Breach Runners I: Jurisdiction

[Mako]

Here's a bit of fiction I've been writing about a gang of smugglers. Half the reason for it is to help me flesh out the characters so I can give them the right feel as I sculpt them. So ill be writing the fiction as well as sculpting some of these guys for my own amusement. And anyone else's that's interested too of course!

I'll have photos of the sculpts in my painting thread, but I might also put a shot of the gang up here that I can update as I add new models.

So, hopefully people will enjoy it. There's more to come, and a lot more routes I can wander down in future, if people want it.

---------- Post added at 05:23 PM ---------- Previous post was at 05:21 PM ----------

Chapter I

In the damp shadows of a little used alleyway deep within the London slums, several figures clustered around the flickering orange light. As a routine police patrol passed by the alley mouth the dishevelled figures paid it no heed, and in turn were ignored by the officers after a cursory glance. Beggars were common in this part of the city, and it was not much more unusual for them to still be wearing the torn and threadbare remnants of their former finery. Constable Lom Beall looked at his patrolmate, pity and disgust warring on his face. Several merchants had been bankrupted when their breach trade licences were revoked, and most had ended up adding to the crowds of beggars that seemed to litter the city these days. Why they simply stayed near their old homes and sank further and further into the gutter, he couldn’t understand. A few years back, Lom and his fellow constable Clem would have been under orders to forcibly move them on. These days there were so many vagrants Lom considered it a pointless task - best just to ignore them and wait for the cold, damp and brutal streets to take their toll.

A loud fizzing pop accompanied a sudden burst of swearing from the alley. Clem sighed irritably as Lom turned to look down the alley. The figures had parted a little, and one was clutching his arm and cursing unintelligibly. Even in the dim light it was obvious he was hurt, and Lom stepped into the alley to see how bad it was. A hand on his arm stopped him, and he looked up into Clem’s narrow, scornful face.$$

“Don’t bother, that’s one less of ‘em stealing food and wasting our time”. Surprised at Clem’s callousness, Lom shook off his hand and turned back into the alley.

“It’s our job to bother. And it’s not going to take long. Just wait here if you don’t want to get your uniform dirty” he shot back as he walked slowly down the alley. While it was rare for officers to be attacked because of the trouble it caused, if he startled the vagrants they could easily attack him before they knew he was a Queen’s man. He still thought of himself as one of the Queen’s men, even though the term had fallen out of favour as a description of the London police. Lom had just cleared his throat to speak when a drunk, his clothes reeking of spirits, reeled out of the shadows and collided with him. Lom couldn’t hold up the two of them and they stumbled into the alley wall before the drunk righted himself, slurring barely coherent apologies, and staggered by towards the street. Lom picked himself up intending to accost the drunk and take him in, but as he turned he saw the cluster of vagrants staring at him in a strangely calculating way.

“Don’t worr...” he began, but tailed off quickly. Something was very wrong. The men put him in mind not of desperate vagrants, but of a hungry wolf pack – rough around the edges but dangerous and ruthless. And they were staring at him like a deer that had stumbled into their den. Calmly Lom dropped his hand to the pouch that contained his cosh and was shocked to discover it was unbuttoned and empty. A quick check of his pocket revealed the snapped chain that had held his whistle. One of the vagrants smiled a twisted little smile and almost imperceptibly nodded his head to another. As the indicated man stepped forward, Lom saw the gleam of metal under his tattered coat. He swore under his breath, realising he was standing alone facing one of London’s street gangs and not some harmless vagrants. No wonder the drunk had been in a hurry to get past him. If he could make it back to the street Clem would be able to summon help and they might get out of this. Very slowly, he stepped away from the wall the drunk had pushed him into, leaving him a clear path to turn and run. The moment he did so, he smelt a very familiar stink of alcohol and a quiet voice snarled in his ear.

“I don’t think so lad. Now, why don’t you stay still and relax a little, I wouldn’t want to shoot you now, would I?” $$The voice was laden with a malicious pleasure, and a prod in Lom’s back indicated how willing the voice really was to use the weapon. $$The apparent leader of the gang smiled warmly as Lom was pushed towards him in a firm grip, then turned to the alley mouth and called out$$

“Constable, come quickly, your comrade is in trouble”. Lom waited for the shrill blast of a whistle to sound through the chilly night, but nothing happened. Then, after a long pause, Lom heard the sound of footsteps in the alley. What was Clem doing coming in after him without backup?

“Now now boys, that ain’t no way to treat my friend here. Let him go and we’ll say no more about it” drifted down the alley in Clem’s drawl. Before Lom could shout a warning, one of the gang members angrily hissed out a reply.

“You let him come down here and see us. He doesn’t get to walk away now. He knows too much!”

“I told you to do something.” Clem’s drawl had sharpened almost to a snarl. Lom had never heard his colleague sound quite so vicious. “I’ll deal with him; you get on with your own business and stay out of mine.” It took a second for Lom to understand what was happening, but then a cold dread sank into his mind. Clem knew this gang?

“What the hell are you doing Clem?” he shouted in confusion. “Are you involved with this gang? Why?” A sudden ringing pain in the side of his head silenced him, and through the dizziness he saw Clem shouting at the man he had assumed was the leader of the gang. For his part, the man seemed unconcerned by the abuse being hurled at him. Lom caught snatches of conversation that made no sense, and then Clem suddenly grabbed a pistol (why did he even have such a thing Lom wondered frantically, no Queen's man carried firearms!) from under his uniform coat. Lom knew Clem was fast with his hands, but before he could raise the pistol the other man had pushed his rain cloak back, drawn a blade and driven it up into Clem’s chest. Through the whole thing, he looked about as interested as Lom’s fellow officers did when filling out reports. Before Clem had hit the floor, the gang leader had turned away to look at Lom, his face showing a brief hint of curiosity before drifting back into a faintly amused calm.$$

“So, you want to know what we do? Well, perhaps I should show you.” He said in a lighthearted voice, seemingly oblivious to the dead police officer two of his cronies were manhandling onto a pile of junk. “Jansen, have you found that hole yet? I’d prefer not to have any more interruptions.”

The man Lom had originally thought was injured turned away from what he was doing, orange light pulsing from a strange contraption in his hand.

“It’s here boss, just gimme a few more seconds. Nearly got it tuned in.” The lights flickered suddenly and Jansen turned back to what he was doing quickly, just in time for an actinic light to tear through the air in the alley, illuminating everything clearly. The gang were surprisingly well equipped with a variety of guns and blades, and two of the men were taking rifles off the junk pile. Lom was surprised to see a pack mule standing in the middle of the junk, silent and immobile. Surely the startlingly bright, sudden light would have evoked some reaction, but the animal just stood like a statue, head drooping.

The two men, now heavily armed, strode quickly up to the crackling rip in the air and stepped through, vanishing in a swirl of strange colours and light. A few minutes passed with very little happening, and Lom could feel the men around him getting tenser. Hands were resting on weapons, and the leader was glancing at his left arm repeatedly. There was a flicker in the tear, and everyone snatched up their weapon and aimed it at the hole in the air. With another burst of light, one of the men who’d stepped through reappeared, causing the rest of the gang to lower their weapons slowly. They seemed strangely reluctant to relax while the tear was there. Lom heard a few snatches of conversation between the leader and the man who had come back through the tear, but they made little sense to him again.


“…a little way west of Latigo. Looks pretty clear now, but there’s signs of neverborn bein’ there recent”

“How far from the road? I don’t want to run straight into a patrol again. Irritating enough we’ll have to skirt between the city and the bayou, I don’t want to spend the first half of it running from the Ortegas. That ruined my boots last time, we lost part of the shipment, and it took me two weeks to find replacement men.”

“Nah, should be clear enough. It’s opened up on a plateau above the road.”

“Fair enough. Alright, let’s move out. Tobin, get that animal moving.”

With practiced ease, the gang split up and slid quickly through the rip in the air, the sickly colours roiling as they passed into the strange light. A couple stayed back, watching the alley carefully as the mule was lead towards the rip. It was docile and a little sluggish, but for all its drugged look was surprisingly steady on its feet. Lom then noticed a strange assembly of vials and tubing that fed off the front of the cart, through some clockwork, and into the mule’s shoulder. Knowing what he was looking for, he could see little mechanical additions in various places on the mule. It was either a very lifelike construct, or a vile fusing of life and arcane technology

“Good idea isn’t it. No noise, no fuss. A little gift from one of our benefactors, a very good man with the old mechanicals. Of course, when we get near the roads we have to cover it up a bit. Can’t have the guild see our pet too clearly, can we. Now, why don’t you come on through with me?”

He steered a reluctant Lom towards the pulsing tear as the mule plodded disinterestedly through and disappeared. The last thing he saw was the last two gang members backing towards the tear as they checked the alley was clear of any sign they’d been there, before a strange blue light seemed to leap out and engulf him.$$

Lom felt as if his body had been turned inside out. A moment stretched away into infinity, every part of him burning from within. Then, in a flash, it was all over. Lom sprawled onto a dusty plateau and retched noisily. Around him the gang were fanning out to watch the surrounding area, and their boss seemed to have stepped lightly out of the tear without any ill effects at all. Dragging himself to his feet, Lom turned angrily to the gang leader and shouted

“Who the hell do you…Where the hell are we?!” his voice tailed off rapidly as he looked out onto a strange plain, bordered by dark forests and swamps. In the distance to one side he could see heavy walls and a smoky haze. There was something unsettling about the whole place, a sense that people didn’t belong. The gang leader gave him a wolfish grin and a theatrical bow, and said$$

“Adran Newell, at your service. My… associates’… names are probably best left for now. As for where?” He gestured out across the hostile looking landscape. “Welcome to Malifaux.”l

Without explaining any further, Newell swiftly moved his crew out across the rocky plateau. The mule, Jansen and Lom stayed near him and kept to shallow gullies and shaded areas. While this was pleasant for the shade it offered, Lom knew they were trying to avoid being seen. Low ground on a raised plateau meant that no one looking up at them from below would see them silhouetted against the sky. The rest of the gang seemed to have vanished, except for occasional glimpses of men moving silently from cover to cover. Lom wasn’t restrained in any way, and began to contemplate escape. He had worked out that the rifle armed men were most likely to the front of the little convoy, so running back the way they had come would probably be a better plan. He could use the same cover Newell had, to avoid giving anyone a clear shot, and head straight for the road. A road meant people, and a measure of safety. It would be risky, but as long as he didn’t give them a clear shot he could probably get to the city and raise an alarm. Then he could work out how to get back home.$$

He was distracted from his planning by the startlingly quiet and sudden appearance of one of the gang. Newell held a muttered conversation with the man, who then vanished into the landscape almost as fast as he’d appeared. The gang moved even more warily now, Newell even signalling for the mule to be stopped. A figure appeared from the rocky scrubland, and at first Lom thought it was another gang member. But it was moving too fast, and as it got closer it roared, unfolding ragged wings from its back. It was huge, easily a foot taller than the men, with huge muscles bunching and coiling under strangely pale skin. It lunged at one of the crew, ignoring the sword that man plunged through its side, and smashed him to the ground with a huge hand. As it rose, a series of heavy sounding shots rang out from nearby. Despite the brute’s size and strength, the rounds tore large holes through one arm and the wing behind it, and several slammed into its chest. No creature should have survived such a brutal salvo, but if anything it seemed even angrier than before. Rearing up to full height, the beast hurled itself in a single bounding leap towards Newell. Paralysed with fear, Lom could only stare in horror as it closed on his kidnapper to tear him asunder.$$

Newell was frozen in place too, his eyes fixed on the creature as it swept towards him several feet from the floor. As the roaring beast closed on him, it raised its good arm and opened its mouth, revealing vicious fangs. As soon as its mouth opened, Newell turned slightly and Lom could see he was holding an elegant looking revolver. Such a tiny weapon seemed foolish in the face of the monster bearing down on them, but what other choice was there? Newell’s face turned from it’s usual faintly amused blank look to an eager snarling grin in the blink of an eye, and he fired. There was a sharp double crack as he pulled the trigger of his revolver before darting swiftly and easily to the side. The beast’s head jolted and it crashed down where Newell had been standing, sliding to a halt in the dirt. One of the other gang members strode up to it and swiftly slashed through the creature’s neck, ankles and wings.$$

“A useful precaution, even if it does take time. We’ve had these things get up after that kind of punishment before.” Lom turned, startled, to see Newell loading several rounds into his pistol without even looking at his crew butchering the beast that had almost killed him. Focussing intently on Newell to avoid the bloody carnage being performed behind him, Lom realised that the pistol Newell carried may have been elegant, but it also was deceptively powerful. For one thing, the barrel was wider than he’d expected. Secondly, there were two of them. Newell nodded to his pistol when he saw Lom’s confusion. “Twinbarrel. Perfect when you don’t get a second chance. Especially when they’re stupid enough to give you a decent shot straight into the bottom of their brains.” He shrugged his head towards the slain monstrosity, as if it was an explanation. “That said, out here no brain doesn’t necessarily mean they won’t get up.” Lom had no idea what Newell was talking about, but decided he probably didn’t want to know. Jansen knelt by the wounded man and did something Lom couldn’t see, a soft white light pulsing from his hands. Despite the brutal impact, the gang member picked himself up slowly and shook his head. As the crew hid the dismembered remains of the creature in a shallow pit, Lom could hear them mocking the injured man good naturedly about being too slow, and taking a pay cut for wasting the merchandise. The gang seemed unconcerned by brief flurry of violence and near death of one of their own, and they spread out like they had before, almost fading into the landscape.

Reflecting on the last few minutes, Lom quickly realised that Newell didn’t need to cuff him or tie him up. Not only would that make him a liability and draw more attention if anyone happened to see them, but he couldn’t escape whatever he tried. Newell had made Lom walk of his own accord into a prison he hadn’t even seen. Unarmed in a hostile environment, Lom needed Newell and his crew just to stay alive. If he ran, they wouldn’t try to stop him – they didn’t need to. Malifaux would claim him without anyone knowing he’d ever been there.

[Absolution Black]

Brilliant! Really loved this introduction... the characters are building nicely, you want to know more about them...and the mule!!

And its a nice twist that they have some contraption that can open a tear, I don't know whether that has been mentioned in the fluff before, so its a brave step..but it works for me.

It flows nicely, not too fast, not too plodding....and there is a nice balance between descriptive text and prose.

Looking forward to more!

[Mako]

Thanks! And now I've posted here, I'm going to roam the writing rooms reading everyone else's stuff too, seems only fair!

The device may not quite have that power, but it is a little step forward from a brief mention thats made in one of the short side notes in rising powers. As with most things in it, there's more explanations coming down the line. Pretty much as the poor constable finds out, no doubt the hard way on several occasions...

Edited March 14, 2012 by Mako

[Chucklemonkey]

I will just echo what the good Mr Black said. I particularly enjoyed the manner in which you unravelled Lem's predicament at the start. With the encroaching gang and the pickpocket etc. Thought it was very well done and paced beautifully.

[Mako]

Yeah, poor Lom. He's not having an easy ride of it, and it probably won't improve any time soon! But he's such a handy tool for telling the story, unluckily for him.

Thanks for the comments so far, it's good to see I'm not writing total rubbish! I've even been able to get my act together to find the second part and here it is...

---------- Post added at 11:53 PM ---------- Previous post was at 11:52 PM ----------

Chapter II

Lom found it impossible to tell how long their trek through the badlands lasted. It felt like hours, but in the harsh environment, it could have been less than one. They took a winding route, occasionally making detours to avoid things Lom never even saw. Through the whole thing, Newell appeared like a young lord strolling across his estates rather than the vicious criminal Lom had seen before. Eventually, the gang reached the edges of the city and Lom was surprised to find it in very poor repair. The gang drew closer in, for the first time the riflemen staying with Lom, Newell and the mule. They moved silently into the outskirts of the ruined city, keeping to back streets and moving through the buildings where possible. As Lom trudged mule up some stairs next to the mule, he was swiftly shoved against the wall and a hand was clamped over his mouth. Panic began to fill his mind and he kicked at the man holding him, feeling his boot connect with a shin. He was rewarded by a muffled burst of swearing and his head was released. Lom scrambled to reach the stairs when a pair of quiet clicks sounded right in front of his head. He looked up into the two silver engraved barrels of Newell’s revolver and tensed. If he was going to die, he’d do it fighting. Newell made no move to fire, merely raised a questioning eyebrow. As Lom subsided, Newell put a finger to his lips with a cautionary look in his eyes. Yet again Lom found himself confused and helpless, looking around at the gang as they silently got on with things he didn’t understand. For the first time, they looked tense. The riflemen were motionless at a couple of broken windows staring into the street, with the rest of the crew spread around the room to cover any possible entrance or exit. In the absolute silence, Lom could hear unsteady shuffling footsteps outside.

Very softly, one of the riflemen whispered “Wearin’a grey coat, hat and a blade. Two of ‘em by looks.” A look of cruel delight slid across Newell’s face and he nodded his head at the two gunners.

“Strange place for a patrol. Take them down.”

The order was swiftly followed by the loud reports of the riflemen firing. Both riflemen had fired several shots each when they pulled away from the windows to reload, Newell looking vaguely pleased the whole way through, although this faded into resignation almost as soon as the echoing shots faded.

“Well, I think we’ve made enough noise to wreck the stealth option” Newell sighed. “Get moving, I don’t want to be late for our first drop.” The mule’s handler peeled back a section of flesh over its shoulder and fiddled with the controls beneath. The mule spasmed briefly, then began to twitch every so often and strain against its bridle. The gang moved fast and quiet, as far as speed was possible without leaving the mule-machine behind, weaving through the ruined buildings until they ended up in a long straight alley. But through every twist and turn, the strange shuffling footsteps were growing louder. As they reached the end of the alleyway, the gang came face to face with a group of half a dozen uniformed men. Lom recognised the uniforms and began to think he might get away safely – these were Guild guardsmen, surely they wouldn’t kill him without asking questions first?

Newell never even slowed, lunging straight into the guardsmen with his sabre flashing and the occasional bark of his pistol ringing out. Several loud shots echoed from the alley walls as the gang’s riflemen opened fire without hesitation on the guards. The large calibre rounds tore into two of the guardsmen, ripping away a large chuck of one’s chest and the other’s head, and hurling them both back against the far wall. Lom scrabbled in the debris around the alley, found a lump of age hardened wood that would serve as a cosh, and prepared to help the guardsmen fight his captors. One look at the figure lumbering towards him changed his mind. The guardsman was pale, with sunken skin and an unsteady gait, and holding his sword and gun as if he barely knew how to use them. His uniform was ripped and filthy and a stench wafted from him that made Lom’s eyes water. But by far the most unsettling thing was the large area of skull that was exposed where the rifle round had ripped away the side of his head. Raw instinct saved Lom’s life as the dead guardsman swumg clumsily with his sword. He dodged far too late though, only his thick uniform coat and his solid build allowing him to take the blow without suffering more than a flesh wound. In return, Lom slammed his improvised cosh into the corpse’s elbow, breaking it. He wasn’t prepared for the dead guardsman to backhand him across the face with his broken arm in retaliation. Stumbling back in surprise, Lom was unprepared for the next swing that slammed a pistol into the side of his head. His vision exploded into fireworks and he sank to one knee, the dead man looming over him.

Staring up at the shambling corpse, every detail became pin sharp. The ragged edge of the corpse’s head wound hadn’t bled, but was leaking putrid black ooze slowly. The eyes were wide and staring at nothing in sockets of pallid, sunken skin. Every movement looked like a puppet jerking on strings with deceptive speed. As Lom struggled to rise to his feet, there was a familiar double-crack and the dead guard’s neck exploded, the body crumpling and the head rolling away into the dirt. Newell took Lom’s hand and pulled him to his feet, thumbing back the hammers on his revolver.

“Not bad; most of the time someone takes a hit like that they don’t get up.” Newell seemed utterly placid despite his blood streaked face.

“Is it over?” Lom asked groggily.

“We’ve stopped fighting if that’s what you mean. But I wouldn’t exactly say we’re out of trouble yet. That patrol we took out wasn’t a Guild one unfortunately, but it did have friends.” The gang were clustered around Lom and the mule, facing outward. Towards a pack of roughly a dozen zombies in dishevelled guard uniforms and varying states of decay. This was going to go very bad very fast. “Jansen, I’m waiting.” Newell growled softly.

“I can’t make this happen any faster unless you want to land in a wall” hissed the unfortunate Jansen as he desperately adjusted the controls on the box in his satchel.

“You don’ get on with it, that ain’t gonna matter.” Lom was surprised to hear one of the other gang members speak since they had stayed pretty much silent so far. Clearly stealth and silence no longer mattered. The undead pack shuffled closer and the gang pulled back into a tighter group. Any moment now, they would be torn apart by the sick parodies of law officers.

“Time for a distraction” Newell muttered, stepping close to the heavily laden mule. He took a syringe linked to a tube from a hidden panel in the mule’s skin, and hauled the body of Lom’s dead colleague Clem off the back of the panniers. Holding the dead constable up in his right hand, Newell sank the dripping needle into the side of Clem’s neck. After a couple of seconds, Clem’s body began to twitch and spasm faintly. A strange flush covered his face, at which point Newell yanked out the needle and threw Clem’s body at the cluster of undead guardsmen. It crashed into the nearest, knocking it over, and the other undead lunged towards the fallen bodies. They tore violently at the still twitching body of the constable, almost completely forgetting the gang as they frenziedly tried to kill the already dead man. Soon enough though, they stopped clawing at the remains of the constable’s body and turned towards the living. Blood drooled from their mouths and hands as they stumbled towards the gang, looking for a fresh kill.

Just as Lom readied himself to face the horde, Jansen gave a little hiss of satisfaction, aimed the strange pistol device he carried straight at the floor and fired a bolt of light into the ground. The world went purple-white and Lom felt like he was being jolted in every direction at once.

The strange light faded, leaving dancing after images and ruined night vision. Lom was surprised to feel relief that the first person he saw was Newell, although after the walking corpses and gargantuan beasts someone normal was a relief, even if that person was his kidnapper. Lom was back on his feet fairly quickly this time, thinking to himself that nauseating transits through the aether had been far too common if he was getting used to them. Then the world span crazily around him, and he collapsed to his knees retching. After a moment this passed, and he rose a second time, much more slowly. The gang were already on their feet, but moving slowly and carefully, clearly as disoriented as he was. They headed out past Newell, who was leaning casually against the wall wiping his sabre clean, showing no ill effects from the process. As Lom joined the swordsmen, they caught up to Jansen who had produced a screwdriver from one of his myriad pockets and was walking absently forward while fiddling intently with the bizarre electronic pistol he carried. Lom caught his arm as he nearly walked into a doorframe, startling him but getting a wan smile for his trouble. They walked alongside each other as Newell slid past almost silently, taking the lead through the streets.

Eventually, Lom’s curiosity overtook his caution and he turned to Jansen. The skinny man seemed younger than he’d initially thought, possibly only sixteen or seventeen, and not remotely built like a gang fighter. His thin face, broad nose and round glasses looked out of place among the toughs, and it was only the thick waistcoat and baggy shirtsleeves that made him look as big as some of the other men. He seemed awkward and out of place, unlike the confident suavity of Newell. And as for that bizarre pistol...

“What is that thing you’ve been using? It’s not like any weapon I’ve ever seen before.” Jansen looked surprised at the question, and stared at Lom for a few seconds before answering.

“There’s two reasons for that. One, it’s the only one there is. And two, it ain’t really a weapon.” Jansen's accent was much more obvious now he could speak a little louder, and he sounded like a street urchin rather than a gang tough. He delicately slapped the satchel at his side. “Built this custom for the boss. S’an aetheric scanner and condenser. See, this way I can find little breaches and we can use ‘em. Way safer than tryin’ to get through the big one. I figured out that I could use the resonant field from a soulstone in the presence of breach energy to create an inductive feedback loop and..." Jansen trailed off when he say the blank expression on Lom's face. sigahing, he tried a new explanation.

"Me little magic box here runs this.” He waved the strangely vaned pistol about in front of Lom, causing the constable to lean out the way slightly. “This thing lets me track tears down to half a dozen feet if I get it calibrated right. Needs a soulstone to focus it proper though. But that means I got a surprise for anyone that gets too close” Jansen grinned and aimed the strange pistol into the shadows, mimicking firing it. “And you already seen the emergency exit, got us out of a few messes that has.”

“Indeed. Jansen may look and act young, but his little box of tricks is what keeps us in business and alive.” Newell’s cool tones same from behind them, causing both men to turn suddenly in surprise. Lom was suddenly concerned that Newell had heard the conversation between him and Jansen. If he knew too much, Newell might kill him rather than risk exposure. Jansen looked abashed and made to head off further up the group, away from Lom, but Newell’s cold gaze pinned him in his tracks.

“So you slip into Malifaux, steal soulstones and smuggle them back Earthside? That’s all this is, a smuggling racket?” Lom said to the gang leader, unable to keep the scorn out of his voice. Newell turned his icy eyes on Lom for what felt like a long time, the emotionless stare seeming to examine his conscience and secrets, and pass judgement.

“Tell me, lawman, do you believe in justice, or law?”

“The law is justice. I don’t really see that there’s a difference. In the Empire, the Crown is law. Out here, the Guild is law. But the law is there to ensure justice is done.”

“Really. Well, soon we’ll be at our first meeting. I shall show you how this world works, lawman. And then I’ll ask you again: Justice, or law. Think carefully.” Newell then strode off towards the rest of the gang, speaking with the mule handler and signalling several of the other men to take up different positions.

“For a minute there, I thought I was in trouble for learning how you all cross between Earth and Malifaux.” Lom laughed in relief. “But for a smuggler, he’s hardly ruthless or violent is he? I mean, compared to the other stuff I’ve seen today he’s pretty harmless.” Jansen didn’t laugh. He looked faintly sick as he turned his head to face Lom. His voice was bleak, his accent thick as he spoke the next few words carefully.

“You can’t be more wrong. Out of everythin' you’ve seen here in Malifaux, Adran Newell is easy the most dangerous.”

[Absolution Black]

An interesting part that explains a few things in more depth, whilst introducing more of the characters background.

I am enjoying it though it did seem like there was a lot of guild autopsies! Surely they would notice that many going missing lol!

But overall I am enjoying the explanations of the breach technology and I am interested to see where this is heading...

[Mako]

Yeah, I was worried about the number of autopsies for a while, but then if there were less it wouldn't have been such a problem, and if they weren't all guildies then the confusion wouldn't have been there. So I decided they just wandered right past McMourning's hidden lab, and there's a lot of old discarded experiments roaming the streets round there. Bit of a cheat but it'll probably turn up later as something relevant knowing my tendency to tie loose ends into other things!

The next part is a bit more backstory heavy, although it does set up some later shenanigans I have in mind. But I'll leave it for a short while to let people read these two. And for me to write some of the one after!

[Mako]

Right, after a short delay, I have the third part of this story to go up. Hopefully it's not too dull!

Meanwhile, I shall return to reading my way through various other threads. Enjoy!

Chapter III

Lom wanted to laugh, but the seriousness of Jansen stifled his amusement. After a pause in which both men stared silently at each other, Jansen spoke again.

“You know why you’re here, constable? And not with your friend back there?”

“Because I didn’t do anything to make him kill me.”

“He was gonna kill you from the moment you stepped into that alley back in London, just like he did the other copper when he tried to get clever. Only difference is you walked out here yourself, ‘stead of taking up space on the mule. We’ve had ‘guests’ along before. Last one, the boss traded him to a rezzer for a quiet route through the outskirts. He leaves folk alive or kills them, whichever is more useful to him. Doesn’t bother him either way. If you ain’t in his way, you’re alright. But your friend back there tried to mess with him, and you saw what happened.”

“What about that patrol he had shot? There was no way they’d seen us, it would have been easier to sneak round.”

“That’s different. The boss don’t mind whether people live or die, except for two things. You got a bond with him, you’re safe. Well, ‘less you break it anyway.”

“What do you mean, a bond?”

“Kinda like an agreement. Makes us family in a way, and the boss looks after his own.”

“And the other thing?”

“What? Oh. Well, you saw before; he ain’t a fan of the Guild. He might not give a damn ‘bout killin’ anyone else, but he gets a real kick out of anything that annoys the Guild. ‘Specially taking out their lackeys."

“What? He talks about justice and law, and then goes around murdering anyone involved with the Guild?! How can he possibly justify that?”

“Hiseyes, they picked that side so they're Guild jus' like everyone else, top to bottom. 'Sides, after everything he’s done to them, he still ain’t paid them back for what they did. They started this, not him, near fifteen years back.”

London, 1884

“I have brought young master to you, sir. You wished to see him.” The butler’s dry, calm tone distracted the man behind the desk. The man’s greying hair still tumbled in loose coils to his shoulders, covering the embroidered collar of his formal jacket. He glanced up, a pair of spectacles balanced on his nose, and gestured to the butler to send in his charge. The butler ushered a boy of eleven into the room, then silently stepped outside and shut the door. The boy stepped forward hesitantly, unsure what was expected of him.

“Have you looked through the accounts I gave you, boy?”

“Yes sir, I studied them fully. As you said, there were several places that had lower than expected income. I believe I have located three, all of which can be connected to one specific area”

“Three, you say? I studied those accounts myself and found four. It seems you missed one.”

“My apologies, sir. I will redo them until I find the fourth if you wish?”

“Ahh lad, at your age, I’d have been lucky to find two of them.” The man’s stern countenance broke into a gentle smile, and he rose from behind the desk. “Now come here, son. Let’s go through the accounts together. You’re learning fast, soon you’ll be ready to take over the western accounts.”

Father and son went back through the accounts, finding that the boy had in fact missed two of the anomalies, but had in turn found one that the older man had missed. They looked into the details, and it took very little time for the two keen minds to establish a pattern.

“So, son, what’s the solution to this little problem?”

“Well, it’s clear that there’s a clerk and a convoy captain who are collaborating to steal. They… must be made an example of , I guess…” The boy’s voice trailed off. He looked uncertainly at his father.

“You’re right son, they have to be. Don’t feel bad about this. After all, they betrayed us. They broke the bond between us and them. And if we let them go, everyone will think that our bond is worth nothing. More people will decide they can abuse our trust. So, we make sure that everyone knows the price of betrayal.”

“I understand father. And we make them pay the price ourselves, rather than having a Guild contact deal with it, because that way we show that we don’t rely on the Guild for our strength?”

“Something like that, son. It’s always wise to stand on your own strength. If you put yourself in the pockets of someone in power, what do you do when they get replaced? You’ve done well today, you’re learning fast. By the time you turn of age, you’ll be able to run this place better than I ever could. But always remember – choose those you trust carefully, and never turn away from those you do. That is the way of an honourable man. But crush without mercy those who betray you. That, is justice.”

London, 1896

The heavy door swung open as it always did at this time on a weekday, revealing not the butler, but a young man with sandy hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. The same stern faced figure was sat behind the desk, a few more wrinkles lining his face but the eyes just as piercing as ever. The young man strode into the office without waiting for a response, but paused when he saw the other figure standing to one side of the desk. Dressed in rich fabrics with an austere cut, immaculately turned out but clearly not a dandy, the man turned to glare haughtily at the younger man. He said nothing, and the younger man felt an urge to justify himself to this imposing man. Then, he remembered where he was and decided he owed this stranger no explanation.

"Do you two intend to stare at each other like startled cats all evening, or shall we get on?" The man sat behind the desk said dryly. "I told you that my son would be coming in to discuss the trade accounts, you know full well they need doing before any of our other business." This was aimed at the gentleman beside the desk, who nodded calmly, holding the younger man's gaze for a couple of seconds before turning to face the desk and it's occupant. The seated man leant forward to look a the younger man and jovially said "Step forward, lad. This gentleman" there was a minute grimace as the seated man said that word "is an associate of ours. One of the... private accounts, that I haven't taught you yet." Turning to the so called associate, his voice had none of the warmth it had had for his son. "Adran now runs the majority of the trading accounts, since I spend much of my time handling your private business. He's better now than I was five years ago, and in another few years he'll be working on your account too." The man said nothing, merely turning to look disdainfully at the youth. Adran returned the stare with ice in his gaze, and spoke to his father ignoring the stranger.

"I found four irregularities in the last year, all of which could be linked to a man and a woman working in the dock records office. I have had them both disposed of, ensuring that it was apparent why. I am pleased to report that efficiency has increased by four percent, and there have been no further irregularities since. There will be more in future of course, I estimate the next examples will need making in roughly nineteen months." Adran reported all this without anything other than vague satisfaction in his voice, then placed the files he had been carrying on the desk and stepped back. His father nodded, and Adran turned smartly and walked to the door. As he opened it, he again caught the eye of the stranger. Both stared coldly at the other, the older man surprised by the dispassionate cruelty in the younger's eyes. Adran passed through the door and swung it gently shut behind him, the cleverly soundproof door blocking the outside world from intruding on the meeting.

Adran was not yet privy to the less legal sides of his father's trade empire, a fact that would have irritated him, except that he knew it would be his in time. His father had begun dealing with the man he had seen tonight a little over a year ago. Adran knew the man had a lot of power and influence, and his father had made it clear that until Adran knew everything his father did about clandestine deals, it was too dangerous for him to handle. His father had also said, however, that once Adran had learned those lessons, he would be able to control the 'private accounts' using all his ruthless skill. So it was simply a matter of time. Soon, he would have control of every account, and he would run it with honour and, where necessary, brutality. The family guild would continue, and flourish under his guidance. Adran didn't concern himself with the meeting he'd been effectively ejected from, as it wasn't his business... yet.

In the early hours of the morning, Adran watched from the shadows inside his rooms as the stranger climbed into a coach and disappeared off into the night. He was too far away to see the other figure sat in the coach, or to hear the conversation between the stranger and this person.

In the darkness of the coach, the stranger turned to the figure sat in the corner of the seat. "The shipments will be increased, just as we wanted. But we may have a problem. The boy will be taking over in the next year or so. And he will be difficult to handle. He needs removing before that happens." His companion spoke in soft, sibilant near-whispers.

"It will be difficult to arrange without the family knowing. Much easier to be rid of them all."

"No. We need the father. He's the best at this kind of thing, and the only way to maintain all this without any of it getting back to us. Unless something happens to change the balance, we need to remove the boy and only the boy. Unfortunate, but we can't sit and wait for something dramatic to hand us an opportunity like that."

Malifaux, 1904

Lom stared at Jansen as he recounted the tale of the Newell family, and Adran's childhood.

"Wait - that man - he was from the Guild? Then how come Newell's still alive? The Guild aren't some loose association of traders, they're some of the most powerful people on earth!"

"Well, less than a year after, the breach reopened. So the Guild got that lucky break they needed. That shady trade link 'came a liability to people who all of a sudden had other options. Boss' whole family got dragged through the dirt by Guild lies, cost 'em everything. They ended up starvin' in a workhouse I think, but he don't talk about 'em much. He spent the time stealin', smugglin' and tryin' to get enough money to save his family from dyin' in a hole."

"So they wanted to get rid of him, and what they did was ruin his entire family but leave him alive? How?"

"Well, it ain't like they din't try, they just thought he wasn't gonna be a problem without power and lackeys to back him up. Sent some dumb gang thugs after him. Course, he had his gang too, but they say he didn't need 'em. Boss tore 'em apart hisself, even sliced off an' posted their Guild tattoos back to the bosses. Then disappeared into the streets again. By the time they figured out what was goin' on, he'd made enough to pay his way out the gutter."

"So how come he didn't stop there? Surely he got back what he wanted when he could live in a little bit of luxury?"

"Yeah, he thought that too. Din't work tho. He wasn't happy with it, kept getting' more money, more power, and nothin' made it feel right. Was only happy when he was messin' with the Guild. Then after he, um, 'found' me in a Guild wagon, we started usin' the little breaches to hop over Malside and cause 'em a whole heap more trouble."

"Did he ever find that man, the one that double crossed his father?" Lom asked, fascinated despite himself in the revenge this vicious killer had presumably taken.

"Yeah, last year. Saw him gettin' out the governor's coach here, Malside. Sent him right over the edge. He ain't gonna stop 'til he takes that guy down. Figures if we wait long enough, he'll get his shot. And 'til then, only thing he wants is to hurt the Guild. Every bit we steal, every run we do, every guard he takes out. All just to pass time 'til he gets his turn at that guy." Lom stared in horrified surprise. The man he'd got caught up with was a psychopath hell bent on revenge against someone in the highest echelons of the most powerful cartel in the worlds. Jansen placed one hand on Lom's shoulder gently, looking for some words he couldn't seem to find.

"So yeah, you prob'ly want to think careful 'bout whether you pick law or justice. Oh, but don't waste yer time tryin' to lie to him. I never seen anyone live through that yet." With that, Jansen moved up ahead to speak with the mule handler, leaving Lom to puzzle over his own values, and how long he would survive with them.

Edited July 17, 2012 by Mako

[Nathan Caroland]

A fun read!

[Mako]

Cheers Nathan!

It still makes me smile to see the guys running the show ambling about looking at our efforts and commenting. That's got me back to sculpting these guys, the first won't take too much more to finish and then on to the next few. And I'm partway through the next chapter too.

[Mako]

Wow, progress hit a total standstill for a while. Couldnt quite decide how I wanted this next part to hang together, ended up writing out parts of the next few chapters to work it all out! And I keep not having enough time to get sculpting done, blasted house move getting in the way! Anyway, hope people enjoy it.

Chapter IV

The journey through the crumbling city outskirts passed through streets crusted with the dirt of long neglect, weaving through dilapidated buildings and debris strewn alleys. Lom was lost, tired and aching from the blow he had taken fighting the dead guardsmen earlier on. He had no idea where they were going, and barely any more idea of where they had been. Gradually, lulled by the seemingly endless repetitive trudging through deserted streets, the expectation of something horrific happening around each corner began to fade. The moment Newell called a halt to their little party, all those doubts flooded back and Lom unthinkingly reached for his cosh. The empty space at his belt reminded him that he was technically a prisoner, and would potentially be facing his own murder soon, and yet strangely he felt little inclination to attempt escape.

The gang had clustered up partway down yet another street filled with slowly crumbling architecture, but for once not in an easily defensible position. This was something of a puzzle to Lom until he saw the massive metal cover in a side alley being hauled up. The foul smell hit him at the same time as the realisation that he was about to endure an entirely new torment - wading through a sewer to get to wherever they were going. Half the gang followed Newell as he strode swiftly down the ramp into the darkness, leaving the riflemen along with Jansen, the mule and it's handler in the street. Jansen shrugged, and gestured to Lom to head down. Trying not to gag, Lom did as he was asked, and was somewhat surprised to find a relatively clear stone walkway along the side of the water channel. He'd never actually thought about sewers having those, but it was a relief to know they did. A loud metallic scraping interrupted his thoughts and he realised that the rest of the gang were now in the sewer, and had pulled the cover back over their entryway.

"Try not to get too dirty there, constable. We won't be down here long, and when we get out you don't want people to think you've been down here" a deep, amused rumbling voice came from over his shoulder. He turned to see the biggest man in the gang grinning at him as he lit a small lamp. Despite the man's tremendous size and heavily muscled frame he seemed to always have a cheerful expression that made him look like a gentle giant, although the long, heavy knife tucked in his belt made Lom pretty certain that he was perfectly capable of being dangerous. Not sure how to respond to the huge brute's good natured humour, Lom managed a weak smile and nodded, keeping away from the wall as they set off in a loose cluster down the dark tunnels. They moved more carefully down here, slowed by the need to check each side tunnel with lamps and rifles. Soon, although not soon enough for Lom and from the faintly green tinge on Jansen's cheeks not for him either, they stopped by a set of steps leading to the surface.

Newell turned to the rest of them, pushing his pistol in its holster round to the back of his belt, and twisting his sabre out of sight under his coat too. "You know the drill people, hide anything you shouldn't have. Alexei, check topside." The smaller of the gang's fighters easily bounded up the steps, weapons hidden under his untucked shirt. At the top of the ladder, he slid the cover to one side and sprang up into the street. The gang waited, tensed and ready, until Alexei's face reappeared in the open hole.

"All clear boss, but it's a real mess out here. Looks like one of the masts came down, whole area down towards the river's just rubble."

"Seems there's been some trouble recently." Newell stood on the roadside a little way from the wrecked buildings looking down in the evening light at the crews trying to clear them. They had all left the sewer without being seen, and were standing around in a quiet part of a bustling city, with Lom trying not to look too out of place. He had been told to undo his jacket, and his helmet was floating in the rank water under their feet. He didn't look much like a constable any more, which given the number of guards around was probably a good thing. They kept to one side as as another pair passed them on patrol. Newell appeared to be paying no attention, but given that he had listened intently to everything everyone else that had passed had said, Lom assumed he was still doing so.

"...still got no idea what happened. Rumour says it got blown up, but the official line is that it was a failure. A really bad one I guess" one guard was telling the other as they came into hearing.

"Ah, they'll change that when they find a good way to blame it on the union, just like usual. Still, if it wasn't an accident, they went too far this time. They found the rest of the bodies yet?"

"No, I think the captain said there's still ten guys missing in the rubble. We best find them soon, or something else might. And that doesn't bear thinking about." One of the gang raised an eyebrow at that, and as the guards carried on down the street Newell shook his head in resignation.

"Connor" he muttered, and one of the riflemen swore gently.

"Can he really be that dumb?" he asked. Newell gazed coolly at him for a few seconds, until the man nodded in agreement. "Good point."

"This will have changed the situation. Split up and have an evening on the town, but keep your ears open and see what people know. We all have our drops to make. Tobin, give me the satchel then get that thing to the safehouse and let it rest. Oh, and Alexei? Unless you plan on pretending to be the town drunk all night, clean yourself up. You still reek of gin." Tobin unhooked one of the panniers from the mule, and pulled a shoulder strap from the back of it. Newell swung this onto his shoulder, turned on his heel and walked off into the city without another word. With practiced ease, the rest of the gang split into two groups. Since he felt a little more secure around Jansen than some of the others, Lom tagged along with him, the smiling giant, and one of the riflemen. Without any comment, they walked away from the others and headed into a district full of cramped houses and dingy taverns.

***

Newell stood quietly in of one of the richer districts of downtown, watching the opera house from afar as the coaches began to arrive to return people to their mansions. He knew the man he would kill was most likely in there somewhere, and as usual being so close threatened to spoil his typical cold calm. He watched, and waited, until he saw the coach he was looking for pulled up in a side street, just out of the crush in front of the building. He smiled to himself, it was almost too easy really. As the driver sat huddled against the chill, Newell stole closer until he was easily within pistol range of the coach. But this wasn't the time for a pistol. He slid one hand inside his coat, feeling the slender knives tucked among other items in cleverly hidden pockets. Gradually, silently, he drifted towards the coach like a shadow.

***

The four men walked through the streets, working their way through the evening crowds with the big man forging a path for the rest. Shortly, they stopped at a bar almost hidden from the main street by the twisting road. As the little group entered, the woman behind the bar nodded to them and smiled warmly, then turned back to the customer she was serving. They took a table in a back corner, and within minutes the landlady placed a tray down containing four small glasses of what looked like water. As Lom reached out for his glass, the rifleman put a restraining hand on his arm. "That's soulstone gin, so you might want to drink it slow. We're still not exactly safe so you don't want to be getting drunk." Lom was tired of being embarrassed and out of his depth, and looked around with his policeman's eye. Years of street duty had honed his instincts as well as making him extremely resilient, so if he just looked at it like a patrol in an unknown area, he could get to grips with it. He smiled at the subtle cleverness of the table they had. Tucked out of the way, with a clear view of the whole room but no straight path from the door, and near a hard to see back exit, they would be able to escape if anything happened.

No one here had the look of a lawman, and he got the impression no one wanted to see one either. This wasn't a criminal den, but a bar where people came to forget about the cruelty of their daily lives. He'd seen a few in London, and been unfortunate enough to be part of an arrest in one. If a guard came through that door, he'd be willing to bet that half the people in here would 'accidentally' get in the poor guard's way to stop him doing his job. They sat and drank a little of their drinks, Lom trying not to let his eyes water. This stuff smelled worse than some of the rotgut they took from illegal stills, but it actually didn't taste that bad. With the first sips out the way, the big man introduced himself as Raphe. When Lom seemed surprised at the name, he chuckled.

"Well, I don't really look like a Raphael, and it's a bit shorter when folk are yelling it at you. "But if you think that's odd, try being called Doraine!" he pointed his hand at the rifleman sitting next to Lom, who rolled his eyes in resignation.

"Can't blame me for that, it's not like I picked it." He looked round at Lom and sighed in amusement when he spoke. "My folks wanted to call me Dorian, but couldn't spell it properly." With that, they seemed to decide that everyone now knew each other well enough for the time being, and talked amiably as they sipped their drinks.

After a few minutes, Raphe called the landlady over. "Where's Wilson tonight? I've never seen him miss a Tuesday drink before; He get late shift again for opening his mouth?" Lom leant over to Doraine with a questioning look. The rifleman gestured to the huge enforcer, and muttered quietly.

"Wilson is an old acquaintance of Raphe's, I guess you could say. Works as a clerk in the guild shipping offices out here. Good guy for the most part despite being a guildie. But he does tend to be a bit vocal in telling his bosses when new breach crossing regs will screw up the workers. Last time they docked his wages and put him on night shift for a month." he signalled for Lom to be quiet, and they listened in on the conversation again.

"Something like that love. He told his boss the ban on all travel was unfair to people working here with family earthside, and maybe they'd need to have something to make up for it to keep them happy. But he ain't on night shift. They did him for trying to cause a riot. Fined him near twice what he earned in a month for the next year. 'Course, even giving them everything he had, he couldn't pay it after the first three months. So they arrested him for not paying his debts to the Guild, confiscated everything he had, and told him he'd work for them 'til he paid off his debts, and all the interest on them. They shipped him out in chains last week to dig holes in some backwater." she placed a hand on Raphe's broad shoulder. "Sorry love."

The room was totally silent when the landlady stopped speaking. Everyone stared fixedly at their glasses, too angry to ignore the tale, but too cowed by the Guild to say anything. Raphe ordered another round of drinks in a low voice, and as the landlady brought several large glasses of the vicious liquor, she handed the big man a bundle of scrip, with a gentle "There's your change love, and try not to think about your friend, ok?" Lom hadn't seen Raphe pay for the drinks in the first place, but thought it best not to say anything. They sat in silence for a few minutes, contemplating the trick that had been used on the unfortunate Wilson, until Raphe eventually started to smile again, and the group shook off the gloom swiftly. Several more drinks followed, with a second pile of change being handed to Raphe despite him still not seeming to pay for the drinks.

"Well, now that's out the way, we're on downtime rest of the night. Who fancies the Star?" Raphe dumped his now empty glass on the table unceremoniously, and grinned at the rest of their little group. He glanced out the window into the lamplit streets. It was already late in the evening. "Awright, we missed the show, but the girls don't leave after, and the drink's pretty good too."

***

As the coach rattled through the streets of downtown Malifaux, the occupants were busily disagreeing about the evening they had spent being entertained by the Governors office. The debate was repeated almost every time they returned from a social event, and neither the husband or wife really put much passion into it, performing what had almost become ritual with vague indifference. This time however, the conversation was interrupted very early when a man wearing a long dark coat threw himself onto the running boards of the coach. Through the gap in the curtains they saw him pulling a knife from within his coat as he swung himself up towards the driver. The shocked couple could only listen in horror as the man they could only assume to be a highwayman fought with their driver on the top of the coach. After a series of muted scrapes, thumps and a brief burst of swearing, they saw a dark clad figure tumble from the coach onto the street with a crunch. Their driver's gruff voice broke the stillness of those moments.

"You might want to hang on in there, there might be more of them about. Best we get out of here quickly." He cracked the reins and the coach lurched forward, picking up speed as it tore through the streets towards the couple's home. The fallen figure lay sprawled unmoving on the street behind, steel gleaming dully beneath his torn coat.

***

"Here ya go sweetheart, enjoy it." The bargirl tossed her brunette hair and fluttered her lashes as she handed Jansen his drink, causing him to blush and mumble his thanks before escaping back towards their table. Raphe elbowed him in the side as he sat down, and winked at him.

"I reckon she likes you lad, maybe we should bring you here more often."

"Aye go for it, show Lom here your way with the ladies. Maybe you should try the line you used on that Union engineer girl, she seemed to like it!" Doraine was grinning widely as he spoke, and Raphe nearly sprayed his drink across the table he was laughing so hard. Lom decided he must have missed the joke, especially when he glanced at Jansen, who was blushing even more intensely than before.

"All I asked was for help alignin' the sensors on the scanner, and she went for me!" he protested, drawing another burst of laughter from Raphe.

"Lad, next time you want a girl to help with that thing, don't ask her to give you a hand to adjust your rod!" Raphe clapped a house hand on Jansen's shoulder, still chuckling at both the younger man's mistake, and his embarrassment over it. "Anyway, that one's a tough lass, and all she did was give you a playful slap round the head. Coulda been a lot worse if she'd been proper furious."

"Playful? She set me hair on fire! Thought I were gonna get right beaten."

"Never mind, maybe that Mara will hold your screwdriver for you if you ask nice." Jansen's reply was lost in the raucous laughter that followed Doraine's latest suggestion. Raphe caught Jansen's arm, waving it enthusiastically at the bar, and the brunette smiled and waved back at them. Doraine chuckled, and Lom found himself relaxing and enjoying his time with the men who were technically his kidnappers.

The gang's revelry was interrupted by three figures who loomed over the table, swaying a little. One of them carried an almost empty bottle of whiskey, and gestured at Jansen with it.

"You best keep away from her boy, she's mine and I ain't gonna have her talking to the likes of you." The apparent leader snarled, the slight slurring in his voice making it sound angrier and less stable than it would have sober. "Now get lost before I teach her and you a lesson." Lom had seen angry drunks before, but seeing men act like that wearing guard officer's uniforms was almost offensive to him. He wanted to stand up and argue, but Doraine was holding him down by his jacket so he was pinned in his seat. Before he could say anything, Raphe spoke in a very calm voice.

"Come on lads, best if we do go. We don't want any trouble, so let's do what the man says." Lom gaped at the huge fighter for a second, before remembering everything he'd heard since arriving in Malifaux. Being innocent didn't make it wise to argue back. Out the corner of his eye he saw the girl, still behind the bar, looking shocked and dismayed, over the guardsman's threats. The four of them headed out into the chill of the evening and set off for their lodgings, Lom still trying to come to terms with the days events. None of them noticed the dark coated man at a nearby table put down his drink and gesture to the drunk officers, summoning them to his table.

***

The coach jerked and swayed to a halt in front of a luxurious townhouse in a well patrolled district of downtown, and the driver swiftly leapt down from his seat to help the couple out of the coach. He hurried them inside their front door, keeping watch for any further trouble. Once inside, the woman hurried off to lie down, muttering something just short of hysterical about peasants and impudence. Unnecessarily, the man thought, given that it wasn't the first time, but she did like to make a scene. He was far calmer, having seen much worse in his time Malside. This kind of thing was the very reason he'd hired a bodyguard as a driver. Several times, someone had tried to jump his coach, and each time his driver had pushed them off. He heard the click of the front door shutting, turned to thank his employee, and found himself staring straight into the hard, emotionless eyes of Adran Newell.