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<Narrator> ::It is less than an hour's ride from Stoneyvale to Arabel proper by horse. Angel sets out on foot after Dawn 'ports the ladies back home. He arrives just as the sun is beginning to settle on the horizon-- about an hour before Suchart Jewellers usually closes, based on his experience following Flavian around before. However, a small brass plaque reading "closed" hangs off the door, even though lights are still on within the shop.:: * Angel raises an eyebrow and does a quick sweep by the shop, checking out the front to see if anyone is visible within. <Narrator> ::Angel attracts no notice as he strolls down the street in front of the shop, lost amidst the townspeople running errands and generally finishing up their workdays, their minds already on supper. Flavian is visible in the main portion of the shop, standing behind the counter, his head bent over some piece of silverwork, tools in hand.:: <Narrator> ::The door to the smaller workroom off the side of the main shop stands open, though the angle is bad from the main window to see if there's anyone within. Angel recalls, from previous visits, a high, ivy-trimmed window letting light into that room.:: * Angel glances around quickly, using the vague reflections in shop windows to scan behind him without turning his head, then ducks around the back of a shop and doubles back to the alley behind the Jeweller's. <Narrator> ::Ivy grows up the corner of the building, here, and frames the window looking out onto this sunny, deserted little back alley. There is a small pile of trash which includes a broken fruit-crate tall enough to get his eyes up to the window, although the ivy itself is old enough to provide an excellent foothold of its own.:: * Angel kicks the crate into place, not really interested in yanking out the ivy without a better reason. He removes his hat and hangs it on a jutting bit of brick before hopping onto the crate for a quick look-see into the back of the shop. <Narrator> ::Peering in the window, careful not to block the last rays of sun shining in, Angel sees the top of Madame Suchart's head, her auburn hair-- so like Cat's-- threaded with silver and pulled back in a bun. She sits on a stool before the workbench, but her hands hold no tools. Instead, they cover her face. From the hunched set of her shoulders, she appears to be crying.:: * Angel reaches into his vest and pulls out a round, leather disc. He shakes it open with one hand - a portable drinking cup that Jewel would remember if she were here, given that he used it the second time they met - and holds the cup to the window, putting his ear against the base to better channel sound from within. * Angel can make out very faint, soft gasps and sobs coming from within, the sounds spaced widely apart... the sounds someone would make if they were trying to cry without making a lot of noise, but not succeeding very well. * Angel frowns, glancing in again to see if there's any visible cause for her distress. <Narrator> ::The workroom looks neat and blood-free. Nothing appears to be wrong with the half-finished piece laid out on the workbench-- the twisting bits of half-worked silver appear to be parts of a puzzle ring, only much larger-- perhaps a puzzle bracelet? Most of the tools are racked, but those on the bench appear to be in working condition, and although the piece is unfinished nothing appears wrong with it, to Angel's discerning eye.:: * Angel mutters something under his breath, then hops down, as Madame Suchart doesn't appear to be doing anything useful, like talking to herself. He checks the sky for the time, snags his hat, then waits in a darkened spot to watch the door for when Flip leaves. <Narrator> ::When Angel returns to the front, he can see Flavian stealing uncomfortable glances towards the open workroom door. As quiet as Madame Suchart is attempting to be, it's obvious her sobs are disturbing him. He pretends to fiddle about with his work for another quarter-hour or so before finally getting up with a sigh and knocking politely on the open door, hesitating outside of it:: <Angel> ::grumbles slightly, there being too much noise in the street for convenient eavesdropping, but watches closely, to see if he can discern any movement of mouth that might clue him in:: <Narrator> ::Flavian startles back a little as Madame Suchart, her usually cheerful face stained with tears, comes quickly out of the room, looking around the shop with an expression of wide-eyed hope, peering out the window as her expression fades into sadness again at something her assistant says-- something that starts with "No," but the rest of the words are hard to make out as Madame Suchart head moves in the way:: <Narrator> ::Madame Suchart's response is much clearer to Angel, as she's facing the window, inches from the glass:: //Where could she have gone? Why is there no word?// <Angel> Oh, you miserable, greedy bastard... ::he sighs:: <Narrator> ::Flavian's face is appropriately grave and consoling as he moves out from behind the counter, patting Madame Suchart's arm and gently steering her from the window, glancing out of it with a small frown, himself:: * Angel waits. <Narrator> ::Flavian's lips move again, a few comforting "There now"'s, and then, //Miss Ellie is a smart girl. She can take care of herself. I'm sure she's fine, she'll be back soon, and all flustered that she upset you.// ::He starts to turn from the window, the words a little harder to make out in profile as he shakes his head, something about "sent for" and "sister":: <Narrator> ::Madame Suchart wrings her hands-- if Bastian ever had doubt that women actually did that outside of novels, well, now he has proof-- and shakes her head:: //Cat can find her. Cat will find her. You'll see.// * Angel doesn't spare the effort of rolling his eyes, but just in case Jewel is 'listening in', he thinks {No, my lady.} very loudly. <Narrator> ::Flavian's lips barely move in a mumble that probably wouldn't be understandable to anyone who couldn't read lips:: //No I won't.// <Jewel> {You don't have to *yell.* What the devil is going on?} <Angel> {Oh, you *are* listening. I wasn't certain, my lady.} He bites his lip. {Better hope that Dawn can solve this riddle... I think... my lady, I think your sister's been trapped.} <Jewel> ::her mental "voice" sounds a trifle sheepish:: {Just keeping contact to be sure you're all right there. I wasn't going to say anything while you were working, but...} Her words trail off at his next statement, and he can almost feel his own stomach turn over as hers does, before she clamps a tight control on her emotions:: {He got Ellie?} <Jewel> ::pause, and her "voice" is colder, distant, more controlled-- reminiscent of himself in the middle of a job:: {Do you have the box yet?} <Angel> {I'm not going to kill him in front of your mother. No, I don't have the box yet.} <Jewel> {Understood.} ::another pause, and he feels the warmth of her contact, the memory of a fierce hug:: {Be careful, my heart.} <Angel> {I'm always careful. That's why I'm still alive...} <Jewel> ::a touch of fondness to her tone:: {Yes. And because I love you.} * Angel sighs once and blends further into the shadows, waiting for either Cat's mother to leave, or for the dead man walking to leave. * Jewel's presence in his mind gently closes off as he retreats to the shadows. <Narrator> ::Madame Suchart paces behind the counter, pacing frequently to look towards the door at the slightest sound of a step outside. After a good ten minutes of pacing, she sighs, clasping her hands resolutely in front of her and turning towards the window to address her journeyman:: <M.Suchart> //This does no good to either of us. I'm going to go make some tea and sit upstairs awhile. You... you'll wait until Cat comes, won't you, Flavian?// ::her eyes are beseeching:: * Flavian's back is to the window as he answers, but the nod accompanying his words is clear enough. He glances over his shoulder out the window, and gently takes Madame Suchart's arm to escort her from the shop. * Flavian turns back and closes the connecting door behind him, going to the window again to peer out into the growing dark. With a glance over his shoulder at the door, he pulls a folded note from his pocket and scans it quickly before stuffing it away again with a scowl. * Angel flexes his fingers once, then opens his belt pouch and takes out a few tools, including a small, black bottle and a not-particularly clean rag. He dabs a little fluid from the bottle onto the rag, then folds the rag in half and tucks it up his sleeve. * Flavian looks irritated as he paces in front of the window a few times himself, watching the streets empty as people go to their homes. Finally, he gets bored watching and settles down at a work-bench to bend over what looks like a repair job in process. * Bastian uses the deepening shadows to slide over to the jewelry shop. He takes one quick glance around before removing a slender rod from his belt and jimmies the lock quickly and as quietly as possible. When Flavian appears truly involved in his work, Angel slips inside and attempts to cover his face with the treated rag. * Flavian, who was apparently not expecting company of any kind, has no warning of Bastian's approach until the rag appears in his field of vision. He has enough time to open his mouth and take a breath, half-turning towards his assailant, before the rag covers his mouth. * Flavian has a small awl in one hand, and attempts to puncture Bastian's arm with it as he struggles against breathing in the fumes on the rag. * Angel keeps the rag pressed to the boy's mouth until he goes limp, ignoring the few painful stabs with the awl, then an waits an extra count of fifty, just to make certain. He curses as some of his blood drips onto the floor. He leans the boy a corner of the room and cleans up. As an extra precaution, he pockets the bloody tool. * Flavian goes limp in under a twenty-count-- obviously not the most athletic of young men-- and snores very softly in his uncomfortable corner. * Angel checks around carefully, making sure nothing's been disturbed, then picks up Flavian and hoists him over his shoulder like so much potato sack. He watches out the window until the streets are deserted, then exits, locking the door behind him. <Narrator> ::Arabel is a merchanter town, but doesn't appear to have much of anything like Marsember's nightlife; the caravanserai rises early. The streets clear fairly rapidly after dark, as people go to their dinners. A lamplighter comes through soon after dark, but there is little other activity.:: <Angel> ::once outside, Angel moves into the alleyway, takes an ugly shirt out of his bag and slips it on. He douses himself and Flavian liberally with cheap beer, then slings the boy's arm around his shoulders. Rolling his gait like a sailor after six months at sea, he staggers down the street towards Flavian's residence, singing an off-key and extremely dirty little song under his breath.:: * Angel helps himself into Flavian's little apartment and locks the door behind him. He does a quick search of the boy's pockets and belongings, looking for the little snuffbox. * Flavian's apartment is very neatly kept-- almost too neat, really. This is obviously a person with too much time on his hands and too few friends. A few examples of his work, including some tools, sit on a makeshift workbench. His clothes are neatly put away, his bed is made. In a drawer of Flavian's little desk, Angel finds a decent lock bundled with a set of lockpicks-- it looks like someone's been practicing. <Narrator> ::The snuffbox is nowhere in view. A thorough search turns it up in the bottom of the boy's knapsack-- neatly packed, as if he expected to need to leave in a hurry, and hidden in the back of his clothes press. * Angel flips the box around in his hands a few times, studying it. He is careful, however, to handle it very, very gently and not to move or fidget with any of the pieces or moving parts. <Narrator> ::The snuffbox is small, and quite beautiful. The entire surface is covered with intricate silver strapwork-- woven vines, animals, symbols-- Angel is a bit disturbed to note that, in close contemplation of the intricate design, the moon seems to have jumped fractionally higher in the sky without his noticing. The box gleams softly, almost as if it were lit from within, and a faint, tempting "ch-chink" of coin sounds whenever he turns it.:: * Angel drops the box into his pocket. "Stupid thing." * Flavian wakes with a small start, squinting around in confusion as he gets his bearings. He sits up quickly when he sees the box dropping from Angel's hands into his pocket. "Here now, that's mine!" <Angel> ::raises an eyebrow:: Not any longer. * Flavian's eyes narrow as he contemplates Angel, taking in the dark clothing, his confident manner. "Why are you here?" He chews his lip a moment. "Do you mean to ask for ransom for Miss Suchart?" <Angel> ::snorts:: Oh, I think we both know exactly where Miss Suchart is... don't we? * Flavian frowns, his eyes narrowing further, head cocking a little in puzzlement. "You may claim to, sirrah. I don't know why you'd think I know anything about it." * Angel studies the boy carefully, his gaze weighted, but cool. "Oh, that's quite convincing, I must say. Have you practiced that expression long? You should watch your eyes, though. Narrowing at this point shows me you're thinking too fast. Try like this, instead." Angel imitates the 'puzzled' expression, his eyes wide and guileless. * Flavian clenches his jaw, looking away from Angel as he breathes quickly through his nose. "You mock me, sir. Why? Surely you know the jeweler's daughter has been taken, or you wouldn't be here talking to me." <Angel> ::shrugs:: Actually, I'm only talking to you because you weigh slightly more than I'd calculated. You should have slept another five minutes, at least. But I've got what I came for. * Flavian's eyes slip reflexively towards Bastian's pocket. "I don't know what you hope to do with that. It's a puzzle box, you know. You'll never get it open." He lifts his chin a little with his last words. <Angel> There's truth in that, at least. I'm hoping very much that a friend will succeed where everyone else has failed. For Miss Suchart's sake, I hope he can do it soon. And, if nothing else, at least *my* friend knows the danger he's in, should he fail. * Flavian controls his reaction very well, but his eyes widen fractionally, and he licks his lips once before answering. "Miss Suchart is *missing.* No one knows where she is." He pauses, studying Bastian warily. "Except whoever took her, of course, if she was indeed taken." <Angel> Oh, stop. ::Angel sighs:: You're not nearly as good at lying as your parents were. I know where Miss Suchart is, and so do you, you murdering, lying, cowardly pathetic excuse for a thief. * Flavian's face twists in anger. "You know *nothing* about my parents! Nothing! You're the thief, that box is mine! I'm the only one who can open it." <Angel> ::fishes the box out of his pocket and holds it out flat in the palm of his hand:: Then open it. Preferably before Miss Suchart starves to death like all the others. * Flavian presses back against the wall. "Why should I open it for you? You'll only kill me and take what's mine anyway. Figure it out yourself, if you're so keen to get inside!" <Angel> ::the corners of his mouth twist up into a very chilly smile:: Open it. Let Miss Suchart out. I am supremely indifferent to treasure. My concern - my *only* concern - is the well-being of Miss Suchart. She is more than likely frightened out of her wits. Open it. Take the treasure, if you think it will make you happy. * Flavian looks at Angel hatefully. "What could she possibly be to one such as you?" <Angel> ::tilts his head to one side, cracking the joints in his neck:: More precious than treasure. But I don't think you'd understand, would you, Flip? * Flavian grinds his teeth. "Don't. Call me. That." <Angel> So, you're not going to open it? ::closes his hand around the box:: Ah well. It was too much to hope for, I suppose, that you'd finally figure it out. ::glances at Flip:: You don't happen to know when she last ate, do you? It'd be good to know how much time we have. <Flavian> ::scornfully:: Fool. You obviously have no idea what you have there. ::he sniffs and eyes Angel sidelong.:: We last saw her at dinner, night before last. ::he pauses:: If you're a thief, how can you say you've no interest in the treasure? <Angel> Actually, I have every idea of what I have here. Bonesteel was quite descriptive as to what his little treasure room contained. ::pockets the box again:: But I'm not interested. Money is only money. I already have those things which make me happy. ::pauses:: And, technically speaking, I'm not a thief. I'm an assassin. A very, very good one. <Flavian> ::swallows hard:: B-Bonesteel's dead. <Angel> ::nods:: I know. But still, quite the conversationalist... he's quite cross that you took his wife's dancing ladies. * Flavian gasps. "But he's... he's dead!" Flavian's face goes quite pasty, and he closes his eyes a moment. "All right... all right. You win. But... you don't want me to open the box. Not if you want to get inside. Only the person who opens it can get in." He licks his lips again. "I'll... I'll tell you how to open it. But you must follow my instructions precisely." <Angel> ::shakes his head:: I don't want to get inside, Flip. I want Miss Suchart *out*. And I do not trust you. I know, you see... about your father, and the young apprentice of that idiot... Pell-something or other. I've forgotten. Not to mention your seduction of Miss Suchart. You open it. Bring her out. You do that, and I'll let you live. <Flavian> But... but... ::frantically:: No! I let her out, *she'll* kill me! This is the only way. If you want that box open, you have to do it yourself. <Angel> Ellie won't kill you. Not while you're in the treasure room with her. She's a smart girl, she'll give you a chance to get her out. And she certainly won't kill you on this side. ::twitches his mouth slightly:: I'll make sure of it. ::narrows his eyes:: But you can't do it, can you? You still don't know *how*... <Flavian> ::a ring of white shows all the way around Flavian's eyes, and he grips his hands together in his lap to keep them from trembling:: Of course I know! It's my box! I'll tell you how to open it... it's very complicated, but it's perfectly safe when you do it right, I've done it hundreds of times. Why are you arguing about this? You want her out... aren't you the least bit curious about what's inside? <Angel> ::draws his knife slowly:: You haven't been inside. If you had, you'd have turned over the rest of the dancing ladies... sold them, at the very least. ::shrugs:: I'm not curious about the treasure. I want Ellie back. That is all. Since you can't help, you're merely a hindrance. <Flavian> ::holding up his hands, looking around wildly, crabbing backwards tighter against the wall with his heels:: No, please! I told you, I'll tell you how to get inside! Just... please, don't make me, I'm-- I'm... frightened of it! Please, you *must* open it! Ellie hasn't much more time... the box... you should see what the box does to those it devours! <Flavian> ::tears start to leak messily down his cheeks:: Please, just... I can tell you! Just open it! Please don't kill me.... * Flavian scrunches into a trembling ball, covering his head with both arms. <Angel> ::hauls Flavian up with one hand and slams him against the wall:: You cowardly little piece of shit. You send a perfectly good, honest woman to her death and you'd rather I slice your throat then go in after her? Gods have pity on your soul, Flip, because I do not. * Flavian coughs on his tears, hanging in Angel's grip as he's slammed against the wall. "I can't, I can't... please... just... if you open the box, it'll all be all right again, I promise..." <Angel> ::smiles again, actually looking oddly happy:: Oh, don't worry so much. Being dead doesn't hurt. Trust me. I've been dead before. * Flavian stares at Angel, horrified. His voice comes out in a bare, hoarse whisper. "What... what *are* you? Some demon, come for me?" <Angel> ::grins:: I'm Ellie's guardian angel... Goodbye, Flip. * Angel uses his forearm to force the boy's chin up. "Say hello to Bonesteel for me, will you? Tell him I'm keeping my promise." With that, he cuts Flavian's throat. <Flavian> Goodbye? ::eyes widen further:: No, don't! I can-- my journal, I'll show-- ::struggles and dies in a spray of blood:: * Angel lets the boy drop to the floor unceremoniously. He wipes a spray of blood off his face. "Wasteful..." He takes the snuff box from his pocket again. "Hold on, Ellie. We're coming, I promise you." He closes his hand around the box. {My lady?} <Jewel> ::Angel has the sense in his head of a snail uncurling from its shell, and Jewel's light touch comes again. Her mental voice sounds a little shaky.:: {Yes, love?} * Angel repockets the snuffbox and searches the room for any other valuables. He makes a collection of whatever trinkets and useful items he can find on the bed - including Flavian's journal, which he finds in a secret panel in the back of the boy's pack - then wraps them up in the sheet. He washes his face and hands in Flavian's basin, then ties the bundle closed. <Angel> {Could you tell Dawn that I'll need a pick up? I'll be in our arranged spot in about ten minutes, as soon as I finish making a mess here. We've not got much time.} <Jewel> {Understood...} ::her voice pauses a few moments in his head:: {...and... done. You'll make it look like a robbery gone off?} <Angel> ::begins trashing the room - quietly, but thoroughly. He slits the mattress open, breaks the furniture, and otherwise makes the place look like a very pissy hurricane hit it.:: Well, that should do... ::picks up the bundle and heads towards the rendezvous spot:: <Angel> {Indeed... it's a waste, and I'm sure your mother will be upset, but not as upset as she'd be knowing the truth.} <Jewel> ::her tone is steely:: {She's better not knowing what he was. What he did. He-- } ::she pauses again, and continues more quietly:: {Thank you, my heart.} <Angel> {I just hope Dawn can solve this thing. I really, really do.} ::fingers the box through his pocket, absently:: {On my way home. I love you, my lady.} <Jewel> ::he feels the warmth of her smile in him:: {I know. Oh, I know.} ::fainter, with a hint of amusement, as if it were a stray thought she didn't quite suppress in time:: {*My* guardian angel. Ellie can find her own.} <Angel> {I'm on loan, at the moment.} <Jewel> ::a brief feeling of surprise, and then, meeker:: {Yes, my lord. ...and Dawn is... gone. See you soon, love.} * Angel nods, even thought Jewel can't possibly see him from here, and heads to the meet-spot. Absently, as if he's not even aware of it, he pats his pocket again. |
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