~ Reveille ~

Past Mistakes

Felony gasped into consciousness, pushing herself up on to her feet in an instant. No shoes, she thought. They took my shoes. And my knives. That's okay, I can work with that.

She glanced around the room; wooden floor, stone walls—big rocks cemented together, I'm still in Unity—stout wooden door, crummy little bed, no windows. Light coming in under the door. It's daytime. Morning. I was unconscious overnight. How did I get knocked out? Must have been someone behind me. Who? How? My own fault. I got sloppy.

Wooden tray by the door; bread, cold mutton, water.

Felony picked up the tray and took it to the bed, where she ate a single small bite of the bread and the meat, and took a tiny sip of the water.

Then she spent an hour checking every inch of the room. The door, predictably enough, was securely locked, and there weren't any other exits.

After that, having suffered no ill-effects from the food and water, she ate and drank a little more.

Then she spent another hour checking the room again, even more thoroughly this time, and then she had a little lie down on the bed, and a think about things, then she finished off the food and water, and then she spent quite a while with her cheek pressed against one of the walls, looking along it at the door.

After that she lay down and went to sleep.

Some time later there came the sound of footsteps outside the room, at which Felony went from dozing quietly to up and alert within the space of a second. In another second she was running across the room, towards the wall, and then she was running along the wall, towards the door as it opened, and she leapt off and twisted and slammed both feet against the door, sending it rebounding back against whoever was opening it.

Felony landed lightly and was instantly moving again, the door was coming open once more and she was grabbing its edge to swing herself around, her bare foot planting itself nicely in someone's chest, and then her knee was coming up to catch their chin, and then she was thrusting her hand forward, open-palmed, to slam into their chest and send them backwards, and Felony launched herself over them, through the doorway and into the room beyond, and there was a window but it was closed and Felony knew that contrary to what the adventure stories said trying to jump through a glass window was a bad idea for two reasons, the first being that shattered glass had a tendency of tearing tender human flesh to shreds, and the second being that glass was generally a lot tougher than people gave it credit for, and that attempting to jump through it usually ended with said jumper mildly embarassed and majorly concussed.

With these two points in mind it wasn't the window that Felony went for, it was the door to her right; she leapt at it as she ran, slamming into it with both feet even as she realised it opened inwards, so she sprang off it and landed running, there was another door on the other side of the room so she headed for that, crashing against it, her hand around the handle, wrenching at it, but it was locked, it was so locked, and Felony turned once more to see that the other door was open, but that there were now three people between her and it.

Short Rosanthian girl. Big Harmonian boy. Old guy.

Felony tensed to attack.

"Before you lay a beating upon the three of us, may I ask one question?"

It was the old man who had spoken—he had a warm voice and a hooked nose, and kind eyes. Felony hesitated. He smiled at her.

"Are you capable of forgiving my rudeness?"

Felony studied him in some more detail—he wore a black suit with a dark red frock coat over it, and had several simple rings on each hand, mostly silver. His hair was brown, greying and a little wavy, giving him a studious look, and he had a tidy mustache, its ends just slightly turned up. He was tall and thin, and his hands were beautifully delicate.

"Depends," Felony said. "What are you gonna give me?"

The old man laughed. "What would you like? No, don't answer that for a moment. I'll introduce myself first; my name is Armand, Armand Garnett. These are my employees, Ren Moreland—" indicating the broad, rather imposing young man to his left, the one Felony had kicked past to get out of her cell, "—and Talise Calder—" indicating the serious-looking blonde girl to his right. "I apologise on their behalf. Ren can sometimes get a little carried away, part of his charm perhaps? Yes? No? Who can say. But he is in my employ and thus his actions are my actions and so I apologise. I am sorry for the manner in which we have come to meet."

"Yeah, I bet." Felony glanced at the window—it was dirty and looked like it hadn't been opened in a while, but beyond it was a low, shallowly sloped roof that called out to her.

"But now that we HAVE met, Melantha—"

"Felony," Felony interrupted sharply. "Just Felony."

Armand bowed his head in apologetic acknowledgement. "Felony, then. I am always looking for fresh talent—"

"Like I told your associates there, I ain't that kind of girl."

"And it 'ain't' that kind of talent that I'm looking for," said Armand. "You were a courier in Clock Face, before Death Wednesday. One of the best."

"Gotta tell you, buddy," Felony said, "I don't like people knowing so much about me, especially malks I never met before." She untensed, just a little. "But, yeah, you're almost right."

"Almost?"

"I ain't one of the best," Felony said. "I'm THE best."

"Ah! Exactly!" Armand turned to Ren. "You see, THIS is what I was trying to tell you, THIS is what I was trying to say!"

Ren shrugged one shoulder, his eyes on Felony. "Whatever."

"Coarse, yes, rude, undoubtedly, arrogant, without question. Also very talented and generally loyal," Armand said, of Ren. He smiled at Felony. "Did you wonder how you were rendered unconscious?"

Felony nodded, her brow creased.

"Perhaps a display, Ren?"

Ren raised his hand. There was a sharp crack and a bright flash, and Felony yelped and leapt back as a bolt of energy surged past her, to all-but explode a metal plate hanging on the wall. There was the sound of the twisted, smoking plate landing on the floor, and an odd, sharp smell in the air.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"What," said Felony, "the HELL, was THAT?"

"Talent," said Armand. "Very different talent to that which you possess, but then variety is desirable, yes?"

Felony looked at Ren. He was grinning smugly at her.

"Did he—did you do that to me?"

"It wasn't as big as that one," Ren said. "But yeah."

"Okay. Yeah, okay, you ever try anything like that again—"

"Calm yourself, Felony," Armand said. "I have an offer for you. I am the head of an organisation of talented individuals—like Ren here. Like Talise. Like yourself—"

"I'm telling you right now, I can't shoot lightning out of my hands," Felony said. Armand chuckled.

"No, of course you can't. But the very best courier in all of Clock Face is certainly the sort of person I want on my roster."

Felony narrowed her eyes. "Are you offering me a job?"

"In a word, 'yes'."

"Huh." Felony considered this. "What's it pay?"

"What would you like?"

"Okay, now what's THAT supposed to mean?"

"Just as it sounds. What do you desire, Felony? A well-crafted sword? Fine clothes? No, those are not what you want. Money? Perhaps. Money can become many things. Comfort? Again, perhaps. All of these things I mention I could provide for you. Is it a home that you want? I can give you that. For now, the simplicity of hard cash. Five gold? Let's say ten. And if ten, why not twenty? Talise?"

Talise was already counting the money into a pouch. After she'd finished she threw it to Felony, who caught it one-handed. It clinked pleasantly.

"As a sign of my good faith that money is yours, without expectation or obligation," Armand said. "Consider it a gift, if you like, and as recompense for the indignity you suffered at Ren's hands."

"You seem to know a bit about me," said Felony, still holding the pouch. "So you gotta realise, I ain't gonna take this."

"I ask for nothing in return."

"Yeah. And nothing's the highest price of all."

"Well said!" Armand hummed to himself for a moment, then grinned at Felony. "Very well. I understand how you think, Felony, and I like it. Currently I'm planning a small but important operation, the retrieval of a certain something from the Holy Kingdom of Pyre. You being a courier and all—the BEST courier, I am reliably informed, that Clock Face has yet produced—it seems that this kind of job would be right up your alley. So to speak."

"Pyre, huh."

"It's not quite as bad as the stories would have it. Granted, it's still quite bad. But I'm sure that you, Felony, would see that as more of a challenge than a deterrent."

"So this money—"

"Call it a recruitment bonus, a gesture of good will, whatever you like, really. There is, as the saying goes, plenty more where that came from. Typically I pay my people a daily retainer but we can sort out those trifling little details later, for now all I need to know is this: could you possibly bring yourself to work for me?"

After some consideration, Felony decided that she probably could.

----------------------------------------

"Pyre, Pyre, you're bloody mad, Pyre? I thought you were joking!"

"Unfortunately, there's no way around it. The evidence I've collected indicates that Pyre is the most likely—"

"Nah, I ain't buying that, you can't—"

"Perhaps you should explain one more time."

Ashley turned to look at Sophia, who was sitting on a tree stump, holding a tin mug of steaming hot tea in both hands.

"Because I'm so stupid that I didn't understand the first time, right?"

"No, of course not," said Sophia. "You clearly have a kind of native wit about you."

"What the hell is 'native wit'?"

"Street smarts? Like a kind of urban perspicacity." Sophia blew on her tea. "Or shrewdness of spirit, maybe."

"Petal, I got NO idea what you're trying to say."

"You may not have read a lot of books," Sophia said, "but you grew up on the streets of Unity. You've had to fight almost since you were born, you lived in an environment where being unable to read a situation got you hurt or killed."

"...okay, yeah, that's pretty true." Ashley squinted at Sophia. "How'd you know that?"

"I ... I HAVE read a lot of books," Sophia said. "And I tend to remember what I read. Also one of my tutors was very, um, vocal about the downtrodden masses of Unity."

"Downtrodden masses, huh?" said Ashley, with a glance at Maya. Her sister was watching the exchange with widely interested eyes. "That what I am?"

"Actually no," Sophia said, her tone turning thoughtful, "because you've clearly been proactive about improving your personal station and so on. I'm sure that you have a wealth of experience. In fact, you could say that your experience IS your wealth!"

"Huh," Ashley said. "I ain't never been no kind of wealthy."

"That's what I mean, though! Now we're in the same situation, you and I, with no money, only 'what' and 'who' we are. I came from a privileged background, which has admittedly given me a lot of theoretical, high knowledge, but little to help me actually survive in the real world. On the other hand, you don't have much in the way of high, theoretical knowledge, but your practical skills, instincts and low knowledge are much more useful. So, our positions being equal, you are CLEARLY better off than I am." Sophia only just managed to resist adding 'QED' to the end of this little spiel.

Ashley kept her eyes on Sophia for a while, working her jaw, then she nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I get that, I do. You're saying ... if you take away everything someone's got, highborn or lowborn or whatever, someone like me is gonna be ... yeah. You know something, Petal? You're all right."

Sophia beamed.

"But I still ain't happy about us heading to Pyre," Ashley said, turning on Fin. "Sure as hell ain't gonna find this dreamy little home of yours up there, Finny."

"No, but I'm almost certain that we'll find the statue," said Fin. "Pyrians are packrats, or at least those in charge are. They'd never throw away anything that might be even remotely valuable."

"I still don't get how you figure it's there—"

"Perhaps my previous explanation was a little rushed," Fin admitted. "Let me go over things once more, for my own sake as much as anyone's. The trader in question, the one who had the statue, was supposed to go to Harmony, but he never reached his destination. In fact, no trace of him was ever found. This information led me to the conclusion that in all likelihood he attempted to avoid paying the rather hefty border tax by cutting through Pyre, a lapse in judgement that presumably saw him burned as some kind of heretic, as is the fashion in that dreadful place. Ah, 'was' the fashion, I correct myself. I understand that they've calmed down a little in the past decade. They don't usually burn people as a punishment any more. Not completely, anyway. Branding's rather popular."

"Um," said Sophia. "Actually, I have one small question. If they burnt the trader as a heretic, wouldn't they also have burnt all his goods as heretical items?"

"Oh, undoubtedly."

"Then—"

"One of the qualities of the statue we're pursuing is that it's almost indestructible. Mere mortal flame wouldn't even scorch it."

Sophia frowned. "But in Pyre, wouldn't they—"

"Two possible reactions immediately spring to mind," said Fin. "The first being that they assume this to be some kind of miracle. The second being that they assume this to be some kind of curse or demon-sign or other such nonsense. In either case the outcome is the same; the higher-ups are summoned to deal to the statue, and they promptly take it to the One Church. It's where they put anything they're not sure about. After all, the unknown might turn out to be valuable in some way. Surprisingly pragmatic, are the Pyrian Holy Leaders."

"It sounds like you've had quite a lot of contact with Pyre," Sophia said. "To know so much about them, I mean."

"In my younger days, certainly, I had dealings with Pyre. Not quite by choice, but still. Know one's enemy and all that."

Ashley was sitting now, deep in thought. She looked up.

"So you're saying you know where the statue is," she said.

"Let's just say that I have a strong suspicion as to its approximate location."

"For hope's sake," Ashley said, "would it kill you to give a straight, simple answer ONCE? Yes or no!"

"Then, yes."

"Okay. The One Church, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Okay. How far is this One Church from the border?"

"Perhaps two days travel, by carriage."

"Okay."

At Sophia's asking look, Ashley shrugged.

"Just getting things clear," she said. "Gotta know the rules before you play the game."

"See?" said Sophia. "That's native wit!"

"Yeah, well ... whatever," Ashley said, but she couldn't hide her grin.