Getting to the library about quarter to nine. Late and starving. The smell of the fires still lingering in the air on the walk over. Waving to the still not very friendly girl sitting at the front desk, no wave back, as per the usual, and then entering the area with the circle of tables and chairs for the Runemage class where we discussed the book we were reading as a group with a couple minutes set aside for actual magic tacked on somewhere.
Everyone giving me their full attention, but mine on the catered food off to the side. Glancing over at the group and noting the presence of a guest - not the book reading type - Stormhawk emblem on his cloak. Giving them my best smile, the one saved for those extremely extra special occasions.
“I'm sorry I'm late. I ran into some trouble last night.” Looking at Diane and her escort in particular. “My apologies.” Extending out both my hands and making a very slight bow. Holding that stance for just longer than what would ordinarily be considered polite. Making an exception for this special occasion. Returning my attention to the food and starting to load up my plate.
“That's quite alright, Lucy,” my master saying. “I'm glad you could make it.”
“Master!” Diane, scandalized, exploding in anger. “You're welcoming this, this, this,” sputtering, face contorting, sounding like she was having difficulty trying to find the correct word to describe exactly how she feels about me.
Time to teach you some manners. My partially filled plate making a small clatter on the counter and Diane's face contorting into a much more pleasing expression at my rapid advance. Her soon to be ex-escort getting up and reaching for his weapon. Feeling a light touch and unable to move.
“Lucy,” says my master, “I'm going to have to ask you to please refrain from that sort of behavior while you're here.”
How'd he move so quickly? Fighting down the huge surge of irritation and keeping my eyes fixed on them.
“Master,” says Diane, with a look of relief, “thank you. I hope now you realize that what I was saying earlier wasn't some kind of ill considered joke. This is Macarthy.” Her finger accusing. The other classmates in my line of sight giving each other questioning glances, then considering me with a combination of distrust and unease. Diane's escort on his feet and starting to unsheathe his sword.
“Please take your seat,” my master says, calmly. The man hesitating and Diane gesturing imperiously. Get on with it. The man's sword coming out, grim determination, coming in to stab. Disappearing. Happening so quickly it seemed to have been a trick of the eye, his entire form covered for an instant in pitch blackness and then gone. A moment later the blast of frozen air coming from the space where he'd been causing everyone's breath to mist. No body, no gear, no ghost. Eradicated. Straight to the temple with no opportunity for reflection.
“Diane,” says my master, unfrayed, still calm, “you are certainly welcome to bring guests, but I simply won't allow them to harm any of my students.” Looking at me. “Not even you were so foolish as to try that all those years ago.” The entire class holding their collective breath. “As far as her identity, of course I'm aware of who she is.” Diane mouth twisting at that particular piece of information. “I knew who she was when she showed up on my doorstep several months ago. But she's also one of my students and your peer. I expect you to try and get along.”
“But it's Macarthy,” says Diane, some muttering echoes from some of the others around the room.
“Um, excuse me,” Abigail's voice, behind me and to the left, “earlier when you said that everyone got really upset. I haven't been here very long. Who's Macarthy and why's it such a big deal?”
A deluge of voices.
“Sadist and thug.”
“Complete psycho.”
“Killed all those people at Haven.”
“Robbed my friend at knifepoint.”
“Attacked the gala.”
“Was killing people everywhere.”
“Set all those fires last night.”
The last a contribution from Diane. Getting the attention from everyone in the room.
“Is that right?”
“Well it is Macarthy, I wouldn't doubt it.”
“Yeah, but I heard something different.”
“What'd you hear?”
“Well...”
The uncomfortable silence stretching. My master looking around.
“Lucy, not letting you have your say wouldn't be fair. I trust you've calmed down? I can always send you away like I did him.”
There's that very calm expression. Slowly moving my eyes up and down. Suddenly being able to move again and sucking in a deep breath.
“Master, I'm sorry.” Then to the group. “I'll be happy to address your concerns after I get something to eat. I wasn't allowed to have dinner last night.”
Heading back over and getting my plate, adding one or two more things, getting a mug, filling it with coffee, and then heading to an empty seat.
“First, it wasn't me that attacked the gala or any of those people. I've been on good behavior since the night of the tournament finals. Regarding those fires last night, I'm not one for gossip, and I'm definitely not pointing fingers at anyone in here, but my understanding is that Stormhawk is the responsible party.”
“That's not true,” says Diane, incensed. The rest of the group glancing around at each other. Some shrugs. Some tilting of heads. Some nods.
“That was my understanding.” Holding my palms out, fork held between my index and middle fingers. “And, admittedly, I may be biased, but I believe that to be the case.”
“That was you.” Diane persisting. Giving me dirty look.
“If you want to blame me, that's fine. I'm used to getting blamed for quite a bit. For things I've done and for things I've never even dreamed of doing.” Shrugging. “I can handle it. It's useful, in a number of ways.” Pointing at her with my fork. “But Stormhawk is responsible for those fires and everyone knows it. Even you. Let's get an Augur in here and see if I'm lying.” My face creaking at holding back the smile. Forcing in a forkful of food to help hide it.
“No one's blaming you, Diane.” One of the people next to her reaching out a consoling hand. Several other people verbalizing similar sentiments.
Diane's face a mask of cold hate at the outpouring of kind words and support. Taking a few more quick bites and washing it down with some coffee.
“Regarding my identity.” The entire group slightly leaning in. “Crazy as it sounds, it's true.” Mutters and looks of some skepticism at that. “I suppose as a formal introduction, my name is Lucilia Macarthy, formerly of the Thieves Guild, now defunct. My other name, which I'm certain you've all heard at one point, or another, and which, make no mistake,” pointing at several of them with my fork before landing on Diane, “no matter how hard they've tried, no matter how much they've taken away from me, they'll never take away all that sweat and blood and effort. Black Hand.”
The air being sucked out of the room. Diane not looking very pleased at my declaration. Did you imagine this would go differently? Did you think there'd be denials or groveling? More than prepared to meet the particular challenges of being brought into the light of day.
“That said, please call me Lucy. That other name exists solely to strike fear into my enemies and, despite our differences, I certainly don't consider you that. I don't know how it works with you all, but back in the guild we were family and I'd like that to be the case here. If I've wronged any of you in the past I want to make amends. I expect the same from you.” The rebuke aimed at Diane earning a glare back. You'll beg forgiveness. “I don't expect we'll be friends anytime soon, but that's fine, I already have friends.”
A silence descending over the room, broken only by the sound of my fork on the plate.
“Why are you even here?” says one of the men.
Breakfast.
“Because I asked her to be,” my master saying. Disgruntled expressions all around. “It had been my intention that you'd be able to learn at least a little bit from each other. My hope was to keep her in a structured environment, surround her with decent, respectable people and curb some of her more vicious tendencies. Not drive her further into a corner.” Shaking his head. “I doubt after what happened that's going to be possible anytime soon. That's your responsibility, Diane, and if you don't make an effort things are only going to get worse.”
“It had all been planned.” Diane's response petulant. “Macarthy should have been gone.”
My master bringing his eyes to the ceiling.
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Opening her big, fat mouth like that. It's like she's begging to be tortured to death. Starting to laugh. Walking back over to the coffee and refilling my cup. Heading back to my seat, still quietly laughing, all their eyes on me. Putting my hand on the chair back but not sitting down.
“Master, do I really have to deal with these people anymore? This doesn't seem like the most productive use of my time.” Gesturing at them with the cup before taking a sip. They'll be as relieved as me. Probably more.
“I suppose not. But let it go. Please spare her.”
“Pain is an important educational tool.”
Tension spiking through the roof and Diane looking around for the earlier reassurance and support. Distress at not finding any. You're quite pretty. Beautiful even. You've probably never had to deal with the consequences of your actions. Not really. Always managing to weasel out of them with a little pout or some lip service. Who did you think you were fucking with?
“As a favor to me.”
“Master, the way you teach them, you're too kind. I actually think it's been harmful. I remember when you were teaching me, you weren't very nice about it. Patient, but not that nice.”
“That was the best way for you to learn.”
“Them, too. If there's anything they needed it was a push. They have so much potential, but they'd just simply rather not. I think you should've demanded more from them. I think you've unknowingly done them a disservice by letting them be lazy and aimless and effortlessly content.”
“What does filth like you know about anything?” one of the men saying. A few voicing agreement.
“When I first came to this place, months ago, none of you were here. I tricked Shaker, me, into getting these classes started again for everyone, into doing the right thing after he and Lane,” pointing my finger at Diane, “and all the other Houses fucked everybody.” Keep it together. “They took the guild and everything we'd worked for away from us. That's the reason we broke up. That's the reason everything went bad. You guys still had this place, but where'd you all go? Not a scrap of loyalty and not a scrap of dedication. You don't know what a family is and I'm sorry I ever claimed I'd like you to be in mine.”
Not waiting for a response. Trying not to let them see the tears welling in my eyes as a result of their overwhelming rejection. Can't cry in front of them. Have a reputation to uphold, now. Out the room. Out the door. Bringing a hand up to clear my eyes and looking out into the empty plaza. Almost two hours to kill, need to get back over to the guild, keep getting further in. Need to order more clothing, more shoes, more sets of armor and get some more weapons. Taking a step and then noticing, to my right near the corner of the plaza, a storm drain. Too opportune. Going to stick around here for a bit.
Going over and testing the grate. Stuck pretty good. Using the shield, adding more and more pressure, and then with a sound one side coming up. Moving it off to the side and leaving the hole uncovered.
Walking back to the library and finding a spot off to the side of the door. Not readily visible from the windows. Tracing. Placing a Rune Trap design in front of the door. Scattering a few more at various places on the ground. Putting a final one on my skin. Sitting down and resting against the building. Should've brought my pipe. Wait, that's gone. Need to get a new pack, too. That had been a really great pack. Using the opportunity waiting on my target to watch the clouds.
About half after nine and people starting to leave. Getting to my feet. Not you, not you, not you. There you are. Chatting away. Even after everything you still feel pretty safe, don't you? Almost in position near the top of the steps.
Coming in at a run from behind and reaching out my hand. Using my momentum to shove her paralyzed body forward and her face hitting the cobblestones at the bottom. Someone behind me shouting out. No ghost. Little bump on the noggin wouldn't immediately kill her, even if it cracked her skull.
“What do you think you're doing?” One of the men coming over. Using some of the lessons gleaned from my earlier practice and aiming for his breastbone. Bowling him over with the shield. Another one of the men coming over and toppling him as well. Clearing out a space. The woman she'd been talking to had already backed off, not quite as brave, or as foolish.
All of them out of the library. Stacy, Stacy's friend, Diane's friend, the other women, the men and Abigail. Some stragglers reentering the building.
“She deserves it. I want you all to understand that, at the very least.”
Reaching down and grabbing her long hair. Could use the shield, of course, but need it in case any of them gets any ideas. Besides, dragging by hand adds that personal touch. Wrapping her hair, using my other hand to brace the grip, and starting to drag her in the direction of the open storm drain. Blood coming from her face, probably a broken nose or maybe some teeth knocked out.
Stacy starting to follow, but keeping her distance. The rest following her.
“Is she really worth going to jail?” she says.
“I don't expect nice, honest, upstanding people like you to know this.” Talking extra loud, conversational. “Up here we're in city limits. But when I toss her into that hole over there we'll be in the sewers. I can do whatever I want in there.” Stacy visibly absorbing the implications of that piece of information. “But, if your question is, would I go to jail in order to get revenge because of what happened?” Stopping. Staring straight at her. “Absolutely.” Getting back to dragging.
“Lucy,” Abigail saying, real upset, real close to crying, “I don't know anything about your history, or what happened, but I really wish you wouldn't do this.”
“This isn't how I wanted today to go, either.” Almost there.
“Can't you let her go?” Abigail continuing. “She's hurt pretty bad. Isn't that enough? Our Master wanted you to forgive her.”
Getting right next to the hole and looking up at Abigail's tear streaked face. She'd been crying silently. Suddenly getting a real nasty idea.
“Abbey, I can let her go, but it'll be entirely up to you. I'm going to give her a horrible haircut. Just awful. And then I'll let her go. Do you want me to let her go? Yes or no.”
Abigail blinking, trying to figure out my meaning. Stacy with a questioning look, but then bringing a hand to cover her mouth, understanding what exactly that would mean dawning. “You're evil.”
“She deserves it. Your choice Abigail.” Time for you to learn that mercy doesn't mean what you think.
The paralysis wearing off and Diane starting to move a bit, trying to at least, letting out a plaintive wail and crying.
“She's getting frisky. Bad haircut or in the hole?”
Abigail makes her choice. “Let her go.”
“I want you to know that the only reason I'm letting her go is because you asked me.”
Carve. The hair held in my hand shredding to pieces. Using the shield to hold Diane's head still for her own safety. Unleashing carnage on her remaining hair and leaving behind a patchwork disaster. Standing up, being very careful not to touch anything with my hands. Releasing the grip of the shield. Diane not making any effort to stand, just laying there crying piteously, bringing her hands up to cradle her head.
“She's all yours.” Backing off a few more steps.
Some of the men and Diane's friend coming over, picking her up bodily from the ground, supporting her completely and starting to walk off with her. Doesn't look like they want any trouble, and they're all acutely aware that something is up with my hands. Puncturing, and the world returning to its normal hardness.
“Thank you,” says Abigail. Stacy blinking a few times.
“Do you want to tell her, or should I?”
“Abbey,” says Stacy, “how long do you think it took her to grow that hair?”
“It was pretty long,” says Abigail, “quite awhile, but that's got to be better than dying.”
Stacy looking back at me. “I've asked you this before, but you avoided answering. How many times have you died?”
“I've lost count. Definitely north of a hundred.” The information causing visible shock.
“So,” says Stacy, still trying to comprehend, “if someone did that to you what would you do?”
“I'd go out in a blaze of glory or suicide to get it back. No question. This hair can be a hassle but I really like it.”
“And that's what-” Abigail horrified. “Oh God.”
“Abbey, there are better and worse ways to die. You saved her quite a bit of pain even if at the moment she's momentarily embarrassed. I want you to know that you didn't make a bad choice.” You did, however, make the choice, and that choice will force Diane into make her own choice, and what she chooses is on you.
“You're actually Macarthy, aren't you?” says Stacy. Nodding somberly at her. “How?”
“That's a long story, but this is my new situation.”
“And from what our master said, you've been here for months,” says Stacy, “so that really wasn't you running around killing people a couple months back.”
“That was a monster.”
“Something real screwed up is going on.” Stacy chewing her lip but then getting a sharp look. “You said she deserved it. You were the one who set those fires, weren't you?”
“I may have been holding a torch but Stormhawk lit the match -and it wasn't only me setting everything on fire by my lonesome, I promise you.”
Stacy taking a deep breath. “Should I be getting ready to leave the city?”
“What?” Abigail glancing back and forth between us.
“Not yet. Well, maybe think about thinking about it. The harbor was some people at the top getting some long overdue pushback for what they did. I'll try my best to keep it contained, but there's more than me involved.”
Stacy clenching her teeth. Smart girl. “I want you to know,” she says, “what you said in there, about us not doing anything about what happened, about us not being a family, there's more to it than that.”
“What's that?”
“There's never been a lot of us and, at the end of the day, we've always been sort of conflict averse. It's like our master today, he froze you and he teleported that Stormhawk guy out.” Teleported. Is that what she thinks? “So when everything happened and Solstice came in, everyone still there took it as a sign and bowed out.”
“Solstice? You were living with the Blood Mages?”
“Me, personally?” Holding up her hands. “No way. And that's the thing, because of them most of us didn't live there. So when everything came down we didn't take it as that big a deal. As far as the library, we had meetings there, but it wasn't where anyone lived. Convenient place for meeting though, it's right next door to Solstice.”
Right. Next. Door. Looking around. Uh. Abigail also looking around. Both of us bewildered.
“It's over there.” Stacy pointing in the direction of the run down warehouse. Starting to follow her.
“Are you sure this is the right direction?”
“Yeah, this can't be it,” says Abigail.
“C'mon,” says Stacy.
What a waste of time. There's nothing over here. Should stop. Right now. Stop right now. Don't go in this direction. Stacy beckoning at us. Frowning at Abigail. Abigail frowning at me. Identifying the feeling as an external compulsion to stop and fighting against it. Looking back at Stacy. Turn around right now. Muscling on.
Getting to the edge of something. Taking one more step and breaking through. The scenery abruptly changing. Holy shit. It was here the whole time. House Solstice.