Alton was keeping watch at the edge of the alley leading into Scenay’s when he spotted Bluit and another man coming in. The man was new to him, but then, they’d been careful not to have everyone come at the same time.
The two briefly nodded before opening the door and getting in, immediately followed by Alton.
“Nice meeting you,” Bluit’s companion said, offering his wrist.
Sanford Ahern was yet another level 600 high-five, a Targeted Thespian.
“Yea. You should be more careful.”
“Why? We’re both keeping Presence in check, just in case, so unless someone has Gauge…”
“No, it’s that you’re not bothered by the cold and ice.”
The decent early February weather of the opening anniversary had ended with a cold snap mid-month. No real snowfall, but the temperatures had gone overnight from above freezing to well below. The Thames’ banks were not quite frozen or anything yet, but icicles had formed over all buildings and the streets of London had turned into windswept lanes. But that wasn’t what Alton feared.
“With your clothing, you should absolutely be miserable and shivering in the streets.”
Bluit groaned as she realized their mistake, and Alton smirked.
“Stamina is such a nice thing to have until one forgets one’s score,” he said.
“At least we breathe fog, like non-Professionals,” Ahern sighed.
“There’s that. And we can enjoy hot drinks.”
Ahern started to smile, but Bluit’s headshake immediately stopped him.
“When he says hot, he refers to what’s in the drink, not how it’s served.”
At the same moment those words were uttered, three glasses of dubious natures landed on the table, and the woman that had held them smiled sweetly at Alton.
“This time, I get you.”
Ahern turned back and forth between the departing waitress and Alton.
“Tilda’s been trying to get me since she’d learned I’d turned into a Professional. I may have only 70 Stamina – thanks be to my ring who has some – but am betting that’s close to impossible for her to make a drink I can’t swallow.”
The Thespian looked dubiously at the glasses, and Alton sipped his before blinking.
“Uh. That’s a new one.”
Bluit shook her head and grabbed her glass and swallowed it entire, not trusting herself entirely. That wasn’t the first time for her.
Mild Intoxication. -1 rank on FOC skills.
Ahern blinked when he spotted the descriptor.
“What the dickens?”
“Don’t even ask what she tries to put in the blue ruin. Worst has been poisonous mushrooms. Told her not to try it again, because that one’s too dangerous to mundanes. If she mixes her drinks…” Alton trailed.
“We’re not here to get poisoned,” Bluit said, pointedly.
“True. Jonathan’s out to spot any stray Professionals, and Odhran’s still out trying to link up with the Colchester garrison. We got a message from Portsmouth. So far, no sighting of any Chinese forces, and most of the fleet is now at sea, trying to catch any reinforcements,” Alton told them.
“They can’t use the Great Gate yet.”
“They can send a messenger home using it, but getting anything back will be impossible,” Bluit replied to Ahern.
“News?” Alton asked.
“Nothing new. We’ve made temporary teams to keep track, we’ve pilfered Maltby’s warehouse…”
“Ah, furbishers. If there are items still not broken up, that can be good.”
“Sorting through took an awful time,” Bluit said.
She took out a small and worn leather bag and handed it to Alton. He opened the flaps and peeked inside, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.
“They had an entire shelf of old, common Puppets. Weirdest thing I’ve seen – usually, you use lumbered wood if you want Labyrinth-strengthened wood. There’s not enough to salvage on a Puppet,” she said.
There were also leather folded gloves at the bottom. It made sense, you did not get much savings of space by using a Puppet for those. He quickly touched each of the four Puppets, sorting mentally through the four pieces of gear stored in each. A pair of daggers – which drew a smile from him – tunic and leggings of chainmail… he winced when he realized the kind of gear it was.
Bronze Ornate Dagger
One-Handed
Heroic equipment
Requires: Level 138
Provides: 47 base physical damage (+14% WIS), +20 INT, +18 PRE, +12 DEX, +262 mind, +177 end
“There’s a reason it’s gone to the refurbishes,” Bluit apologized.
“No worries. Any gear is better than no gear. Besides, I do have 62 base Wisdom anyway.”
Both the higher-tiers shook their head simultaneously.
“Anyway, my own group is about ready, all we need now is a plan,” Ahern added.
Alton winced at that. Playing the mastermind from a London dive might be fun for a former mudlark, but that meant he had to come with answers for questions. That was the kind of job he was quite happy to let Jonas tackle. But his friend wasn’t there, and he was the one with useful connections.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Nothing concrete until we get a better view of the Chinese forces and their goals, and what the army can do for us,” he warned.
“I hear they’ve put their troops in the shipyard area,” Ahern said.
“Got a team of urchins keeping watch,” Alton said. “But in this weather, it’s hard for them to stay inconspicuous.”
“There’s surprisingly few troops around,” Bluit noted.
“Jonathan’s been keeping tab on them. It looks like they only used Professionals.”
“Aren’t they using those as support for the conventional forces in India?” she asked.
“You tell me. Just because my boss works at the War Office doesn’t mean I’m well versed in foreign campaigns,” Alton shrugged.
“I’ll ask Howard Cameron to take a look. If he can use enough Gauge Enemy without his gear being obvious…”
----------------------------------------
While he took care to look cold even with the ill-fitting heavy woollen clothes, as Alton had drilled in him, the one thing Jonathan couldn’t avoid was the fact that there were relatively few people around, and he might attract attention merely by being out and moving, despite trying to look busy.
Weirdly, there were now more out in this weather than the almost empty streets that had followed the attack. The Chinese patrols expected simple obeisance. Move out of the way, don’t look at them weirdly, and they did not bother much with you. That, the Londoners had quickly figured out.
That wasn’t what you’d expect from barbarians. Lurid tales in the newspapers about wild Asia notwithstanding, he’d expected them to be more like the soldiers of the British Empire. Coarse men, there to escape bad situations of their own making, or incapable of doing a respectable trade. There had been rumours of pillage on some locations, but not too much of it. Jonathan would have expected a sack and plunder. Maybe he’d read too many historical novels.
The fact that none of the troops had a visible mundane descriptor might have something to do with that, he admitted. Professionals were less… unpolished, as a rule, than average people. Once, he’d spotted a Chinese with a mundane descriptor, no Potential above 17. But the man was also obviously a higher ranking military guy, judging from elaborate, yet mundane, armour and the escort.
So far, his brisk walk around had shown no one of interest. His Milestone let him distinguish easily between Professionals and non-Professionals, something that would require a dedicated build for most others. Trying to link up with other Professionals hidden in London was essential, so here he was. But the weather was playing havoc with the plan.
So, he moved close to walls, as if he was hiding from the freezing winds, and kept checking the handful of passer-by hurrying around. He’d spotted once a mundane with a 19 Fortitude and had to refrain himself from accosting her. A Professional would have understood the possibility of spotting them using Labyrinth, but trying to accost a random woman to tell her she could enter the Labyrinth once the Gate was liberated…
He felt guilty. He would probably never see her again.
Then he blinked in surprise.
Despite his prisoner status, Jonas had managed to get the Palace staff to give him some reading. Nobody had any newspaper, but someone had fancy novels, including a complete collection from some horror writer, Matthew Lewis. The weird tales fit his dark mood. Although he suspected Lewis had never quite envisioned the fate of man being killed every two days.
The Chinese were infallibly polite. And then, they executed him again.
That was almost enough to make him emphasize with the Frenchman, Deschanel, when he’d been a prisoner in the Tower and subject to the same treatment. Although the Dominionist had escaped somehow. But without knowing how, Jonas had little hope to emulate the feat. Zhuangjing brought him out for a walk and chat every few days, but he was never in a position where he could escape. Besides, he was sure the Spellbender could one-shot him if need be. Maybe two-shot if he didn’t have Lingering Death.
Then he was startled because something he hadn’t been expecting was happening.
Team
Professions
Health
Mind
Jonas Sims
Resilient Spellwrangler (173)
755/755
810/810
Jonathan Gilbert
Calculating Guardian (183)
3701/3701
1882/1882
Ira Heard
Solid Guardian (168)
3812/3812
1680/1680
…
Jonathan was suddenly in range. The range was fixed no matter what your level was; a bit over a hundred and sixty feet. If you were in the range of the person giving the killing blow, you’d share in the experience gains and lair completion, otherwise, you wouldn’t. And the team descriptor warned you of this.
Then the descriptor switched to out of range again, and he almost swore out loud.
Then the entry was back in active range.
He noticed, Jonas almost wept. Now, how to tell him I did?
Confined, there was little he could do. Then his gaze fell on the tray with the remnants of his breakfast. And notably the cutlery. A mundane breakfast knife was very little… but he had no gear to absorb the health impact of it. He grabbed the little silver thing and without hesitation, stabbed himself in the palm. A brief spike of small pain rose, and he took care of not letting blood anywhere.
You take 3 physical damage.
Would Jonathan notice the health dip? Of course, he would. In range, each point of health – or mind, but he had no way to do that – would be immediately reflected. As an answer, the descriptor switched to out-of-range, then in-range immediately.
He reflexively checked the full descriptor for Jonathan, but there was little to see. The defender had no ongoing status of any sort. His own would be very limited as well – just the Lingering Death – and nothing else.
After half a minute, the proximity status started flickering again. Then, after a minute in range, it fell out of range and didn’t update again. Jonas could not be sure what Jonathan had attempted, but he could have wept in relief.
His team had found him.
----------------------------------------
“Captain! Captain! There’s all kinds of Americans invading the ship!”
Vern Boyle, captain of HMS Northwind, raised his head from where he’d been squinting at nautical books, to look askance as his midshipman-in-training.
“Keep calm, Arthur. What’s this about?”
“There’s all kinds of Professionals that have been climbing aboard. They didn’t even ask, they just started coming in with all kinds of gear.”
Boyle frowned, before rising from his chair.
“Let’s see, shall we?”
Once on the deck, he realized his officer’s servant had been quite correct. There were dozens of foreigners on the deck, dumping duffle bags and other things all over.
And they all looked weird. Robes, chainmail… and the ineffable feeling of unreality he’d learned to recognize from Professionals.
Speaking of which, he spotted a figure he remembered from a few months ago.
“Excuse me, miss, but do you have any idea what this intrusion is all about?”
Both the woman and the tall man she was speaking with turned and almost spoke out at the same time before she shrugged.
“I’ll leave Blackeye to explain to you. I was just coming to see them off, as I will not be among your passengers this time around. Got my own transportation now.”
“See you when we take that Gate back, Sylvia.”
“Godspeed, Coordinated Pathmaker.”
She bowed slightly, before turning and heading toward the boarding plank, nearly colliding with a man in bright green leathers that was coming from the quay.
“Greeting, captain. I’m John Henry Blackeye, and I’m in charge of this rowdy lot. I think you receive a dispatch from your authorities?”
“Uh, yes, well, it’s a note from her Highness Princess Charlotte, but…”
“But here it is. Apparently, for wonders, Congress managed to reach a decision within days rather than months, and the United States have decided to side with the United Kingdom in this war.”
“Oh.”
“Indeed. And while it will certainly take months to muster the Guard Units, who will be sorely needed if you have to face Professionals, us… high tiers are very easy to get ready. After all, we keep our weapons at all times.”
A chainmail-clad man ran to the American, waving.
“John? Lucius’s team just came out of the Gate. They say to hold the ship, they’re bringing ‘gifts’.”
“Goddam Lucius. Sometimes, he’s as slow as the ice spells he specializes in.”
Blackeye turned to the captain.
“How fast can you ship?”
“Don’t need to wait for tide or anything, not with modern Crystal engines. I can ship within the hour if need be.”
“Then you have your answer. Tell Lucius if he can’t make it out in two hours, he’ll take the next ship. Besides, we’re almost full.”
Targeted Thespian
(tier 5)
Required: 116 STA, 116 PRE, 116 FOC
Provides:
+15 health/+32 endurance/+13 mind/+10 aether per level
+1 Milestone/12 levels
Targeted Thespian Milestone: +12 STA, +7 PRE, +5 DEX, +4 AGI, 0.5 health per PRE
Skill set: Physical / Defense