Lan sighed as she entered the shadows once more, hiding behind the cover provided by a large crate. She relaxed, shifting her cloak so that it fell down her back and revealed the tools she had brought with her. Ever so carefully she detached two sections of a slender iron contraption from her belt, checking for perhaps the fifth time that night that the pieces slotted and twisted together correctly. The tank squealed a bit as it was secured by small metal clamps, and Lan grimaced, shooting a quick glance around the side of the crate. Neither guard seemed to have noticed, being at the other end of the reasonably spacious storage room, but still she decided to leave her weapon intact this time, to simply carry it with her as she moved towards her target.
She dared not test it just yet, however; any sort of malfunction and her position would be made apparent, and as quick as Lan was on her feet, she would not be smooth enough to invent a realistic lie for why she was skulking around the darker parts of the factory well after closing hours. Glancing at the ceiling window from which moonlight cast its eerie glow, she remembered to check her timing. The watch strapped to her wrist revealed she was running very close to the line. The Luminary’s speech began in about ten minutes, give or take a bit, so she resolved to keep moving.
The shadows cast a maze on the floor, stacked boxes and high shelving units letting only the merest slivers of silver moonlight through to illuminate Lan’s unsavoury quest. The centre of the warehouse she was in was underneath a skylight, and therefore was bathed in the subtle lustre of the night’s sky, providing a surprising amount of clarity. Around the edges however the shadows and night itself melted together, even those slivers that managed to seep through the gaps in the storage shelves finding no purchase. This suited Lan, as she kept to the darkness tonight as with all other nights, finding herself at home among the unseen and the silent.
A quick step and a flutter of rough black cloth, and she was in her next hiding spot, behind a pillar closer to centre of the room. Two guards would seem excessive on a normal night, but at the beginning of next week the factory would begin full scale operation, meaning that tonight was its opening ceremony and celebration. Peering around the pillar, Lan squinted into the dark at the two before her, one sitting in a chair and the other leaning against heavy industrial racking, upon which were placed more boxes of materials and equipment. The darkness beyond them made Lan’s mind play tricks on her, tugging her eyes towards the tattered threads of gloom that wound their way around the floor, making hands and jaws out of nails and planks like a devilish puppet show.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
As far as Lan knew (and she had done her research, so that meant pretty damn far), the Luminary named Harold Grent had only one underling blessed with Faith power: A man named Errol Archer, who was rumoured to have the senses and reflexes of a hawk. Lan took rumours far more seriously than most, so as she peered at the two figures before her, she was relieved to find them engaged in quiet, relaxed conversation, whispers that were lost to the hungry space in the big room and the faint clamour of the city beyond the walls. If one of them truly was Archer, he would have heard the squeak of her contraption as she had fitted it together earlier. Neither of them seemed to have noticed, filling Lan with hope. Could she truly pull this off? If all went to plan, she could be done in the reception area in under a minute, escaping into the darkness and winding pipe-laden paths of the industrial area, free to reap the benefits from her escapade.
It would not be easy to kill a Luminary, but Lan had prepared for that, first choosing a powerful weapon, and then selecting a target that couldn’t fight back. Harold Grent was an industry mogul in the lumber trade, and through that had affiliated himself closely with wood and nature. If he tried to use his powers, the fire from Lan’s compact flamethrower would only have more fuel to burn. She glanced down at the slim metal machine in her hand, a bit bigger than a regular flintlock pistol due to the gas tank clinging to its cold, iron skeleton. It would be good for several seconds of visually impressive and sustained fire, but after that it was useless. She would have to use enough to kill Grent, yet keep gas to ward off any attempts at following her as she escaped. Again, she trod a fine line, all the finer still as the minutes ticked by.