Flash Fiction #503 -- The Long Way Home/3

 

Rory followed Jamison to the window. He glanced at the building but primarily studied the yard and the street, seeing no sign of any of the guards, though he suspected someone would still be watching the front of the building.

"Fire. She's right," Jamison said with a growl. "Damn. No one is coming out!"

"I need over there, but not through the front door." He looked back at Jamison. "I assume there is a back door here."

"I'll show you." Jamison put a hand on his wife's shoulder, and she nodded.

Rory heard no yells about the fire. Everyone remained focused on the bells, but it wouldn't be long before the local people would see the flickering flames.

Rory wasn't surprised when Jamison went out into the yard with him. Rory looked at the man with a shake of his head, but it was clear Jamison would follow him. Arguing now would not help.

They stayed close to the building and out of sight for anyone in the upper windows. Voices called out sometimes, barely heard above the bell. Nothing moved in the yard.

A brick fence, seven feet tall, ran the line between the two buildings, and flowering bushes lined it on both sides. Rory scanned the top and looked up at the building beyond. Still too dark, though hints of flickering light danced at the edges of a couple windows.

No one in any of the suites made a sign of noticing. None of them. Rory scrambled up the fence and dropped the other side. Jamison followed with ease, a man not in the least out of shape despite his office job.

Rory could smell smoke now and heard more people out on the street. He wasn't sure how long the bells would ring, but he took advantage of it by knocking out the small pane of glass at the back door and unlocking it to let them in.

He could smell blood, even here in the back hall. A slight crackling sound came from elsewhere. Jamison quietly closed the door behind him.

"I don't doubt everyone is dead," Rory said, his voice soft despite no one being around. "I need to check my people and grab things if they aren't already gone. I'll check the others on the way down if there is time. You can come with me or check elsewhere if you like."

"We should stay together. There might still be some of Kellic's people here."

"Yes. Of course."  Rory knew that his voice sounded dull and without emotion. That came from both shock and training. Anger that he had failed in his job came close behind, though he remembered the Queen telling him to save them if he could. The Ambassador himself knew there were dangers here. Why did he bring his wife and daughter? They didn't deserve --

They were climbing the stairs. Rory had been aware of bodies in the entry area. Jamison had checked them and caught up with him. A few lamps flickered at the landings. He could see bloody footprints at the first landing and didn't look down again.

The door to the Ambassador's suite was the only one open. Someone hung from the chandelier, a small figure in a flowing dress. Alis, the daughter.

"Oh, the Gods curse them," Jamison snarled. "Damn them and the prince --"

"Alis," Rory said aloud as though he expected her to answer. "She was to serve as one of the Queen's Ladies after they went home in the spring. The thought terrified her, poor child."

Jamison had already crossed to cut her down and gently lay her on the sofa. Bodies lay all across the floor, the Ambassador recognizable by his size. The other bodies were clerks, maids, his wife ...

Rory went past them and into the office. No light showed here, but he would not light a lamp or a candle. His night sight was adequate for a room he knew so well.

Drawers had been dumped out, making it impossible to know if they had taken any paperwork. It didn't matter. Rory pulled up the cushion to the Ambassador's chair by the window and pulled out his private journal, shoving it inside his jacket.

Then to the closet, where he pulled up a few boards and took out a wooden box, small enough to carry in one hand but heavy with coin.

"The fire is spreading downstairs," Jamison warned.

"There is nothing here left to salvage. We have to assume the other two embassies were also attacked and killed. Small places -- Vinchana and Tritinia. They are in no position to ask questions about whatever Kellic tells them happened. But they don't have me, Lord Jamison, and I need to get to the Queen."

"Then we go now."

Rory agreed and started for the door out, but he paused again to look around the room, lingering on poor Alis.

"We didn't expect the king to die," Rory admitted. "This was supposed to be nothing more than a mission to find out what to expect in the future. Kellic applying for the Princesses hand in marriage threw everything out of order."

"We have to go unless you don't intend to survive."

He forced himself to turn away, whispering a quick northern prayer for the souls of everyone in this building. By the time they were down to the lower floor, the flames had leapt everywhere, and the smoke grew so thick that Rory could barely breathe. Even Rory, who knew this building so well, had trouble finding the hall that led toward the back. He could hear people attempting to get in the front by then, but that area erupted in flames.

Rory took a step out before he realized someone stood to the side of the door. A blade slashed at his neck, missed, and caught his shoulder instead. Rory triggered the harness on his right wrist and had a dagger ready.

And in the flickering light, Rory realized he faced Prince Kellic.

Flash Fiction #502 -- The Long Way Home/2

 The castle bells rang first, then more began to add in throughout the city so that the sounds overlapped and built layer on layer.

"That answers one question," Jamison said.  He started to the window and stopped.  "The king is dead."

"That was what I had been told," Rory answered.  He did not relax.  It might have been better if it hadn't been confirmed.  "I wasn't certain until I saw the men next door.  Do open the curtains.  Everyone would at this point."

Jamison nodded.  Keltrina pulled back the edges and looked out.  They had a view straight across to the Ambassadors' lodgings.  The third-floor rooms were dark.  They shouldn't be.  There should have been movement everywhere --

Nothing moved in that building.  Nowhere that Rory could see.  There were five other ambassadors and their entourages with them.  They couldn't have killed them all!

Although, for all he knew, there were a hundred more of Kellic's men in the building.

They'd killed Old Anton already.  He had no hope for anyone who had been in that apartment.  A few of the others might have been out ... but the men were still waiting.

"Who are you?" Jamison asked, sitting in a chair as his wife stayed by the window.  He waved Rory to another, a high-backed affair that sat turned away from the window.  Good.  He almost felt as though the man knew this sort of work, though it might just be his natural instinct to be careful.  Many people who worked in government -- any nation's government -- tended to get that way.

"I am Rory Callen," he said as he stripped off his boots.  No use lying about any of it if Jamison asked the right questions.  "I was at dinner at the Blue Swan when I heard the king had died.  I headed straight back here to tell the Ambassador and urge him and the rest of his people to pack light and leave the capital but the quickest road out of Euriday."

"Because of Prince Kellic," Jamison said.  "You were part of the Ambassador's team, and we've passed on the street.  A minor secretary."

"That was my position with the ambassador, yes," Rory said.

Jamison nodded.  "If you were going to warn Ambassador Tranthin, why are you here with us?  Why did you stop us from going out?  Shouldn't your first concern be your employer?"

"I warned you because you were going to draw their attention by walking in front of the building.  I recognized one of the guards.  Sir Poltin, Prince Kellic's man.  And they'd already killed Old Anton, so I had little hope of reaching the others in time."

"Anton?" Keltrina said.  "Oh, you don't mean that fine old doorman?"

"I'm afraid so.  I'm sorry."

"You think the rest of your team is already dead," Jamison said.  He leaned forward.  "Kellic has no love for your land since your Queen turned down his suit for her daughter."

"Yes, we are well aware of that problem.  Honestly, the hope has always been that Prince Palkin would be declared over his brother.  I hope he hears the news and stays away."

"You don't sound like a person from Sunry," Keltina said with a frown.  She looked mistrusting for the first time.  "I spoke with the Ambassador's daughter at a gathering just last week, and I could hardly understand one word in five."  Then she stopped, and a look of dread came to her face.  "You think she's dead, too?"

"I fear so.  I'll have to find out."  He looked at Jamison and decided more trust hardly mattered now.  "And the truth is that I can sound like I'm from many different places."

"You are not just a clerk," Jamison said.

"No, but even the Ambassador never knew it.  I work for Queen Calladona," He said, giving away secrets -- it hardly mattered.  He could still see the closed curtains and dark rooms beyond.  "I don't want them to be dead.  If Kellic is behind this --"

"Is Prince Palkin in danger?"

Rory hadn't thought of that possibility.  The younger prince was at his Queen's Court last he heard.

"I would hope not from my people, but Kellic might have a long reach."  Rory stopped and pushed both hands through his hair this time.  "I won't deny that there could be a reaction at the capital, though.  Tranthin was a likable man and a distant cousin to the Queen.  It might lead to problems if the commoners get word before it reaches the court."

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

Rory glanced at the window and the edge at which Keltrina stared out, still and worried.  The bells continued to ring their doom, and he could hardly think.

"I need ta ge' 'ome," he said and realized his accent had changed, startling them both.  It surprised him as well, but it had been that thought of home that did it.  "Go home," he said more clearly this time.  "I need to get to the Queen and your prince.  I need out of the city.  I don't doubt they know I wasn't there.  Prince Kellic is known for efficiency if nothing else."

Jamison made an amused sound.  "Why do you trust me?  I could hold you here and send for the prince's men."

"You could," Rory agreed.  He did not add that holding him would not be easy.  "If you did, I would do my best to escape.  I don't think either of us wants that sort of trouble.  I don't think either of you would survive it, but it would not be me who would do you harm."

Keltrina glanced at him with open worry, but she was no fool.  Jamison's wife knew who would create the real trouble in this drama.  Rory didn't believe anyone trusted Prince Kellic and probably least of all those who worked with him.  The man knew no loyalty.

"I think there is a fire in the building," Keltrina whispered.

Flash Fiction #501 -- The Long Way Home/1

 The Blue Swan's nightly fare was not as elegant as that of the establishments closer to the castle, but it catered to people like Rory Callen, who held a third-level position with the Sunry ambassador to the capital of Euriday. To say that the job didn't pay well was an insult to the very idea of coinage.

Rory wasn't here for the money.

He wasn't here for what he learned in the next moment, either.

The man came up behind him, a slow walk, but he never slowed as he passed.

"The king is dead," the stranger whispered.

He did not slow. Rory kept eating, and that came from training. He ate the food, left a few coins for the pretty barmaid he would never see again, and headed out the door.

The night had gone dark, misty, and wet. Not a surprise since the weather hadn't changed much in the last five weeks we had been in residence. Autumn in Euriday was not a pleasant destination.

King Dumasin was dead. Prince Kellic would take the throne.

Kellic was a bad-tempered bastard who hated anyone from Sunry or those who sided with them. Rory needed to get to the Ambassador's suite, produce his proper credentials, pack the rest of the team up and get them out of the city before Kellic got control. No mournful bells were ringing yet. News of the King's death was not widespread, though that wouldn't last long.

Rory didn't head straight to the apartment building shared by many of the ambassadors, but he didn't linger anywhere, either. He took back streets and alleys he had already marked out as safer from patrols. He stripped off his fine silken jacket in the darkest corner and turned it inside out to show a far rougher weave. The breaches and boots were nondescript and easily mistaken for workman's clothing.

The gold and sapphire earing and ring went into a secret, well-padded pocket where they weren't likely to be found, except by tearing the jacket apart. He crumpled his hat and pulled off the hair tie. As long as he kept his hair pulled into a pig's tail, no one realized the purposefully uneven, badly cut style.

A rock in his boot forced him to limp. When Rory came out the other end of the alley, a few moments after going in, he was a different man.

He twice heard the word 'king' uttered in whispers at corners. News had begun to spread as he had expected. He once heard 'Kellic' with a snarl, which was heartening -- although he had no hope that meant anything good. Rory wove a slightly drunken limp here and there, never going too close to anyone to draw attention, but picking up a few whispers.

The eight bell tolled. Still just the time, and he wondered if his usually reliable contact had been mistaken this time? It seemed unlikely. Not on something this important. So he kept going, now no more than a few thousand steps from the building.

Something wrong.

Dark-cloaked men lingered at the front corners of the building and probably at the back as well. Another of their ilk stood at the entryway talking to the doorman, old Anton. The doorman leaned against the wall, slumped slightly, and quite obviously dead.

Rory took a slow step back, lingering at the edge of the sputtering gaslight. No sudden moves or noises as he retreated to the far side of the previous building, another apartment where many government workers lived. He heard normal sounds and even crossed paths with a man and his wife heading off for a late dinner.

"Go back," he warned softly, despite that he ought to have kept quiet. He feared they would head uptown and cross in front of Ambassadors' House, drawing unwanted attention. The man scowled at him. "Go, for your own safety. The King has died, and Prince Kellic's men are next door. You do not want to be a witness."

The man glanced toward the building. The woman caught his arm. "Back in," she whispered. "We have teacakes enough for tonight."

The man didn't argue, but he did put a hand on Rory's shoulder. "We've drawn attention. Come with us."

"But --"

"I thought we would meet at the Highroad Inn for dinner," the woman said. "Well, come on in, Yul. We can warm up and have a few drinks, and perhaps, if we're not too tipsy, head for dinner later. Or should we order something from the kitchen?"

"The kitchen," her husband said. "Yul has walked a long way already, and there is no reason to trot him up the hill to a mediocre meal."

She held his arm, and Rory dared not pull away and try to leave. Two of the guards were heading their way. Rory had probably saved them, and they did the same for him.

The doorman at their domicile was younger than Old Anton and gave them a curious look as they returned with such a scruffy person.

"Let none but those who belong here in after us," the man said. Rory recognized him now: Jamison, third son of the Lord of Landtrust and an undersecretary to the Minister of the military. He likely ranked high enough to be obeyed, too.

They went through the inner doors and up two flights of curving stairs in silence, drawing no attention. The two had moved to walk behind Rory, keeping him well in sight. Jamison had served in the army and learned something from it, too.

"This one," Keltina said. That was her name.

Rory stepped to the side and let Jamison open the door. He went in and stopped a couple steps inside, looking at the lovely, well-appointed entry room.

"Let me take off my boots. They're all mud," Rory said with a wave down at them. "Then I'll sit where you say and answer what I can."

Bells began to ring.The Blue Swan's nightly fare was not as elegant as the establishments closer to the castle, but it catered to people like Rory Callen, who held a third-level position with the Sunry ambassador's (something) to the capital of Euriday. To say that the job didn't pay well was an insult to the very idea of coinage.

Rory wasn't here for the money.

He wasn't here for what he learned in the next moment, either.

The man came up behind him, a slow walk, but he never slowed as he passed.

"The king is dead," the stranger whispered.

He did not slow. Rory kept eating, and that came from training. He ate the food, left a few coins for the pretty barmaid he would never see again, and headed out the door.

The night had gone dark, misty, and wet. Not a surprise since the weather hadn't changed much in the last five weeks we had been in residence. Autumn in Euriday was not a pleasant destination.

King Dumasin was dead. Prince Kellic would take the throne.

Kellic was a bad-tempered bastard who hated anyone from Sunry or those who sided with them. Rory needed to get to the Ambassador's suite, produce his proper credentials, pack the rest of the team up and get them out of the city before Kellic got control. No mournful bells were ringing yet. News of the King's death was not widespread, though that wouldn't last long.

Rory didn't head straight to the apartment building shared by many of the ambassadors, but he didn't linger anywhere, either. He took back streets and alleys he had already marked out as safer from patrols. He stripped off his fine silken jacket in the darkest corner and turned it inside out to show a far rougher weave. The breaches and boots were nondescript and easily mistaken for workman's clothing.

The gold and sapphire earing and ring went into a secret, well-padded pocket where they weren't likely to be found, except by tearing the jacket apart. He crumpled his hat and pulled off the hair tie. As long as he kept his hair pulled into a pig's tail, no one realized the purposefully uneven, badly cut style.

A rock in his boot forced him to limp. When Rory came out the other end of the alley, a few moments after going in, he was a different man.

He twice heard the word 'king' uttered in whispers at corners. News had begun to spread as he had expected. He once heard 'Kellic' with a snarl, which was heartening -- although he had no hope that meant anything good. Rory wove a slightly drunken limp here and there, never going too close to anyone to draw attention, but picking up a few whispers.

The eight bell tolled. Still just the time, and he wondered if his usually reliable contact had been mistaken this time? It seemed unlikely. Not on something this important. So he kept going, now no more than a few thousand steps from the building.

Something wrong.

Dark-cloaked men lingered at the front corners of the building and probably at the back as well. Another of their ilk stood at the entryway talking to the doorman, old Anton. The doorman leaned against the wall, slumped slightly, and quite obviously dead.

Rory took a slow step back, lingering at the edge of the sputtering gaslight. No sudden moves or noises as he retreated to the far side of the previous building, another apartment where many government workers lived. He heard normal sounds and even crossed paths with a man and his wife heading off for a late dinner.

"Go back," he warned softly, despite that he ought to have kept quiet. He feared they would head uptown and cross in front of Ambassadors' House, drawing unwanted attention. The man scowled at him. "Go, for your own safety. The King has died, and Prince Kellic's men are next door. You do not want to be a witness."

The man glanced toward the building. The woman caught his arm. "Back in," she whispered. "We have teacakes enough for tonight."

The man didn't argue, but he did put a hand on Rory's shoulder. "We've drawn attention. Come with us."

"But --"

"I thought we would meet at the Highroad Inn for dinner," the woman said. "Well, come on in, Yul. We can warm up and have a few drinks, and perhaps, if we're not too tipsy, head for dinner later. Or should we order something from the kitchen?"

"The kitchen," her husband said. "Yul has walked a long way already, and there is no reason to trot him up the hill to a mediocre meal."

She held his arm, and Rory dared not pull away and try to leave. Two of the guards were heading their way. Rory had probably saved them, and they did the same for him.

The doorman at their domicile was younger than Old Anton and gave them a curious look as they returned with such a scruffy person.

"Let none but those who belong here in after us," the man said. Rory recognized him now: Jamison, third son of the Lord of Landtrust and an undersecretary to the Minister of the military. He likely ranked high enough to be obeyed, too.

They went through the inner doors and up two flights of curving stairs in silence, drawing no attention. The two had moved to walk behind Rory, keeping him well in sight. Jamison had served in the army and learned something from it, too.

"This one," Keltina said. That was her name.

Rory stepped to the side and let Jamison open the door. He went in and stopped a couple steps inside, looking at the lovely, well-appointed entry room.

"Let me take off my boots. They're all mud," Rory said with a wave down at them. "Then I'll sit where you say and answer what I can."

Bells began to ring.

Flash Fiction #500 -- Number 500 (Drabble)

 The plot bunny sat on the edge of my desk. "I've got nothing."

I looked in dismay. "You can't be serious. This is number 500!"

"Yeah, exactly. You create a new story for 500 weeks in a row!"

I looked at Musette. "You realize you're a figment of my imagination, right?"

"If your imagination is so good, do this yourself."

"Hold on."  I didn't panic. Much.  "520 is more important. That will be ten years."

"I'll be famous for it!" Her ears perked up.

"Right," I agreed. I still had to come up with something for the 500th story, though.