverend Mother?"

__________________

--Mary_persephone

Reverend Mother Mary greeted Sister Audrey with a strained smile. "Yes, child, come in. Margaret, you can go now. And shut the door behind you." Mary beckoned Audrey in and Margaret out. When had being the spiritual leader for a group of nuns become akin to directing carriage traffic in London? Mary put her right hand to her head and waited for her office door to shut.

When they were alone, Mary clasped her hands inside her black linen summer habit and gazed on the young nun. "I have an assignment for you, Sister. One quite suited to your talents."

Mary went to her desk and pulled a letter from the top drawer. She re-read the important pieces silently again before divulging its contents to Audrey. "We have received word that the Hospital of Saint Amelie in Flanders has a guest teaching medical and forensic techniques to the sisters there, a member of the Italian Medici family." Mary paused a moment to allow that fact to sink in. The Medicis were an influential family and foremost in the study of ailments, cures, and physical injuries. There were none in the European hemisphere more knowledgeable about Jah's prime creation, that of the human body. For Sister Audrey, this was the chance of a lifetime.

"There is not much more I can teach you here," Mary continued. "Indeed, you have practically copied nearly every book in our library and know their contents by heart. Your talents in observation and your logical mind make you the perfect person to send to this training."

It was done. The order was given. Only the logistics remained. "There is a ship leaving from Hastings in three days. You will be on it. On your way to the port, stop at WestGate Manor. Cardinal Faheud has a new pigeon master. You are to take one of the birds with you and stay in constant contact with this house. Enough of those in the cardinal's service have gone silent as it is." The last was a thought she had not meant to speak aloud. Mary's mouth pursed into a grim single line as she realized what she'd said. She sighed and tried to offer Sister Audrey a reassuring smile as she handed the young nun the letter containing all she would need to know about her new duty.

___________________

--.audrey.

The letter Sister Audrey held in her hand bore a gentle, rounded script bearing the tell-tale brown tint of walnut ink. The letter had been penned two weeks ago. Already, the edges of the inked letters were darker than the centers. The edges of the letters, being thinner, were affected by the air more than where the ink had fixed to the paper in greater volume. The shapes of the letters themselves were uneven as if the hand that formed them was accustomed to writing quickly rather than well. A glance at the signature told her the handwriting was the same. The letter had been written by the same person who had sent it, not drafted by someone else and signed by the sender before the letter was sealed and sent.

All this, Audrey noted in an instant as her eyes scanned the parchment. Her brown eyes turned upward from the paper to the Reverend Mother and she serenely nodded her acceptance of her new duty. "Thank you, Reverend Mother, for this opportunity. I promise you I will keep you informed."

She had many questions, but the Reverend Mother would not be able to answer any of them. The letter did not say how long the Maestro Medici would be in attendance at the Hospital of Saint Amelie, so there was no way to know how long she would be staying in Flanders. As a nun, she owned little beyond her linen summer habit and her woollen winter habit. These would, of course, have to be packed. It seemed there was little else she would need to bring. This meant she was practically ready to leave immediately.

"Three days is not much time before the ship leaves. Especially if I am to stop by WestGate Manor first. I will leave within the hour." A low curtsey showed Audrey's respect for the Reverend Mother, but it did not show her love. She hesitated a moment before throwing her arms around and hugging the only mother she had ever known. A gentle, bashful smile on Audrey's crimson-blushing face was revealed when she pulled away. "Make no mistake, I will miss you, Mother Mary."

Smiling bravely both with sorrow at the leaving and excitement at the going, Sister Audrey took her leave of the Reverend Mother's chambers.

__________________

Keyes

Keyes walked towards Westgate Manor. He was awestruck by the shear size of the place. He couldn't think of "house" that big. He walked towards the front gate and was stopped by the two guards by the door
_________________

Buster the Guard, played by Faheud

"HEY You There!" You cannae just walk in to the manor without a by your leave" Shouted the sentry on the right.

"Strictly speaking," began the sentry on the left, "He wouldn't need YOUR leave, I am the shift commander here."

"You are not," scoffed the sentry on the right. "His eminence said I was charge of the gate til he got back."

"He did not specify which gate, though did he? He may have meant the garden gate or the privy gate." scolded sentry on the left

"Shut it!" advised the sentry on the right. "I am in charge and you best not forget it."

The two were so busy arguing that they failed to notice the large man with a crossbow walk past them into the salley-port towards the inner bailey.

Keyes

Keyes sighed. Now that he was past the guards, he had now idea where to go. He might get lucky and find someone who knew. He thought he remembered something about a pigeon coup by the stables, but he didnt even know where that was
_________________

Castellan of Westgate, played by Destini

It was after noon but before the sun had crossed the yard arm.

Too early for drinking then.

Hm .... what else had the cardinal told him to do while he was gone?

He hadn't taken notes.

Wait.

Who was that walking through the cardinal's grounds?

"Oi! You there! Where do you think you're going with ..." He looked at the pigeon cage the man was carrying. "... that?"

Keyes

Keyes stopped and turned to the man who yelled at him
I have the Cardinal's new carrier pigeons. I was directed to put them somewhere. There wouldnt happen to be a pigeon coup somewhere, would there?

Castellan Of Westgate, played by Destini

"Oh."

Pigeons.

Pigeons belonged in a pigeon coup.

Right.

Perhaps it wasn't too early for a drink, after all.

Still, he would have to finish with this man first.

"My apologies, lord," he said with a subtle nod that hinted at a bow of courtesy. "Usually visitors are accompanied by a guard until they find me. Not your fault though, no. Probably bickering again, those two, mm? No, don't tell me, don't bother. I know they're uses and they are few. Just wait until I speak to the Cardinal about them."

He turned then and beckoned for the visitor to follow him. "The pigeon coups are this way. I suppose the guards didn't take your name as you entered? No, no, they wouldn't would they? Useless prats. I'll have to fill it in the guest log myself ... so ... your name would be ...?"

The Castellan continued to lead the way even as he waited for the visitor to respond.

Keyes

Keyes had to suppress his laughter.My name is Keyes. Thank you for your help.

Castellan of Westgate, played by Destini

"Keyes. Yes, well. It's simple, but it seems to suffice. This way."

He opened the door to the pigeon coup next to the stables. The door opened with the slightest hint of a squeak. The castellan had wondered why the cardinal had made him spend the last week cleaning out these old coups. Now, he understood.

"Well, here you are, then. I'll leave you to your ... " He looked down at the pigeons in the bird cage Keyes was carrying. " .. birds."

As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, "If you need me I'll be in the tavern near the south entrance. Right over there!" He gestured down a cobblestone path to show him the way then turned and walked down it.

--.audrey.

Sunlight upon the rooftop of Westgate Manor drew Audrey's eye upward to the heavens. She had met the Cardinal Faheud in passing only. He seemed a dedicated, important man of Jah. Clearly, his faith had rewarded him in this life. Looking on the cardinal's home in awe, Audrey found herself uttering the words of Accursius of Bologna, a thirteenth century Roman lawyer, "Cuius est solum eius est usque ad coelum et ad inferos." The text had come to the hospital by mistake, hidden amongst a batch of medical manuscripts loaned to the hospital by a wealthy lord for translation and copying. The book on law had been intended for the university in Hastings. Before sending it onward, however, Audrey had secretly held it for several days in order to read its contents. She always read every book she could get her hands on. The book on law had been no exception.

Whose the land is, all the way to the sky and to the underworld is his. The words defined what a man of property owned. Seeing Westgate Manor for the first time, she suddenly understood its meaning. What a grand estate this was!

The guards, after a bit of confused chatter, pointed her in the direction of the stables and pigeon coup, saying the pigeon trainer had arrived hours ago.

She found him in the coup with his birds and greeted him with a wide-eyed, slightly nervous smile. "Greetings, Master Pigeoner. I am Sister Audrey sent hence from the Hospital of Saint Thomas by Reverend Mother Mary Persephone. She is sending me to Flanders tor training and tells me I am to take one of your pigeons with me." She glanced at the cooing birds, realizing she had no idea what to expect from them. What did they eat? How far could they fly? "I hope it won't be too much trouble for you to tell me how to handle one."

__________________

Keyes

Keyes smiled Good day Sister. Keyes didn't really know how to continue.
If its a pigeon you need I would recommend Jones. He is a very tame pigeon, and would be good for a first time pigeon user. As for handling him, just attach the letter, tell him where to go, and give him a treat.
Keyes instantly regretted saying that. The pigeons all looked up, expecting a treat of sorts. Just make sure you don't say that word when they are near by.
_________________

--.audrey.

The pigeon Jones' feathers were grey as the rain-soaked clouds. His head was a peculiar blend of purple and green. Sister Audrey took the bird from the master pigeoner carefully, worried she might crush it with even the little strength she had in her hands. Jones let out a soft coo and a grin flourished on Audrey's face. She liked Pigeon Jones already.

Her grin further exploded into laughter as she watched all pairs of beady, bird eyes, turn to the master pigeoner when he spoke the word 'treat'. She stopped her giggles with a genteel cough and took a moment to examine her surroundings with her keen eye.

A bag of corn sat along one side of the coup. The way the dust was settled beneath as well as around it, Audrey deduced that the bag had been recently brought hence, for the pigeons probably. So, the pigeons ate corn. That was good to know.

"Have you a carrier for the bird? I do not know what my accomodations will be like at the Hospital of Saint Amelie. I may have to keep Pigeon Jones in my cell whilst I am there."

_____________

Keyes

Keyes noticed the sister's gaze at the corn and her apparent understanding. He was impressed.
You could use a cage, but they prefer to be outside, or at least outside a cage. However, you can use this one I have over here, if you want one.
Keyes motioned to the cage. It was just big enough for Jones.
_________________

--Manfred_the_messenger

Manfred wandered back to the pigeon-master's shed and found young Keyes discussing something with a nun in the habit of St. Thomas.

"Apologies for interrupting, sirrah, but the Cardinal sent me here with your wages. He added a performance bonus for your excellent start hereabouts.

Keyes

Keyes looked at his wages. Even without the bonus, it was a large amount.
He wasn't sure if he had seen that much money in one spot.
"Thank you Manfred"
Keyes was awestruck enough that he couldn't think of what else to say.
_________________

--.audrey.

Audrey curtseyed and kept her gaze held low at the messenger bearing the cardinal's colors. Still, her curiosity could not resist raising her eyes to appraise the man. He seemed a dedicated sort. He wore his uniform in the traditional sense. He was undoubtedly here to complete his misson and nothing more. Audrey would leave them to it.

"I thank you for the cage, Master Pigeoner, and, of course, for Jones. I promise you that I will not keep the dear bird within its bars overlong. Only to keep him safe for the journey to the Hospital of Saint Amelie. Speaking of which, I should probably begin my journey. I have tarried here long enough." She placed Jones in the cage gently. Turning back to the master pigeoner, she smiled softly and curtseyed. "I hope when next we meet it shall be for a longer spell. Good day."

Sister Audrey turned and exited the grounds of Westgate Manor.

________________

--Manfred_the_messenger

After the nice little nun has left, Manfred walks over to the pigeon coup and addresses the new Pigeon master Trainer.

"Pardon, sirrah, but His Grace would like a word up to the Castle..."

Keyes

Ok, I will head there right away.
If i don't get lost on my way there, Keyes thought.
_________________

--Manfred_the_messenger

Manfred grinned at the uncertainty in young Keys' eyes.

"I told His Grace you might be a bit worried about finding your way on your own, but nobody listens to Manfred. Poor Manfred.

Not to worry, Sirrah, I shall lead you there me-self. His Grace would not approve of me sending his new Master of Pigeons astray, then, would he?

Follow old Manfred"

Manfred turned and led the way up to the castle.

Keyes

Keyes liked this idea
Thank you. Please lead the way
_________________

--Manfred_the_messenger

"yes, yes, follow Manfred. Manfred always knows the way. Smart Manfred.

This door here? Never use this. Very bad. Manfred tell them before, but they had to go get lost and learn Manfred was right.

Should have listened to Manfred, but Nobody ever listens to Manfred. Poor Manfred."

The messenger led his young charge through a winding series of turns in back corridors until they reached the Western Wing of Westgate Manor.

Here were all the major offices, and in the center-most sat Cardinal Faheud glancing out at the rolling landscape across his balcony edge.

"Your Magnificence, it is I, Manfred, bringing you the Pigeon Master as order!

Good Manfred, eh?"

The messenger then bowed out of the chamber, leaving Cardinal Faheud to turn and greet his visitor.

Faheud

The Cardinal turned around to see his visitor, wondering if it was time to retire Manfred to a less visible role.

"Well met, young Keyes is it?

I am delighted to have a skilled hand to train our pigeons here.

I have a couple of tasks for you. I need pigeons trained to go between myself and The Hospital of St. Thomas. Also, I need to have a pair trained and delivered to Reverend Mother Mary Persephone at that Hospital.

How long do you think it will take?"

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Keyes

Keyes thought. Minus Jones, he had five pigeons that had been trained.
Your excellency, I have five pigeons ready for use, and I was going to start the training of the next six later this week. If you require more, it will take a couple weeks.
_________________

Faheud

The Cardinal took in the status report, nodding..

"See the first five already trained to their appointed places as I have instructed and then begin work on the new set.

I am very pleased to have a real trainer on the team more-local than Ireland.

Let me know if you require anything."

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Keyes

Keyes nodded
Keyes tried to remember if there was anything he needed.Nothing came to mind
I will send the pigeons at once.
_________________

Faheud

The Cardinal smiled appreciatively. "Thank you Master Keyes. By the way, in your new role, get used to being called Master Keyes, you are part of the family now. Mater Keyes of Westgate Manor.

When you have sent the pigeons out, report back to Manfred and he will take you to your new quarters."

The words at the end were a friendly, but definite dismissal.

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Keyes

Good day your Excellency. Keyes bowed and turned to exit the room.
"Master Keyes" He liked the sound of that. His thoughts turned to his task ahead.
_________________

Keyes

Keyes walked down the hallway. He had finished his tasks for now, but he couldn't remember Cardinal Faheud saying where Manfred was.
_________________

Faheud

It was three days til the elections ended and Faheud had a lot of messages to get out.

He walked down the halls, looking for Manfred or that new Master of Pigeon's Keyes. The man was amazingly well-armed for a Pigeon trainer, but the Earl rather liked that.

Conveniently enough, he ran into the new man just around a corner.

"Ahh, Master Keyes. I need these letters out to the named recipients as soon as is possible. May as well get your birds some time to prove their training, eh?

Oh, and here is a map of the Manor. You are new and will need it to get around as I sent Manfred to Wolvesey Castle on an errand."

The Earl handed some papers over to Keyes, as well as a stack of sealed messages.

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Faheud

No matter what happened tomorrow, mused Faheud, an era ends.

six years serving a county, a church a kingdom.

All that changes one way or another.

The sun was setting over the vale of Horsham, and the Earl wondered what the morrow would bring...

No matter what happened tomorrow, an era would end....

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

--Manfred_the_messenger

Manfred wandered through the halls of Westgate, looking for the Earl. He found him at length perusing some old books in the library.

"Well met, Your Grace, I am back from Wolvesey Castle. I check at the Bailiwick en route, but no results yet. No one had news for Manfred. Poor Manfred.

I shall check the Bailiwick twice a day to see if there is a change.

Manfred looks after His Grace..."

With that, the favored--if eccentric--messenger went back to his small office near the entry hall.

--Manfred_the_messenger

Manfred walked into His Grace's study to find him reading some documents he was sending off to the Church Registry about a recent baptism.

"Morning, Your Majesty. We have news in regarding the elections.

22-07-2011 Result of the second round of the election

Result of the second round of the election

faheud has become the new sovereign of Kingdom of England with 52.96 % of the votes!

He set the papers down in front of the astonished King-slect and smiled.

Manfred will have the butler send up a nice scotch, Majesty. Manfred knows these things need a good scotch. Wise Manfred...

Faheud

Knowing his operatives in Eire needed to have the recent news, Faheud penned a letter and sent it forth on a fresh carrier pigeon...
_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Keyes

Keyes approached the new Monarch
Your Highness,
All current messages that needed to be sent have been delivered . Further more I sent my best pigeon, Percy, to deliver the message to your operatives in Ireland.
On the subject of the pigeons, I am sure you will be glad to know that I was able to double the number of pigeons that were trained. The next group i will be training for more weather challenged deliveries.
Is there any thing else that you require?
_________________

Faheud

The King smiled, "Good report...no...excellent report. You are new, master Keyes, but already having tremendous impact. See the Castellan about obtaining some junior associates to train. I have a feeling we will have work for several in your area very soon!.

Again, well done!"

Faheud always liked being right about hiring someone...

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Keyes

Keyes was surprised
Your too gracious, your Highness.
Keyes wasn't sure that they needed more help, but he wasn't about turn it down
_________________

--Manfred_the_messenger

"Check the Tower, does Manfred.

Sweep the Commons does Manfred.

Find helpers for Young Master Keyes does Manfred

Manfred is very busy. Always more work to do. Poor Manfred.

Manfred needs to hire more Manfreds.

yes. Manfred do that.

Wise Manfred

Faheud

King Faheud paced about his chambers in the tower, wondering when he'd get word on the location of his team from Eire. There was so much to be done and much of it had to land with the Secret Service...

_________________
Faheud, King of England

Thanks to Destini MacKenzie for the new banner!

Destini

The shores of England settled on the misty horizon, green against the blue-grey of the water and sky. Watching the island drift closer was like Jah Himself was pulling back the curtain on a stage to reveal the setting from some ancient epic long lost to humanity. The sea-spray was cool on Destini's skin as she looked out over the ship's rail at the approaching port town of Barnstaple. One week had passed since the ship pulled out of port in Eire. More than a month had passed since she had last stood on English soil.

So much had happened in so short a time.

Their arrival in Eire had been greeted with troops, an army outside of An tIbihn Mor where no army should be. Even the people of Laighean County had not been pleased, those that spoke. Whether this was status quo for Laighean or some strategy of d'Argent's worked in conjunction with Springtime's lust for power, they'd never discovered.

The journey through Laighean had been quiet after that. They'd avoided all other troops by staying off the roads until they reached the county of An Mumhain. Wanted posters announced Destini, Allan, Pagan, and Jerro were wanted for the murder of King Zanditin. They had traveled to Imleach to find Destini's clan-kin Pagan and her fellow soldier Jerro.

In Imleach, a struggle had taken place. D'Argent had been joined by someone Richard had called The Finisher, a pale girl with a serious attitude problem. During the fight, Destini had been captured.

From there, her remembrance of events seemed jumbled, disoriented. D'Argent had kept her docile with poisons that distorted reality and made memory impossible to recall. The physical injuries were mostly healed now. She could still see the lines on her ankles and wrists where she'd been bound, but they were fading. The pin pricks where d'Argent had kept applying poisons had disappeared in a couple days. Most of what was left was jumbled memory.

Corwynn and Jerro had rescued her. Allan, Pagan, and Richard had taken out d'Argent's soldiers. Allan had killed The Finisher.

D'Argent had escaped.

Something d'Argent had told Allan had brought to light that Richard, who had used Faheud's letter of marque to clear their names of murder, had murdered dear Canon Alberic to obtain that very letter. Now, called back to England by His Majesty Faheud, they were bringing Richard back with them to receive the king's justice.

So much had happened in so short a time.

Destini rubbed her wrists gently as she stared at the approaching English shore.
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan walked up onto the deck and took in the fresh air and the sound of gulls nearby. He could see the shores of England and the walls of Barnstaple in the near distance. It was good to be headed home at last.

Joining Destini at the rail, he put a hand around her shoulder and spoke off into the distance.

"At least we will not have Elias waiting on us this time...It will be nice if a few days pass before any mayhem scurries along our path, eh?"

There had been all too much mayhem on this mission--a mission which had been a partial failure. Hell, it was a disaster if truth be told. And now he would be facing a King to explain it. Sigh.

"They say you can never go home again because it has changed while you were gone. Never was that more true, I think, for my Employer is no longer a Count or a Cardinal, but a King.

People can ignore a deacon working for a southern bishop, but they will surely have a weather eye on the King's man.

Speaking of which, if He follows the Form of Coronation--and I expect He will, His Majesty will be crowned about the time we hit London. If we travel fast we will have time to get you a new dress for the event."

Allan smiled then, thanking Jah silently that the destiny he had finally been sent was a lovely irish lass...

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn stood out of kicking range from the bunk in which Richard Grimthorn was having a sound snoring concert.

"WAKEY WAKEY!!! Come, Bunkie! We're arrived at England! Proper meals at last, eh?!"

Destini

"Home," said Desti softly to Allan. "Do people who do what we do ever truly get to go home? The closer we get to yer home, the further we get from mine. An' yet, I cannae say that when we were in Eire it felt much like home at all."

Turning under Allan's arm, she wrapped both her arms around his waist and held him close. Together, they watched the land drift closer. In a world of clouded uncertainty, Jah had granted her a shining bright point to guide her way. Once again, she was following him to England.

"We maynae have to worry 'bout Elias this time," she said, addressing one of his earlier comments. "But d'Argent is still out there." Her skin shivered as she spoke the viscomte's name. Something about it drew the warmth from the summer's day. "Allan," she began, craning her neck to look up at him while keeping her arms linked about him. "Somethin' I cannae figure out. Why did ye nae kill d'Argent? If he had time to tell ye Richard murdered Alberic, how did he escape?"
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan nodded at the question. He had been wondering when it would come.

"Both Corwynn and Richard have been emphatic that they thought the Finisher was the most pschotic and soul-less bit of serial killer they had ever seen. The Finisher was called in to trump matters when d'Argent could not handle it. That means her employer felt she was a more potent threat."

He paused then, making sure to arrange his thoughts clearly before he rambled and sent Destini down the wrong path with his answer.

"There is also the matter that during the final confrontation I realized that d'Argent was romantically tied to the girl, while she seemed to treat him like an accessory--easily replaced. I could only kill one for certain. Kill the bigger threat and leave the lesser threat crippled by the death of his mate for a span.

That was my decision and the reasoning behind it.

I do wish I had carried two bows though. Or at least more bolts. I used so many up taking out the squad of twelve between me and the ship I thought you were on."

Allan's face bore a grimace at how many casualties there needed to be to finish what should have been a simple mission to Eire...

Or was anything Faheud asked him to do ever simple?

Destini

It sounded like Allan had been expecting her question and had prepared for it. All lines of logic were very well tied -- except one. "If ye killed his lover, I fear he'll be more dangerous than e'er." Her voice was soft as she added, "I know I would be." The phrase was almost an after-thought.

Recognizing the softness of her tone, she swallowed past the tension in her throat and her normal speaking volume returned. "Vengeance is a powerful motivator," she said darkly.

She shook the morbid thoughts away. "With Jah's blessin', we'll be safe enough until after His Majesty's coronation. I must say, I am lookin' forward to dressin' in finery again as we did at the spring ball at West Gate Manor." She smiled at Allan, remembering how dashing he had looked in his own finery
_________________

--Richard.grimthorn

Richard had been seasick for seven straight days. So when Corwynn burst in on the only decent sleep he'd been able to get all trip with jovial talk of food, Richard wanted nothing more than to throw up on him. He groggily fumbled for the boots under his bunk and managed to snag one by the laces. He whipped the boot at Corwynn with all his might. Half a second later, it hit the far wall with a resounding thunk. Damn. He'd missed.

... wait.

Had he said England?

Richard sat upright, knocking his head against the underside of the top bunk. Fumbling his way out of bed, he asked the only question he could think of. "Are we there yet?"

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn grinned down at the bleary-eyed Richard.

"You are such a morning person Richard!

And yes, we are certantly here yet. I expect that by time you are up and about and find your now missing boot, we'll be at the docks.

Cherrio!"

Corrwyn departed for the hallway and headed topside.

--Richard.grimthorn

"Cheerio my boot," grumbled Richard at Corwynn as his 'bunkie' left the cabin. Why did he always get stuck with the annoyingly chipper Irishman? Richard cringed at the sound of the door as it shut, queasiness rising up in him again. At least they'd finally arrived. At least soon they'd be on dry, solid, blessed English land again .... But that also meant he'd be facing the King of England's justice for what he'd done. He'd had his chance to escape in Ireland, but he somehow couldn't make himself take that step. Maybe it was Corwynn's words that had caused him to hope for leniency. Besides, he couldn't really live in Ireland! For one thing, it would have meant spending the rest of his life drinking Irish whiskey and absent a decent flagon of dark ale! Of course, if the King's justice found him guilty, there would be no ale at all. Richard sighed. Nothing for it now but to get ready to meet his fate and hope for a dark ale before he was hung.

Where was that damned boot ....?

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan knew Destini was right and did not shy away from telling her.

"You are of course correct, my light. I was positively frightening when I thought your ship had blown up before my very eyes. In less than a minute I fought and defeated near a dozen heavily armed men with one crossbow and two longknives."

He looked out as signal men were waving colored flags about and murmured "We really do need things to smile about for there will always be things to worry over."

Destini

Her heart warmed at his newest pet name for her. "We have things to smile about," she pointed out to him. "We have each other."

She thought of Pagan and Jerro standing on the docks, waving until Eire itself was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. " 'Tisnae just that, either. As much as I miss an' worry fer my kin an' friends in Eire, I feel I'm makin' more o' a difference here in England. Back in Eire, the best I could do to help my county is pay my taxes, work the mines, an' hire out my field to newcomers. An' nothin' I did could affect all the kingdom. E'en the money I got from sellin' my field went to no use as the votes I cast fer a decent king o' Eire were fer naught. Durin' the short time I spent in Hastings, my words seemed to mean more, my music more than background sound."

She followed his gaze to the signal men and watched the signal flags flutter in the summer breeze as the signal men moved them in complicated formations. "In any case, none can e'er say we allow the morrow to happen to us. We're out here, doin' what we do, an' makin' a difference. That's somethin' to be proud o'."
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn wandered up beside Allan and Destini and heard the final comment about making a difference. He took the opportunity to comment on it himself.

"Every day I get to make a difference is a day I have lived well. And no one can ever accuse us of not thinking outside the barrel as it were.

So... are they oing to let us dock or will we have to swim ashore again?"

Corwynn grinned at the two people he would surely miss the most when his mission to Flanders began.

--Richard.grimthorn

After tearing up the entirety of the cabin searching for the boot he had thrown at Corwynn, Richard finally found it in the far corner of the top bunk. Grumbling curses, he snatched it from its hiding place and placed it where it belonged, on his foot. Still grumbling and still sea-sick, Richard gathered his pack and shakily made his way top side to where the others were watching the signal men at work. Corwynn's question caught his attention as he approached. "How do we know they're talking about docking at all?" he asked. "For all we know, they could be sharing recipes."

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan laughed, "Because, my fine sea-legged friend, the signals are not letters. They are phrases and numbers. Be a bit stupid to spend seven hours to sign out "Add 1 pound of butter to a cup of corn flour..."

Destini

At length, the signal man on the harbor docks held up another flag and the boat maneuvered itself to the designated pier. Destini hoisted her satchel onto her shoulder and watched as the sailors lowered the gangplank.

She led the way down the gangplank, off the ship, and stepped onto English soil at last. She closed her eyes to take in the sounds of England. Sound was different on land than on the water, and the sounds of England were different than that of Eire. At last, she was on land.

Opening her eyes, she smiled subtly. "We're back," she said to Allan in a soft voice.
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--Richard.grimthorn

Grimthorn's legs carried him off the boat and onto the shore. When he hit English soil, however, he was surprised to find it did not feel as stable as the boat. Good grief! Was the whole world turned as unsteady as a ship's deck? He stumbled and fell to his knees only a few yards away from the gangplank. Completely embarrassing. But while he was here, a little thanks to Jah for getting him off that boat would certainly not go amiss. "Thank you, Jah!! Thank you for bringing me back to England!" With that, he risked compounding his embarrassment by laying his lips to the ground and actually kissing the very soil of England.

--Brother_corwynn

Corwyn walked down the gangplank with a cheery expression. It was good to be back in England--even if other business would soon take him away to Flanders.

He stopped suddenly and checked to make sure he was really seeing something correctly.

Was Richard Grimthorn kissing the ground? Well then.

"Glad to be home, then, Richard? One must admire your enthusiasm. At least we can get some proper fish, chips, and dark beer I would expect.."

--Richard.grimthorn

"Well," began Richard with a slight hint of barely-hidden embarrassment. Honestly? His one unfettered moment of thanks and who sees it but Corwynn. Jah really did have a sense of humor. "I may be bound for the gallows. But whether my fate lies at the end of a noose, or no, at least I'm off that damned boat!" The mention of dark beer enlivened his spirits and gave him the strength and necessary focus to pull himself off the ground. Yes, it was steadier now. The initial moment of unsteadiness must have simply been his legs having to adapt to the ground's not swaying with his every step. Rediculous that his legs had adapted to the sea at all, but well, as he'd just recently re-discovered, Jah had a sense of humor. "So is it for the pub then? Or have we other, more pressing matters, per usual?"

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

Allan grinned as he, too got off the damned boat.

"I agree, Richard. Better an English Gallows than an Irish port, ready equipped with exploding dock."

He walked up and clapped Grimthorn on the back.

"Sad to say, though, we will barely make coronation if we ride like all hell chases us. Corwynn will you pleasse get some horses around. preferably FAST horses."

He looked over at Destini

"Ready for another wild ride, dear? We can stop in the market and get you something amazing to wear while Corwynn hunts horses."

Allan was ready to get on with getting on.

Destini

Desti raised her eyebrows slightly. "That's the second time in an hour that ye've mentioned that I have a new dress. Anxious to see me in other than travelin' clothes, Allan?" She might have shown her wrists or ankles to him flirtatiously, but as those areas were both still subtly marked from her captivity, she felt self-concious showing those. Instead, she gathered her hair up so her neck was exposed to Allan's sight. "Should I wear my hair up fer the coronation, do ye think?" she teased him gently. Her eyes sparkled with her amusement.

She let her hair fall back around her shoulders and returned to their task at hand. Despite how much she would like to take their time, they had instructions to return to the King's side as soon as possible. " 'Tis my first time in Barnstapple. Lead the way to the markets an' lets see what we can find."
_________________

--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

"Well... Madame Malkins Courtesan Caberet will have some things... but I recommend Lady Briana's Fine Gowns on Corinth street."

He grinned, making sure Desti did not have a crossbow or skillet to hand.

Destini

Desti blushed to her ankles. She hadn't expected a tame response, but the one Allan had given her had certainly not been expected. "Aye, well, yes, then. Lady Briana's 'tis."

Turning to Corwynn and Richard, she told them, "We'll meet ye both at the gates o' the town. I doubt we'll be long." With that, she left them to their own devices and moved to follow Allan toward the market district.
_________________

--Brother_corwynn

Corwynn was annoyed at how much he had needed to spend to get the four horses around. But that did not matter as he had what they needed and these were amazing stallions.

Leading the other three horses, Corwynn rode up to the gates.

"Hello all! I have the fastes horses in Barnstaple. Let us hie our sea-worn backsides to London Tower, shall we?

Come Destini! We are crowning a king!"

Destini

Destini, having purchased a new dress, arrived with Allan to the gates to find Corwynn holding the horses. She waited for Richard and Allan to mount before following suit. Once in the saddle, she smiled to Corwynn.

"An' so we shall. We are bidden to serve an' so we shall. Let us be on toward His Majesty's secret service."

Destini kicked her horse to speed and rode toward the Coronation of the King of England ....

(OOC: From here, we go to the London Commons thread Royal Parade and Coronation of King Faheud. This story will be continued, but in another thread, in another era: the Era of the King. For now, all is well, the villains well-vanquished, and a new plot unfurls ....)
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--Deacon_allan_brightpoint

(OOC: Author's note) We the writers of this momentous RP thank every reader, every commenter, and every participant, PNJ and player.

I thank the brilliant imagination of Destini MacKenzie's player, and all of the people in the Sword and the Shield thread. And who could not chuckle at Manfred?

That said, we are moving on to a new book in the adventures, "In His Majesty's Secret Service!"

We write because you believe

The Player behind Allan Brightpoint.

THE END

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