Giddy and excited Hy-Jinx’s world looks rosier and rosier by the second - almost as if it is about to burst into a euphoric symphony- but concern slowly creeps around the edges as she begins to understand that Hood is not going to be able to maintain the speed of their elusion. Already she feels, by the tension in her arm, that Hood is flagging, and glancing back beyond a pale, worried, and exhausted looking Hood, she can see a mixture of seven guards and watch, about thirty yards and closing, in hot pursuit.
The cobbled alley leads north, with a long high red brick wall to their right and a shorter lower one to their left, above which can just be made out the top of the Library of Aspartemane, the building’s length running parallel to the alley. Directly before them, looming up over rooftops as a shadow in the night, underlit by a vast number of lanterns arranged along the skirting curve of the King’s Way, the main keep of Kera’-bur cuts an imposing vista. Making a decision, Hy-Jinx takes a left turn in the hope that something will present itself, but luck, it would seem, is not on their side, as the alley that they turn into bends left again, and leads them into a small sealed plaza backing onto the library - the rose window of Aspartemane hovering over proceedings.
Racing into the plaza, Hood looks up and grunts a dry humourless laugh to himself, now having found himself for the second time this evening in the exact same place, albeit on the other side of the window. It’s like I’ve gone nowhere, he thinks to himself, his head pounding and sweat breaking out on his forehead. But Hood is as Hood is, and it should come as no surprise that, realising he has only seconds to spare, he swings his satchel from his back, opens it quickly and removes from it the two broken hemispheres of Albo Pomegranite’s sphere. It is, of course, on reflection, a stupid endeavour to attempt, but attempt it he will, for like on occasions previous, he has put force of will over and above the potential for his own limitations. A defining character trait that is both simultaneously a flaw and a strength. And thus he sinks himself into the aether and attempts, as a last ditch attempt, to repair the sphere in the same manner in which he repaired the rose window of the Goddess. The Goddess, whom from the shadows of the window above, still watches over him.
Entering the small plaza, Hy-Jinx’s world dims as she realises the error of her decision, bringing herself and Hood to what is ostensibly a dead end. However, it soon brightens again as she is overcome by the plaza’s calm beauty. The plaza has clearly been designed for people to admire the rose window of Aspartemane, and several stone benches have been positioned to allow such admiration to occur, along with carefully planted trees that overhang the benches and carefully positioned flowers and plants that line the crumbling red brick walls. The entire area has a pleasant peaceful atmosphere to it and the scent of blooms waft the air. Hy-Jinx watches as Hood fumbles, almost panicking with something in his satchel, and wanders over to a stone bench, placing Madeleine’s mask to her side. She breathes calmly, absorbing the ambiance. No point in running further, there’s nowhere to run. May as well just enjoy what can be enjoyed, she thinks to herself. Sitting thus, in an almost peaceful and serene reverie, she glances up as their seven pursuers skid to a halt at the entrance to the plaza and begin to cautiously spread out. She watches, smiling, the world smiling back, the mask smiling even brighter. She turns her head to slowly look at it, almost affectionately. It is, after all, almost her friend. “What are you so happy about?” she asks, and the mask winks back at her. “NO!” she shouts out, in a manner of shocked disbelief coupled with enthusiastic excitement, standing as she does, one arm outstretched, her finger pointing at the mask. “SAY YOU DIDN’T DO THAT!”
Stolen novel; please report.
The guards and watch halt momentarily, warily observing Hy-Jinx’s outburst.
“Hood, Hood! Did you see that,” she shouts, pointing at the mask, dancing merrily from foot to foot, but Hood’s mind and attention is elsewhere, his sleeves rolled back, on his knees, hands waiving, mouth murmuring, sounding out the words of power to ripple the weave and reweave the real. The glass hemispheres rise into the air, and gasps of worried consternation are exclaimed by guards and watch alike, who thinking that if they wait too long something potentially dangerous to their wellbeing is going to occur, so, without thought, as a single unit, they rush towards Hood.
Hood has outdone himself, will always outdo himself, and not necessarily in a good way. The three aetheric threads that he has hitched to his fingers - three for he has realised that one part of one of the hemispheres is effectively in two pieces, they just haven’t fallen apart yet - are significantly less than the multitude he used previously when fixing the window but for some reason, they feel significantly more difficult and ‘heavy’ to manipulate. Though manipulate he tries. It is almost as if the threads are oiled and in attempting to accelerate them into one, everything just keeps slipping, and so, more effort is required, and more, and more, and it is effort and energy that Hood no longer possesses. Grinding his teeth and almost screaming he manages to draw the sphere together but as he does so, something seems to flash in his mind, tear almost, and the world for Hood suddenly disappears, as when a candle is snuffed out.
Hy-Jinx watches as the guards and watch close in on Hood, and then suddenly halt, as Hood collapses like a sail when the wind drops. One of the watch prods Hood with their foot but there is no response. Ordinarily Hy-Jinx would have reacted with deep concern, perhaps even horror, but there is something about the ambiance of the plaza, something about the calm beatitude of the expression on the face of Aspartemane, who stands over the whole unfolding situation, that suggest’s everything, for Hood, at least, is going to be okay. Hy-Jinx again looks down at the mask on the bench, which seems to be beaming at her, the vibrancy of the colours sparkling like a suggestion, but still not quite masking the undulating threads of darkness held within. Hy-Jinx sits again, calmly, and trusting in what she believes is the correct course of action, based on the events of this evening, carefully removes her rose tinted spectacles, folding the legs in neat succession and slipping them into a pocket, then, feeling to her side for the mask, she lifts it gently to her face.