DKMortals/SessionFortyEight

[Kekkonen] Kekk lazes back against a pillow smoking a pipe of something expensive - they didn't use street names on the menu and he wasn't about to ask a server, so he'd just pointed at something pretty far down. His mind was pleasantly soupy, whatever it was, and there was a nice girl leaning on his shoulder to go with.

[Kekkonen] He hadn't been here recently. It was a bit pricier than his favorite spot, but it was farther from the contaminated part of the city, and hell he deserved it. And they still knew to treat him right.

[ST] Kekkonen enjoys himself, and the world starts to grow increasingly blurry around the edges. The girl on his arm, a delicate beauty whose small, soft hands belie her story of being an ice fisherman's daughter, is prattling on about some folk tale or another, occasionally reaching out to stroke his cheek and make allusions.

[ST] Kekkonen's vision clears briefly. Across the room is a woman, hip leaning against the bar, drinking a tankard of ale slowly. She occasionally chats with the man seated beside her, but she also occasionally looks up to glance at Kekkonen.

[ST] He's being watched.

[Kekkonen] He nuzzles into his woman's neck, casting an eye back at his watcher. Women didn't watch him 'cept on business. Well, not women without fear in their eyes. He should do something. In a moment. He tried not to get too distracted by his woman's hair.

[ST] The woman's story dissolves in a flood of giggles. A man walks past the woman standing at the bar, slapping her ass. She rounds on him, says something Kekkonen can't hear, and they both dissolve into laughter. A moment later, the man steps away, and Kekkonen sees her glancing at him again. She's patient, if nothing else.

[Kekkonen] Two then? Or is she a regular here? Might be all sorts of business she wanted him for. But she'd followed him if she was here for him 'cause this wasn't one of his normal places, and that made it more likely recent business. More dangerous that way.

[Kekkonen] He lazed for a bit longer, lolling with tonight's woman, then picked her up giggling and half raced to the stairs. He managed not to spill both of them over a chair, so whatever he'd bought it hadn't been too strong. Time to see how much this woman wanted to keep an eye on him. Give it a few minutes - a few fun minutes, he'd have to keep control of himself - and he'd see if she was in the hall watching his room. Or alcov

[Kekkonen] Or alcove, or whatever they had at this place.

[ST] The room, like most things about this place, makes a stab for classy but doesn't quite get there. The walls are paneled, the hanging paper lantern is nice, and the bed even looks made, but there's barely enough room to turn around without lying upon it.

[ST] The girl, Gilly, or Tilly, or something, it's hard to tell - simply reclines, looking at Kekkonen with a raised eyebrow. After a moment, she starts in on some story again, glad she's getting paid regardless.

[Kekkonen] He doesn't take the time to notice, like most of the customers here probably. He leaned over her, kissing her roughly, keeping half his mind on a slow count to two hundred. Which he lost track of a few times. Still, probably best to give it more time anyway.

[ST] The door's latch is a simple piece of wood on a nail, rotated sideways to keep it from opening. As Kekkonen counts slowly, a wire sticks through the door jamb and jerks upward. He hears the clatter just as the door opens, and suddenly the woman is looming over the both of them, a firewand leveled at the bed.

[ST] "There's no reason for both of you to die," she says quietly, stepping into the room. "UNLESS you scream. Then I might as well go ahead."

[Kekkonen] He'd been leaning over the bed, feet still on the floor. He clumsily leaps over the whore as soon as he caught the firewand through the crack of the opening door, landing half on, half off the bed on the other side of her. She'd take the brunt of any shot, and firewands took time to reload. He fumbled at his belt for his gloves.

[ST] "Let's just relax," the woman says quietly, taking a brief moment to glance up and down the hall. "I only want to ask you something."

[Kekkonen] He tightens the glove straps on his wrists. She was giving him time, and it could be awkward if they twisted in a fight. "Ask."

[ST] "You went to see the puppet girl. Did she tell you where Tansy is?"

[ST] In front of Kekkonen, GillyDKMortals/SessionFortyEight/Tilly makes a small sound of dismay.

[ST] She seems to be trying, very determindedly, to crawl away. There is nowhere to go.

[Kekkonen] "Who's asking? Why? Do you know who I am?" He'd smoked enough to smile getting to say that.

[ST] "I'm asking the questions," the woman says tautly. Her face is blunt, her nose raw and red from the cold. "We're looking for Tansy. We know she knows the puppet girl. We can make it worth your while. I don't really care who the fuck you are. Do you like money?"

[Kekkonen] Underground or official. Prob'ly wouldn't be intimidated by the raven, but maybe they were working for the same people. He raised his left hand, flapping his ring finger at her. It'd taken him a while to do that without moving the other fingers much. A cutout of the leather of his gloves showed the raven there.

[ST] "A corpse. Well, that explains it. I guess bribing you would be pretty pointless." She shrugs. "I'm with the Ears of the North. We've been watching the house and the homes of others that this Tansy knows. And you know exactly why we're watching it."

[ST] "And you know exactly why we didn't ask the girl those questions ourselves."

[Kekkonen] He didn't relax much. "That worried about getting infected? If you'd known, you shoulda blocked their quarter off a while ago."

[ST] "It's too late for that. It would only cause a panic, and drive the woman we're hunting further to ground. If we can get our hands on Tansy, then we can stop the outbreak at its source."

[Kekkonen] He scratched at his head, careful of the sharper bits of his gloves. "Uh, there was a brothel, you know, a Kneeler one. She went there." Or at least he hoped thats the one the puppeteer had been talking about.

[Kekkonen] "Mind putting that fire piece up. Scaring the girl, and I still want what I payed for later." He spoke half to each woman.

[ST] "The Kneeler one..." The woman chews her lip. "You mean the Blue Queen?" She lowers the piece, but doesn't holster it. A pair of drunken women stagger down the hallway behind her, oblivious.

[Kekkonen] "Yeah, thats it." He would have guessed Blue Lady, but it sounded right.

[ST] "Then I guess our business is done." The woman looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "What's your name again, corpse?"

[Kekkonen] He grins. "Your business is done. I have mine to get back to."

[ST] GillyDKMortals/SessionFortyEight/Tilly turns to look at Kekkonen, frowning. Perhaps being used as a human shield has soured her on the enterprise. The woman in the doorway shrugs.

[ST] "Fine, one of you raven's as good as another, I guess. Good luck with your... negotiations."

[ST] She steps back, pulling the door closed behind her.

[ST] -----

[ST] Jamis is waiting at the bar as Pearl makes her way down the stairs, flashing him a quick grin. He nods, almost imperceptably, and the pair of them contrive to leave the brothel at the same time. Only when they are several streets away do they finally pace each other, speaking quietly.

[ST] "I got what we need. She's at the Blue Queen."

[ST] "Did you-"

[ST] "No. He was a corpse. More trouble than it was worth."

[ST] "Then you paid him?"

[ST] "I told him I was an Ear. I wasn't sure if it would work."

[ST] "They've probably got people over there already. This won't be easy."

[ST] "Most of the watch is dealing with whatever the hell the Quiet are doing. Talk about a stroke of fortune."

[ST] "Then let's get this done."

[ST] "Next time don't slap my ass."

[ST] -----

[Iscal] Wind chimes rustle and sway gently. Iscal walks to the brothel door with hunched shoulders and a scarf is wrapped tight around his face, covering his mouth. It would stop him from infecting others. He hoped. He scowls at the guard, who complains loudly to his fellow at the brothel door. The guard scratches a sinister-looking cut on his cheek. Kekk had been busy. His expression smooths as both guards turn to

[Iscal] him. He bobs his head. "I'm a doctor from the Once Dead. May I go in?"

[Iscal] It hadn't taken him long to find the place; even if the puppeteer had been unknown, that nasty monster Kekk chose to keep by him had been noticed and marked.

[ST] The guard posted on the brothel seems remarkably light. Other than the one on the door, there are only two or three guards prowling around the perimeter.

[Iscal] A silver coin eases his passage. Inside, the place is hell. The place is thick with burning incense, and a woman sobs softly upstairs. A thin child with the elongated features of the Quiet stares at him, abandons the fire it tended and scampers away. Iscal's hand clamps down on the child's shoulder. "The puppeteer?"

[Iscal] He had forgotten the puppetter's name- if, indeed, he had ever known it. He glances around the brothel, calculating furiously how many customers this place alone could have infected.

[ST] The child backs away cautiously, looking up at Iscal with guarded eyes. About half the patrons seem on edge. The other half have tucked into their drinks or whoring with renewed aplomb. Above the bar lists a mosaic of a blue-skinned, naked woman, tilted to one side.

[ST] "Wh-what puppeteer?"

[Iscal] Iscal shakes the child impatiently. "The SICK one. Who has some Frost Bear-tribed fool on her string."

[ST] "Sick? I don't- I don't un-understand..." the child backs away, bumping into the skirts of the woman approaching behind it. She seems young, less than twenty years old, with short, dark hair. She smiles, revealing a chipped front tooth, but the grin doesn't reach her eyes. Her gaze darts back and forth slightly, nervously.

[ST] "Hello, sir. What appears to be the problem?"

[ST] Behind her, someone shouts for ale. Someone else is playing a recorder in a shrieking cadence. Most of the people in here probably haven't even realized they're quarantined yet.

[Iscal] "Take me to the puppeteer. You know the one. And I think you know why I'm here." He stares at her coldly.

[Iscal] "Take me to Tansy."

[ST] "Tansy..." A look of fleeting disquiet crosses the woman's face. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

[ST] "Why aren't we allowed to leave?"

[Iscal] "You're under quarantine. There's an illness. Show me to her. I can help her, perhaps. I am a doctor."

[ST] "An illness? I believe-" She looks at him, catching something frightening in his expression, and then glances at the floor. Her fingers twist in her skirts. Behind her, a table of Tuskstaad merchants are juggling knives.

[ST] "I believe you are mistaken. Tansy is not ill. No one here is ill."

[ST] "In body."

[ST] "In any case, sir, the owner is not here tonight. If you do not have a reason to be here, sir. I would have to ask you. To leave."

[Iscal] "Take me to her," Iscals says quietly. "Then tell me why you are so nervous."

[ST] "Because the Haslanti have locked us in here. And you are frightening. I do not know if I should show you where Tansy is."

[Iscal] Iscal is conscious of a bouncer watching him, and the general uselessness of his sword arm. He does not feel frightning. l "I am afraid it was not a request," he says, apologetically. "Many people will die if the malady is not checked in time; you would certainly be one of them."

[Iscal] He takes off one glove and lays his fingers against her slender neck. Her pulse pounds beneath his finger. Not ill. Yet.

[Iscal] "I am Iscal, of the Once Dead."

[ST] She draws back at the name, or the touch, as one of the Quiet naturally would.

[ST] "Oh. I. Are you going to harm her?" Perhaps she's deliberately obstructing him now.

[Iscal] Iscal shrugs. "I have no intention of doing so." He watches her carefullly. "But things will go poorly for you and your kin if I find she has slipped out the back while we were talking."

[Iscal] He pulls his glove back on fastidiously.

[ST] She pales, stepping back and leaning against one of the tables. "No... no, she hasn't. It's only... she is frightened. She begged us not to tell anyone she was here. But if you are Once Dead..."

[ST] "She's... in a room on the other side of the courtyard. Last on the left. Not the rooms where guests are... entertained. She's been taking meals there. Paying someone for them. I haven't seen her come out."

[Iscal] "I see. Thank you." He scans the room. "Please don't let me keep you from your guests."

[ST] She nods shortly, smiling the watery, false smile once more. "Of course." She backs away, keeping her eyes on him. "Please. Do not hurt Tansy. Milly told her she could trust us. We would not betray that trust."

[Iscal] "I am a healer, madam." He bows to her politely as she steps aside. "Such an incident would indeed be most unfortunate." He glances at the child. "Take me to the girl's room."

[ST] The child looks up at the woman. "Rain?" The other nods.

[ST] "It's okay, Ella. Show him, then come right back."

[Iscal] Iscal smiles in what he imagines is a friendly way.

[ST] The child walks up to Iscal, stops short at taking him by the hand, and begins to thread her way through the crowd of patrons. Few seem to have noticed Iscal's presence, although a pair of drunken men in the uniform of the city watch elbow each other as he moves past. Maybe they spotted the tattoo.

[Iscal] When they reach the door, Iscal puts his hand on the child's shoulder and she flinches. He wonders if the Quiet really were so timid, or if the Haslanti treated them so poorly. He supposed he couldn't blame her for being frightened; he was. "Knock," he tells Ella in an undertone. He takes a couple steps to the side.

[Iscal] He wondered if all they would find inside was a corpse. He hoped not; this Tansy was the best lead he had.

[ST] The child leads Iscal out a back door into a courtyard. A wooden canopy stretches overhead, groaning with the weight of snow. A fountain is frozen over in the center. The Blue Queen itself is shaped vaguely like a U; wings stretch out to either side. At the far end of the lot is another two story building- a dormitory for the residents of the brothel. Ella leads him to the door at the far end.

[ST] At his request, she raps softly upon it.

[ST] One of the watchmen sent over here by Kekkonen's half-assed orders appears around the corner of the brothel, calling out.

[ST] "Hey! Who goes there!"

[ST] He trots over, truncheon clattering amateurishly on the ground. He may be as old as seventeen, but the way his voice cracks suggests otherwise.

[Iscal] The fool. "Again," Iscal says quietly to Ella. He moves smoothly to intercept the watchman, rolling up his sleeve to bare the raven's tatoo. "I commend your diligence, good watchman," he says in his quiet undertone. "But this is the Tomb's business."

[ST] The child knocks again.

[ST] The watchman pulls up short. His prominent adam's apple bobs as he opens his mouth to say something, closes it, opens it again, closes it again, and scrubs firmly at his chin. with his free hand. Iscal notices the laces of his left boot are dragging the ground.

[ST] "Uh, ah, yessir. But. Ah. Sir. We were requested. To. Ah. Watch. This area. The three of us. I mean. Perce. And Lanny. And me. The rest are busy."

[ST] "I'll ah. I'll stay. Uh. Out of your way."

[ST] There is still no response to the knock.

[Iscal] "Thank you. If you see anyone running, tackle them, will you? And tie your boots."

[ST] A cold wind blows across the courtyard. The child shivers.

[ST] "Ah. Of course. Sir. Ahm. Some more men may be coming. Later. The Captain said there's a riot. In the Quiet Quarter."

[Iscal] "A riot? I thought these Quiet were supposed to abhor such things." But anyone could be pushed past endurance; he knew that. He trudges back to Tansy's door. "Is there a window in the back?" he asks the child Ella.

[ST] She nods. "It's small. Has shutters." She blinks. "The People do not riot."

[Iscal] "I'm sure." He pats her on the head. "You can go."

[Iscal] He tries the door.

[ST] Locked.

[ST] The child scurries away like a rat, bending low as she darts away towards the main building. The guard watches her go.

[ST] "Pretty cute, for a Kneeler kid. Ah. Sir." He remembers who he is speaking to a moment too late, giving a sloppy salute.

[Iscal] Iscal shrugs. "Go around to the back. Watch the window." He slides a wire from his pocket and works it into the lock.

[Iscal] He knew the basics; he negotiates the tumblers. He had tried again and again with his shackles, before, but he'd never managed then, and he listens to the click of the lock with pessimism.

[Iscal] But this lock is a delicate thing, and a smile blossoms on his face as he hears the snick-snick of the tumblers falling into place. He runs his hands through his hair, disarranging it, and then pushes open the door, one hand on his sword.

[ST] The guard shrugs and seems all too glad to get away from Iscal. He moves around to watch the rear entrance. The door swings open, revealing a cold, dark room. Fitful moonlight illuminates a table, a few chairs, and a stove against the far wall. Plates of half eaten food cover every surface. The room reeks of rot. A small bar of light across the room marks the location of the back window.

[ST] Stairs climb up one wall to the second floor.

[Iscal] If she wasn't sick, she was a terrible slob. His eyes dart around the rom nervously as he walks slowly for the stairs. Maybe he shouldn't have sent that guard away to the back.

[ST] Iscal doesn't see anyone as he moves cautiously into the room. The air is heavy with the stink of opium and urine. Whoever this Tansy is, she's probably seen better days. Dust billows up around him as he treads on the heavy furs below. And the room is cold, very cold.

[Iscal] Iscal unsheaths his sword and moves slowly up the stairs. This place was cold as a zombie's tomb.

[ST] Something slides under Iscal's foot, threatening to trip him. He catches himself in time. It's a furled palmfan leaf from the East, turned yellow and brittle in the chill air.

[Iscal] Iscal pauses, picks it up, and spreads it. Drugs. That could be a vector. He touch his tongue to the leaf, turning the taste over thoughtfully in his mouth.

[Iscal] He rolls up the palmleaf. If it had gotten into the drugs, everyone in the Once Dead was a risk. He permits himself a smile, then snakes further up the stairs. He grips his sword is white-knuckled.

[ST] As Iscal draws near the top of the stairs, he spies a faint flickering of firelight on the walls. It feels slightly warmer up here, too. Someone has lit a fire in the room at the top of the stairs.

[ST] But it doesn't look right - it's not the rich, healthy light of a full hearth - it's faint, and harsher.

[Iscal] Iscal pads up the stairs and slides next to the wall. He peers in the door.

[ST] The light comes from a small alchemist's brazier that sits in the middle of the floor, popping and sizzling busily. More palmfrond packets, some empty, some full and overflowing, lie strewn about the floor. Dozens. A bounty.

[ST] A woman sits against the wall, staring glassily ahead. She looks to be young, with red hair and heavily freckled skin. It takes Iscal a moment to notice she is still breathing.

[Iscal] Just an addict. He could handle addicts. He sheathes his sword and walks over to check her pulse.

[ST] Tansy makes no response as Iscal draws close. Over the brazier, a small pot of snow is gradually melting into water. As he enters the room, his eyes take her in. She looks skeletal, her legs and arms stick-thin and malnourished. Deep shadows nestle under her eyes. She looks worse than Soldas ever has. A metal syringe rests on the floor near one of her splayed hands.

[ST] Unlike most people in the Threshold, who merely smoke heroin, she has been mixing it with water and injecting it beneath the skin like the most decadent of Great Forks or the Realm.

[Iscal] "Fool," Iscal calls her, almost affectionately. He had handled people like her a dozen times- scores of times.

[ST] When Iscal touches her wrist, he finds the skin of her hand painfully cold, and a look at her bare, bluing feet suggests she's getting frostbite there, too.

[ST] Then, she suddenly erupts in an ear-splitting scream, her eyes focusing upon him suddenly.

[ST] She yanks her hand away, screaming, scuttling backwards over the floor.

[Iscal] "Gah!" he falls back, hand on his sword. "I don't mean to hurt you," he says carefully, tracking her retreat. "I'm a physician. A healer. I want to help."

[Iscal] She would ruin his reputation with the proprietess.

[ST] "KILL ME! YOU'RE GONNA KILL ME THEY'RE GONNA KILL ME THEY'RE GONNA I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY"

[ST] "I JUST DID WHAT IT SAID I JUST DID WHAT THEY TOLD ME I'M SORRY I'M SORRY PLEASE- PLEASE-"

[ST] She cringes away from him, curling into a fetal ball when she strikes the corner of the room.

[Iscal] "Sshhh. Calm down. I won't kill you. I promise." Eyeing her warily, he takes his hand away from his sword and kindles a true fire in the hearth. Then he sits down beside it and steadily regards her, his hands loose and resting on his knees. He speaks softly and kindly, as if to a nervous horse. "Now, what happened? I promise I won't be angry. I only want to help you. Would Rain have sent me to you otherwise?

[Iscal] She is worried about you."

[ST] She looks up at him, eyes rolling, sheer terror cutting through a drugged haze. "I shouldn't have. But they said they'd pay me. They said they had a lot. A lot."

[Iscal] "Shouldn't have done what? Maybe if you tell me, we can fix it."

[ST] "It was only supposed to be a little spirit. A little one. Just a little one." She trembles. Not surprisingly; it's cold in here. "It went wrong. I summoned it wrong. I thought- I summoned it wrong."

[ST] Tansy's eyes dart around the room. The light of the brazier flickers across her face. "I knew. They'd be mad. They'd be so mad. They... they're going to kill me PLEASE DON'T, DON'T KILL ME DON'T-"

[Iscal] "Why did you summon it?" She hardly looked capable enough to call anything.

[ST] "Tennyson gave me the ritual, and the... the payment." Her eyes flicker to the king's ransom of heroin lying around the room.

[ST] "I'm a... a thaumaturge of no small skill." For a moment, her voice seems to gain confidence. Then it fades pathetically back into her addled shell.

[ST] "I didn't know, though. I didn't know."

[Iscal] "Tennyson?"

[ST] "...middler. He's a... middler. Pays people. For people." She exhales shakily, her hand groping for the discarded syringe. She seems to at least accept that Iscal isn't going to kill her. For the moment. "Milly?"

[Iscal] "She's sick, Tansy. Tansy, you have to tell me about the spirit you called, so we can send it back and banish it again. Or lots more people are going to die."

[ST] "It was only supposed to be a cholera spirit. I... I don't know wh-what happened. But. I don't- I didn't MEAN it-"

[Iscal] "I know you didn't, Tansy, but now we have to concentrate and fix it."

[Iscal] "Where did you summon it? Did Tennyson give you any help?" She seemed a likely fall-guy. Weak.

[ST] She finally grasps the syringe, holding it up, shaking it see if it's empty. "It was supposed to be small. But it was. So big. And the way it looked at me, and vanished. I knew. I knew it..."

[ST] "This warehouse. Down near Dock Four. That's where... always summon the... bad stuff. Home's not far. But it's not safe. In there."

[Iscal] "Did you have help?" He tries to make his voice calm, gently, but his nerves are strung tight as a wire as he fights the urge to shake and scream at her. "Why isn't it safe?"

[ST] "Not safe to summon things. Where you live. No help. Just me. Supposed to be easy. But I- no. No. NO NO NO NO NO!" Tansy screams, the syringe falling from nervous fingers as she looks behind Iscal. "NO!"

[Iscal] Iscal whirls, his sword leaping to his fingers.

[ST] A pair of men have crept into the room, their forms completely swaddled in furs, their faces hidden by thick scarves. One is tall, lean, the other squat and blocky. Both of them carry wickedly curved knives.

[ST] "Time to pay the bill, addict," the tall man hisses. As he steps into the light provided by the little burner, Iscal sees a splash of fresh blood across his coat.

[Iscal] Poor boy. Iscal backs away. "I don't suppose I can persuade you that only cowards make war with plagues," he says, sounding tired.

[ST] The shorter man laughs. "Boy, are you barking up the wrong tree. We was just here to kill the bitch, but you had to go and hear too much."

[ST] "This will be over quickly," the tall man says, as if to comfort. Tansy is stunned into horrified silence.

[Iscal] "I can pay you twice whatever you're being offered," Iscal says quickly.

[ST] "Maybe," the shorter man says. "But our lives ain't worth a piss in the sea if we welsh on THIS job."

[Iscal] "Your employer wouldn't survive to take revenge," Iscal says, trying to put cold authority into his voice. His other hand scrabbles at the table behind him, and closes on something sharp, sloshing with liquid. Yes.

[ST] The two men fan out, advancing on either side of the brazier. Tansy cringes back into the corner, safe for the moment. The two advance slowly, flanking Iscal. The smell of blood hangs heavy in the air.

[Iscal] His muscles are tense. "I'm sick," he warns them. "You'll get gutwrack and vomit your guts out if you get near me."

[ST] Then, they spring as one, the stout one lunging across a table to swipe his blade at Iscal's face, while the tall one takes a loping step around his side, the tip of his dagger punching towards Iscal's kidneys.

[Iscal] Iscal sucks in his breath, and the dagger skims along the edge of his armor. Daggers. He out armed them at least. As the second attacks him from the side, he raises his sword arm sharply, parrying the blow and forcing the squat one's arm high and leaving him totally exposed. Iscal pivots, bringing his other hand around, clutching a syringe full of liquid heroin.

[Iscal] He curses as the tip of the needle skitters across the surface of the breastplate.

[ST] "Take the girl," the tall man says. "I'll finish this one." Before the words are out of his mouth, he springs for Iscal, swiping his blade at the man's neck.

[Iscal] He would tell the woman to run, but then he could lose track of her.

[ST] The stout man moves past Iscal as the blade glances off his armor again, lunging for Tansy. Shrieking, she rolls out of the way, the blade opening up a gash along her shoulder.

[Iscal] Damn it. Damn her. Damn Ragged Red most all, for putting him in this mess.

[Iscal] He moves fast, not like a warrior, and not like a surgeon, but as a panicked brawler. He jabs the syringe at the stout one's arm as he passes, and then throws himself into a forward lunge at the other, a shove as much as a thrust.

[Iscal] The syringe sinks in, and pure heroin is shot straight in the stout one's

[Iscal] veins. Iscal's other thrust skitters wildly across the man's chest and then up, giving him a nasty cut along the jaw.

[ST] The stout man staggers forward, a boot landing in Tansy's ribs. The knife suddenly clatters to the floor as he turns towards Iscal, froth pouring out from under the scarf that obscures his face, hand reaching out beseechingly. Then his eyes, the only visible part of his face, roll up, and he drops like a stone.

[ST] Tansy grunts as his bulk slams into her.

[ST] If the tall man is perturbed by the death of his colleague, or frightened of Iscal's improvised weapon, he doesn't show it. He takes a sideways step, booted foot flicking out to catch the brazier and propel it towards Iscal's face. He springs in its wake, swinging his blade in a vicious backslash that splits the upholstery of a once-fine chair.

[Iscal] Iscal wipes the blood from his face. "Maybe you should run and get reinforcements." The brazier lies spilled between them, its coals glowing red on the floor. He kicks coal abruptly forward, just as if he were playing leather ball back home, and sparks fly in the man's face. He drives forward at the man's flinch.

[Iscal] His rusty sword cuts two more parallel slashes across the man's right arm.

[ST] The man gives a shout as he falls back, blood pattering on the floor from his wounded arm. His eyes, a bright, searing blue, suddenly narrow, and he flicks his wrist forward, hurling the knife at Tansy, turning, and fleeing down the stairs.

[ST] She gives a shout as the knife lodges in her thigh, quivering. Heavy footsteps descend the stairs.

[Iscal] Iscal spits after him, hoping a drop of saliva would land and infect the bastard.

[Iscal] He kneels by Tansy's side and pulls the dagger out. At least she was well-medicated for pain already. He takes a needle from her pocket and has sewed her up in less than a minute.

[Iscal] He grabs her hands and pulls her to her feet. "We have to get to the Tomb," he tells her urgently. "Now. People are trying to kill you."

[Iscal] He pulls her ruthlessly after him at a run.