OOM: The Dancing Dove - reply to a letter
Two nights later, George is back in the Dove. His vast network of thieves and spies has never let him down before, and this time is no different. His letter to Myles went out the night he completed it, and the old knight’s reply was back to him within two days. He re-reads the letter, knowing its contents will be no different than they have the six previous times he has already read it.
George,
As always, the speed at which your letters arrive never ceases to astound me. No doubt you’ll have your reply nearly as quickly as it takes the ink to dry on the page. I wish I could help you, but truthfully, I don’t know where Alanna has been either. She writes whenever possible which gladdens this old man’s heart, but still even her letters of late have been few and far between. If I hear from her in the near future, I’ll let you know.
Yours,
Sir Myles of Olau
p.s. Please give my best to Marek.
He crumples the letter and tosses it into the fire. For the moment, he is back to square one. Thankfully, he has other avenues at his disposal.
A soft tap on the door draws his attention back to the present.
“Yes?” he calls, without thinking, years of habit causing him to slip a throwing dagger down his sleeve and into his waiting hand.
“It’s me my Lord.” The voice is familiar. Relaxing, he returns the weapon to its place.
“Enter.”
The door opens revealing the thief known as Light Fingers and a stranger. Fingers has a young man, dressed in clothing that has seen better days, by the sleeve. The youth, somewhere between the ages of 14-17 if George is to guess, looks absolutely terrified.
“What’s this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. From time to time, one of the thieves will bring one of their own to him - a young one who has not yet learned the rules, or an older one who has decided to flout them - to him for punishment. Still, at the moment he gets the feeling that this isn’t the case.
Before the older thief can answer the youth breaks in, “Please m’lord, I ain’t done nothing wrong. Please don’t take me ears!!”
Understanding now, George rolls his eyes to the ceiling, swearing to the gods under his breath. Of course the thieves have been telling the newcomer stories to frighten the lad. It’s their way. George shoots Fingers a dark look, full of promise - and for his part the other thief simply laughs - then returns his full attention to the boy.
“I’ve brought the boy to you m’lord, as he claims he witnessed something I’m sure you’d like to be privy to.”
“Oh?”
Fingers releases the boy. With a slightly mocking bow, he leaves the room shutting the door behind him.
“Well lad.. since I’ve no intention to take your ears… perhaps you’d care to grace mine with your tale?” George asks sitting down at the chair behind his desk, motioning the boy to sit in one of the carved wooden chairs.
The youth still looks alarmed, but nods.
“ ‘ Bout a weeks past m’lord…” the youth gulps then continues, “I was drinkin’ with some of m’ mates, and well, there was this boy with red hair who come through the Dove sir…”
Red hair? George sits up, definitely interested now.
“Go on.” He prompts the boy.
“And well, he came through and all hidden like - like he didn’t want nobody to see him, he went to the cellar.”
“And?”
“And well, I waited - and an hour passed, then some more hours, and he didn’t come out. So finally, I’s gone to go and look… and there weren’t no one there m’lord. And I thought mebbe it was the drink, so I didn’t say nothing to anyone.”
George’s eyes gleam. Yes!
“What’s your name Lad?” he asks, reaching into one of his coffers.
“Mum calls me Cor.”
“Well Cor, thank you for telling me what you’ve seen.” He hands the boy a gold coin, “this is for telling me what you saw.” He deposits another coin into the hand, knowing this already most likely more money than the lad has seen in his entire life. “And this is for telling no one else, understood?”
The boy nods, and George shoos him out the door.
He rubs him palms together, brain already racing.
Grinning, he puts on his hooded clock, grabs a purse of gold, and locks the door to his rooms both the physical locks as well as the magical.
A quick word to Fingers downstairs and he makes his way to the cellar door.
George,
As always, the speed at which your letters arrive never ceases to astound me. No doubt you’ll have your reply nearly as quickly as it takes the ink to dry on the page. I wish I could help you, but truthfully, I don’t know where Alanna has been either. She writes whenever possible which gladdens this old man’s heart, but still even her letters of late have been few and far between. If I hear from her in the near future, I’ll let you know.
Yours,
Sir Myles of Olau
p.s. Please give my best to Marek.
He crumples the letter and tosses it into the fire. For the moment, he is back to square one. Thankfully, he has other avenues at his disposal.
A soft tap on the door draws his attention back to the present.
“Yes?” he calls, without thinking, years of habit causing him to slip a throwing dagger down his sleeve and into his waiting hand.
“It’s me my Lord.” The voice is familiar. Relaxing, he returns the weapon to its place.
“Enter.”
The door opens revealing the thief known as Light Fingers and a stranger. Fingers has a young man, dressed in clothing that has seen better days, by the sleeve. The youth, somewhere between the ages of 14-17 if George is to guess, looks absolutely terrified.
“What’s this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. From time to time, one of the thieves will bring one of their own to him - a young one who has not yet learned the rules, or an older one who has decided to flout them - to him for punishment. Still, at the moment he gets the feeling that this isn’t the case.
Before the older thief can answer the youth breaks in, “Please m’lord, I ain’t done nothing wrong. Please don’t take me ears!!”
Understanding now, George rolls his eyes to the ceiling, swearing to the gods under his breath. Of course the thieves have been telling the newcomer stories to frighten the lad. It’s their way. George shoots Fingers a dark look, full of promise - and for his part the other thief simply laughs - then returns his full attention to the boy.
“I’ve brought the boy to you m’lord, as he claims he witnessed something I’m sure you’d like to be privy to.”
“Oh?”
Fingers releases the boy. With a slightly mocking bow, he leaves the room shutting the door behind him.
“Well lad.. since I’ve no intention to take your ears… perhaps you’d care to grace mine with your tale?” George asks sitting down at the chair behind his desk, motioning the boy to sit in one of the carved wooden chairs.
The youth still looks alarmed, but nods.
“ ‘ Bout a weeks past m’lord…” the youth gulps then continues, “I was drinkin’ with some of m’ mates, and well, there was this boy with red hair who come through the Dove sir…”
Red hair? George sits up, definitely interested now.
“Go on.” He prompts the boy.
“And well, he came through and all hidden like - like he didn’t want nobody to see him, he went to the cellar.”
“And?”
“And well, I waited - and an hour passed, then some more hours, and he didn’t come out. So finally, I’s gone to go and look… and there weren’t no one there m’lord. And I thought mebbe it was the drink, so I didn’t say nothing to anyone.”
George’s eyes gleam. Yes!
“What’s your name Lad?” he asks, reaching into one of his coffers.
“Mum calls me Cor.”
“Well Cor, thank you for telling me what you’ve seen.” He hands the boy a gold coin, “this is for telling me what you saw.” He deposits another coin into the hand, knowing this already most likely more money than the lad has seen in his entire life. “And this is for telling no one else, understood?”
The boy nods, and George shoos him out the door.
He rubs him palms together, brain already racing.
Grinning, he puts on his hooded clock, grabs a purse of gold, and locks the door to his rooms both the physical locks as well as the magical.
A quick word to Fingers downstairs and he makes his way to the cellar door.