Valor and Violence

Elizabeth slipped along with the crowd a few hours later, the clear skies above promising a pleasant day but giving the morning a chill bite that reminded her winter was over, but not by much. The human tapestry of a major capital city flowed around her, rugged up but otherwise uncaring of the weather. The vibe was… bored, to be honest. Or maybe resigned? It was odd, like no one actually wanted to be there so early, shuffling through the cold, but they were all too cowed by the power of the nobility to risk being absent. The general apathy and resentment percolating under the surface had put the famously surly Aderathian citizenry in a particularly fine mood, and they jostled each other far more than was strictly necessary in their unhurried convergence on the town square.

At least the fact they were heading in the same direction curbed the worst of it, though Elizabeth still found herself grimacing as an unusually doughy specimen gut barged his way past her. She subtly changed her heading, following him as he ploughed on. She slowly gained on him, ready to jab him in the kidneys with the pommel of a knife, but abandoned the idea when she realised it was far easier going, drifting along in his wake. They were nearly at the square when someone finally failed to move out of the lout’s path in time.

The poor bugger was a young lad, maybe a tad older than Elizabeth herself, and he had been absently bumbling along when the fat prick rolled straight over the top of him. The unfortunate boy went down with an undignified yelp, his uncaring aggressor muttering at him to speed up or get the Pit out of the way. Elizabeth stopped and giggled, then bent down to help the boy to his feet.

He looked up at her with suspicion, his pale green eyes framed by an unruly mass of curly jet black hair. He was cute; his nose a little buttony for an Aderathian, his skin a little too tan, and his sharp cheekbones barely discernible under a bit of chub. The product of an unusual union between an Aderathian and someone from far away. Probably helped explain his station in life, too. From the threadbare state of his jacket to the many mending patches on his pants, it was clear he, or his family, weren’t well off at all.

“It’s alright, friend,” Elizabeth said as she reached out. “I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

He stared at the hand for a minute, his face blank except for some tiny tremors at the corner of his eyes as he weighed the risk. In the end, he tentatively accepted it, wincing as she hauled him to his feet. He stumbled a bit and Elizabeth caught him, steadying him before he went over again.

“Easy there, you alright?”

He pushed away from her, his cheeks growing bright red with embarrassment. “I-I’m f-f-fine,” he said, hugging himself around the middle. He was shaking, and Elizabeth looked down his front, realising the already worn clothes were now soaked in a mixture of morning dew and mud from people’s boots.

“Oh, buddy. That doesn’t look comfortable. I think you should probably go home and get warm. I doubt anyone will miss you at this speech, whatever it’s about.”

The boy looked away, worrying at his bottom lip with a tooth. “Got nowhere warm to go. May as well keep with the press of bodies,” he said, quietly.

Elizabeth felt a sharp pang in her chest. He was older than her for sure, but his soft features and nervous demeanour reminded her of a child. A cold, wet, lonely child. On an impulse, she threw her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug, squeezing tighter as he stiffened in her arms, then relaxed into it. Not enough to hug her back, but Elizabeth didn’t blame him. This was weird.

After a moment she pulled back, pulling a gold coin from her pocket money pouch with a sleight-of-hand trick she had picked up years ago. It usually brought a smile to kids’ faces when she did it, so she frowned when all he did was ogle it.

“You’re supposed to laugh or clap or… something. That trick took me ages to learn!” she said.

“S-s-sorry,” the boy mumbled, averting his gaze again. “You just don’t see those every d-day.”

She glanced at the gold in her hand.

Of course! He’s probably never seen something larger than a silver in his life! Maybe even a bronze?

Smiling, she grabbed him by the hand and gently forced the coin into it.

“Here, go buy yourself something hot to eat and drink when the speech is done.”

His eyes bulged as he looked from Elizabeth to his hand and back to her. His mouth flapped open and shut, his words failing him. Elizabeth winked and stepped back into the crowd, disappearing into the flow of people who didn’t realise they were about to witness a murder. She flowed along until the narrow street disgorged her and the milling citizenry into a wide cobbled space.

It was empty aside from a wooden platform at the far end. It was a sturdy, modular affair, designed to adopt a variety of configurations depending on need. Today it was a speaker’s platform, an ornate mahogany podium at odds with the hodgepodge timber comprising the rest of the structure. The gallows from yesterday were nowhere to be seen.

Elizabeth slipped through the chattering crowd, stalking towards it as the duke and his entourage appeared. They marched up the steps onto the platform as City Watch fanned out, setting up a perimeter to give a few meters clearance between the rich and influential and the unwashed masses. The various dignitaries and sycophants took their seats behind their boss, fussing about and hugging themselves against the morning chill as the duke himself strode to the pulpit, giving Elizabeth ample opportunity to appraise her mark.

He was decked out in mid-tier finery; his cloak heavy, but deep blue instead of rare purple, the fur trim almost but not quite pure white. A gold circlet sat on his brow, worth more than the sum of what the crowd would see in a year, but positively modest compared to some of the bullshit back at the Doge’s Palace in Verduno.

The man himself looked similarly ‘mid-tier’. Early forties, his black hair at the tipping point between pepper with salt to salt with pepper. His face was lined, not from the weather or a harsh life, but from a perpetual scowl. To his credit, though, where most Ader nobles his age had the bulbous features and droopy, veined cheeks of men given to enjoying every perk available to their station, he retained the hard lines and clear, pale skin for which Aderathians were famed. He swept the crowd with hard blue eyes and the thin line of his mouth turned down at the corners as his scowl deepened.

“Hear me, fine people of Ader, the crown jewel of our great empire!” he shouted, his powerful voice effortlessly filling the space. To Elizabeth’s surprise, everyone froze, the inane chatter and aimless milling dying immediately.

Crap.

Moving would draw attention now, and she was still a little further from the platform than she would have liked. She had only brought a pistol and a boot knife, anything more being too hard to conceal in the press of bodies. Bugger it. This would have to do. She had made trickier shots before, she could make this one. She tucked her hand under her cloak, feeling along her belt for the brassy handle of her weapon.

It was gone.

With a rising panic she patted back and forth along it, the people around her starting to stare as the colour drained from her face. It had been there, she was sure of it, and there was no way it could have fallen out. The way she had it tucked, it could only be drawn and…

She stopped. The street urchin.

Tricky little wanker.

She looked up at the duke as he settled into an impassioned rant about the evils of the Guild. The scowl on her face mirrored his as she let out a heavy sigh and bent over. She would have to find that urchin afterwards and give him a right hiding. Stealing her pistol? Honestly, he wouldn’t even know what to do with the bloody thing. Yet he had stolen it anyway, then looked her dead in the eyes and accepted her charity. Guess it was lucky for him his roving fingers had found the pistol and not her pocket money, otherwise the jig would have been up for him far sooner.

She let her frustration feed into anger, which fed into foolhardiness as she tugged her boot knife free and strode through the crowd. The watchman closest to her immediately glanced her way, his grip tightening on his halberd. As she grew closer, his posture changed from wary to alarm, and he gave a shout as Elizabeth reach the edge of the crowd.

Smoothly, without rushing, she stepped out from the press of bodies, her knife flashing in the morning light as she threw it underhanded at the guard. It thudded into his throat and he dropped his halberd, hands flying to his neck as his eyes widened with fear. She deftly collected the polearm as it fell and spun, falling to a knee as she whipped the weapon into the feet of another watchman, charging with his own weapon raised high. The blow didn’t cleave all the way through his ankle, but it damn near made it as he fell on his arse, screaming to the high heavens.

Without giving him a second glance, she vaulted onto the stage, taking in the bureaucrats scrambling over each other to escape as a watchman sprinted to position himself between Eliza and her target.

Her face twisted into a snarl, though it was still directed at the urchin more so than the foolhardy guard before her. Little shit had ruined her morning, and the more she stewed on it, the more she could care less about this duke and his pontificating. The turd would feel her wrath. Just as soon as she had finished the job here.

She twirled her halberd and advanced while the duke postured behind his protector, spitting vitriolic rage as he waved a sabre in her direction. Goaded on, the watchman charged with a spirited war cry, Eliza letting him advance to within a couple of meters before she reversed her grip on her polearm and hurled it through his stomach. Such weapons were never meant to be thrown, but at this distance she could make it work, and the heavy-bladed head punched through his tabard and into his soft belly. Eyes wide, the watchman dropped to his knees, hands cupped around the shaft of the halberd. He turned his disbelieving gaze up just in time to catch Elizabeth’s knee careening towards his face, smashing in his nose and teeth as she strode past.

“Right, who’s next?” Elizabeth shouted, looking around at the guards arrayed around the platform. To a man, they looked suitably enraged, but unwilling to do anything about it, having just seen three of their comrades cut down.

“Cowards!”

Elizabeth’s eyes snapped forward as the duke bellowed at the assembled watch.

“I’ll deal with her myself!”

As the alarm bell started to toll somewhere behind him, the noble stalked towards Elizabeth, blade brandished before him. She took her time observing him, analysing his movements.

Technically proficient, she thought, as she noted the even spacing of his steps and his weight distribution. Doubt he’s ever had to actually fight for his life, though.

His balance was good, his movements deliberate, but he was holding his ceremonial sabre like a rapier and he lacked the predatory presence of a killer. Elizabeth guessed he, much like many other nobles with ample time and money, had been tutored in the Ris style of duelling but never actually had cause to use the skill set.

She shot forward, dropping to her knees and sliding under the predicted step and lunge that all semi-trained amateurs led with. She reached up and grabbed his wrist, then twisted her whole body, kicking the duke’s feet out as she did so. The noble toppled over her hip, grunting as he hit the ground. He barely had time to get his bearings before Elizabeth wrenched his arm and drove her bicep into the back of his elbow, snapping the joint. His insensate fingers slipped open, the blade falling from his grip and into Elizabeth’s waiting hand. Without delay or fanfare, she rammed it through his heart, dropping her weight behind it. There was the barest hint of resistance as the blade punctured out his back, before the aged plank beneath him broke and the blade slid cleanly through until the hilt came to a stop against his chest. The duke’s eyes went wide, half from fear, half from incandescent rage, before the life drained from them, leaving a frankly comedic glassy-eyed stare behind.

“Phew! That got the blood pumping. Now where’s that little bugger run off to?” Elizabeth asked no one in particular as she wiped her bloodstained hands on the dead noble’s cloak and stood. “Oh, bollocks.”

Watchmen were streaming into the square from every entrance, roughly forcing their way through the panicked crowd as they converged on her. The surviving guards from the earlier scrap had taken up positions around the platform, warily seeking to cut off her escape. She spun, looking for an opening, but there was none. She would need to fight her way out, but where would she go? She hadn’t bothered planning for this. She was just supposed to shoot the prick, then slip out in the press of bodies as everyone fled. Not much chance of that happening now. She would need to carve a path, but without her usual armoury on hand, it would be far more difficult than giving the watch the slip down at the docks.

“Alright,” she sighed, reaching down and pulling the sabre from the duke’s body. “Let’s get started, shall we?”