One of those Days Again 1/2 [fanfiction]
Title: One of those Days Again
Author: marinoa
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: FrUK, England, France, Prussia, Spain, Russia
Summary: A normal day in a guard's life: an extra shift, a freezing night, boredom, and too little pay. But of course that would not be enough to suffer when it's about Arthur Kirkland, no; all that is needed to make his day even worse is an infamous band of thieves. AU, oneshot.
Author's note: Hello, you. :) How are you all? I have been quite silent lately, and more than anything, this piece is to show you that I'm still alive and to get back into writing.
Meanwhile: this fic is my translation of my story Taas niitä päiviä. It's about time I finally translated it as I promised in the far past. The plot for this story had been on my mind for three or so years before writing it down, so it's a bit embarrassing to publish it - you will see why if you read it. :)
And before I let you move on to the story, I'll have you know that translating one's own text is freaking hard, at least in the beginning. As the original words were my own, too, I couldn't detach myself from them enough to create as hueful a result in English as it (hopefully) is in Finnish. So I apologise for the not-so-smooth and flat-ish text. And by the way, I'll have you know that there are 7 957 words in the original Finnish version and 10 658 in this English translation.
Now you may read the story.
One of Those Days Again
The moon was already high on the sky when Arthur Kirkland rubbed his hands together in vain attempt to get even some warmth into his stiff fingers, cursing. The autumn night was freezing-cold, so guarding the treasure chamber of the lord of the castle offered very little enjoyment - particularly as the said lord himself was probably enjoying the warmth of his hearth within the safety of his stone walls at that very moment. The image irritated Arthur, because Mister High Lord had known not a single day of work in his whole life, and he didn't even seem to realise how hard others slaved for him.
But such was the way in the world; some people were born rich, others had to work their asses off to make a living. Not that Arthur was unhappy about his life, not particularly. Despite his young age, he had rather a high position among the guards of the castle. He was, after all, one of those few who were entrusted with the key to the treasury. However, it wasn't that Arthur did his job so responsibly and well for the love for the lord - truly, he didn't give a damn about the lord. No, he was an excellent guard because he took pride in what he did. However, the lord of the castle (in other words, the payer) didn't need to know that.
A freezing gust of wind woke Arthur from his thoughts, and the Englishman tried to wrap his cloak more tightly about himself. The lord was truly a useless idiot for deciding to have his treasury right outside the main castle itself - that, or he enjoyed having his guards freezed to death. Sure, a massive stone wall surrounded the whole castle area, including the treasury, but it hardly was any good for the guards; if anything, the wall only served to make their duty even more miserable. The narrow passage that was left between the wall and the castle walls only served to give a nice passage to the freezing wind. Fighting thieves kept you warm at the very least, but against the wind one could only defend oneself with a thick, furry cloak - if you happened to have one, that is. Well, lucky for Arthur, his shift would end in an hour, at the booming of the midnight bells. The Englishman pitied the poor fellow who would have to do the actual night shift.
To get his remaining hour pass by quicker, Arthur began checking his equipment for what felt the hundredth time. The sword - in its scabbard on his belt. Two knives - hidden in his clothes. The key to the treasury - hidden safely in a masked hollow in the sole of his boot. Everything was how it should be... so what next? Arthur sighed, both of boredom and cold. Well, he could check his equipment to kill time and to stay warm. His sword - in its scabbard on his belt. Two knives...
“To hell with it!” the Englishman spat out. At that rate he would sink into madness, and sooner rather than later. Once again he found himself wondering if his pay was really worth either getting bored or freezing to death. Or, most likely, both at the same time. “Two in the price of one,” he muttered to himself with dark sarcasm, rubbing at his arms.
His gloomy musings, however, came to an abrupt halt as a hand covered his mouth and another wrapped around his torso. The young guard started and his right hand flew reflexively to the hilt of his sword, but as cold steel touched his unprotected neck in a subtle warning, he changed his mind about that. Heart beating furiously in his chest, Arthur froze, cursing his own carelessness.
“A wise fellow, you,” a voice whispered into his ear, hot breath tickling his cold skin. “Aren't we incautious today, hmm?”
Fear evaporated at the very moment Arthur recognised the familiar French accent in the voice of his assaulter, but it was immediately replaced with something worse: a disgustingly annoying feeling of sheer and utter idiocy. How could have Arthur let himself be taken unawares by the Frenchman... again?
“Hands off me, Francis,” he hissed, both relieved and ashamed of the fact that his assaulter had turned out to be just the cook of the guards. A French cook, to worsen his abashment.
Arthur felt the knife leave his neck, only to find the arms around his chest tightening, bringing him close to the man behind him. The Frenchman's chuckle made the Englishman curse his stupid heart, which continued to beat like there was no tomorrow even though there was no danger any more. Well, though, there might be a completely different kind of danger present...
“Now you can say that,” Francis allowed, “But what if I were a murderer or something? By know, you'd be a corpse, licking the dust off my boots.”
“Shut up,” Arthur snorted and pushed away from the Frenchman in irritation, hating him even more because he was absolutely right. In his defence the young guard could only say that nowadays, it was only Francis Bonnefoy who had the ability to take him by surprise. The Frenchman was able to move so silently yet swiftly that he could get himself almost anywhere without being noticed. No one knew how a simple cook had acquired such a skill, though Arthur was convinced that Francis, known to be a bloody lothario, had learnt it during his not so secret nightly visits that he was said to pay young men and women - the Frenchman seemed to take himself for a fucking Casanova. What Arthur didn't understand, though, was Francis' position as a mere cook; with the talent he possessed, the Frenchman would make an excellent guard. And yet, in all that five week's time that Francis had spent in the service of the lord, the Frenchman put to use his gift of moving only to infuriate Arthur... just like now.
“Rude, as always,” the Frenchman said and clicked his tongue. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, trying hard not to notice how cold it got again after Francis' arms were gone. “What are you even doing here?” he demanded; the cook's shift always ended an hour before midnight.
Francis flashed him his cursed smile that had managed to tie Arthur's insides in knots more than once. “What, do I have to explain my every move to you?” he asked playfully, leaning against the wall. “You just looked so miserable standing here, alone and cold, that I thought I would grace you with my company for the rest of your shift.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Arthur muttered dryly. And yet, despite having his doubts about the cook's real motives (everyone knew Francis to run from one conquest to another, never truly taking interest in anyone), the Frenchman's words made him feel a little bit warmer inside.
Francis had seemed to set his eyes on Arthur since the very day he started working as the cook of the guards. The Frenchman's constant flirting and quickly spreading reputation had only served to annoy the young Englishman, and when Francis had started pouring all his attention on Arthur, the guard had proudly announced that he would never join the imbeciles drooling after the cook. Despite the Englishman's rejecting behaviour towards the Frenchman, Francis never seemed to get discouraged, vice versa; the more Arthur tried to be unpleasant to him, the more delight Francis took in plaguing him. In spite of the Frenchman's efforts, however, Arthur's inner defences didn't fail him; Francis would never be able to brag about charming him, at least. Arthur saw no sense in giving in to Francis, only to be cast aside like all the others had been before him. Not that Arthur had ever considered giving in to him, goodness, no!
“Your shift ends at midnight, doesn't it?”
Arthur shook off his silly thoughts and looked at Francis, raising his rather impressive eyebrows. “Judging by your earlier words, you'd think that the answer was obvious.”
“And how are you planning to spend the rest of the evening, after you are free?”
The question deepened Arthur's earlier doubts about the cook's motives. “What does it have to do with you?” he asked suspiciously.
“Are you going home?” Francis continued, unfazed by the reserved response.
Arthur snorted. “Where else can you go in this rathole of a town?”
“Just asking~”
The Frenchman didn't press the matter any further, and Arthur dropped it, as well. It was not like he had had any hopes, after all.
For a while neither of the two said anything, both focusing on trying not to freeze alive, but soon enough Francis stretched his back and gave Arthur a small smile. “Well, I'll be on my way, then.”
Arthur was too busy convincing himself that he wasn't at all disappointed to spare a look at the Frenchman. “Right,” he only uttered, nonchalantly. “So much for keeping me company till the end of my shift.”
“I have matters of great importance tonight, I'm meeting my friends.” Francis grinned. “Ah, so you would not like me to leave?”
“You wish,” Arthur muttered and hoped to sound convincing. He probably succeeded, at least in his own ears.
“Don't worry, chou,” Francis laughed somewhat mockingly, knowing perfectly well that Arthur couldn't understand a word of that stupid croaking that was generally known as French. “You will get into my bed some other night.”
“Go to hell.”
“Ever so eloquent.” Francis leant in to place a light kiss upon Arthur's cheek and quickly withdrew to avoid the punch that he knew would follow.
“Hey! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?”
“You can tell me not to do that as many times as you wish, cher, but it will never be many enough.”
Arthur shot a dirty look at the smirking Frenchman. “I thought you were leaving. It's impolite to keep you 'friends' waiting.” No doubt the Frenchman had once again managed to wrap some innocent lady around his little finger.
“You are not the one to preach of politeness to other people.” Francis sighed condescendingly and gave a wave with his hand. “See you later.”
Arthur followed Francis' retreating back with his gaze until he disappeared behind a corner, then allowed himself to sigh. Perhaps he truly ought to quit working for the lord; the pay was nowhere near sufficient to cover not only boredom and freezing, but also the nuisance of the French cook, too.
When the midnight bells finally rang, Arthur all but flew to the guards' room to mark his shift ended and to leave the key of the treasury to the guard who would be on duty from midnight till dawn. But instead of his colleague, he found only the commander of the guardsmen in the room, a large Russian called Ivan Braginski. Shit, that was bad news - if the guard who would take the following shift wasn't waiting in the guards' room, it could only mean that...
“Oh, Arthur,” Ivan noted, content. “Tino fell ill today, so I'm afraid you have to take his shift, as well. I have understood you have no plans for the night anyway, am I right?”
The tone of the commander suggested that even if such plans had existed, they had better be cancelled now. Arthur groaned, but he had enough self-preservation not to show his discontentment more than that; Ivan Braginski was known to be a man who was not to be annoyed too much. “Tino had best make it up for me,” the young guard grumbled to himself and looked at his superior. “Fine. But I expect this to be noted in my pay.”
The Russian shrugged. “That's for the lord to decide.”
His mood considerably lower than before, Arthur stalked into the kitchen to have a mug of something hot before a new freezing session, then forced himself out of the door again - not home, like he had been supposed to do, but back to his place between the walls. The night would be long...
But he was wrong about that. The night didn't turn out long, it turned out even longer. Minutes dragged by like hours, and hours dragged by like... Arthur didn't even dare think of that. There was an eternity between him and the dawn, at which his shift would finally end, and that eternity wasn't any shorter even after Arthur had checked his equipment ten times. The guard didn't even have anyone to share his misery with, as every guard had their own area to watch - alone.
“This sucks...”
In the lack of anything better to do, Arthur settled for staring at the castle and imagining how the lord was wrapped in blankets in his warm bed, sleeping sweetly, protected by his strong walls and loyal guards. The lord really had no reason to complain; he had a nice castle, five hot meals a day, and a bunch of people, who were stupid enough to give even their lives for him and his damned possessions, if it ever came to that.
Arthur sighed. Every passing day he found it harder and harder to find sufficient reasons to stay in the lord's service... and the ridiculous cook of the guards' room was definitely not among those reasons! But he had to earn his living, and for the time being the young guard had no idea where to go should he abandon his current job. One day, he thought, moving his eyes from the castle to the stars, one day I'll get away from here and start enjoying my life for real...
Clang!
Arthur froze. Right, either that metallic sound was some guard fooling with his sword, or then something was amiss. Well, it might have been only Arthur's imagination, too, as the sound had been very faint, but the Englishman trusted his instincts. Thus he started creeping in the direction where the sound had come from. He didn't hear it again, but better safe than sorry, right?
Approaching the corner of the building, Arthur pressed against the wall and proceeded to have a careful peek what was behind. That was when he heard them: whispers. Very quiet whispers, but the Englishman could make out the words nonetheless.
“You are late, idiot!” one voice hissed.
“Can't help it, amigo, I had to take care of a guard there.”
“Whatever, let's hurry now. The area of the guard with the key should be just behind the corner.”
Something twisted in Arthur's stomach at that. The guard with the key? Blimey, that probably meant him, didn't it? A quick check proved that there were two intruders, which made two on one. Arthur forced himself to stay calm and think... and think quickly.
“Heh, everything runs smoothly!” the firstly spoken voice sniggered quietly. “After this job is done, fame and glory will rain on our awesome Bad Touch Trio! Chicks will-”
Arthur felt adrenaline rushing in his veins. Bad Touch Trio? He had heard much and more about that gang of thieves, everybody had. The infamous trio was formed, according to the name, by three men, and those men were known to boast that no lock would hinder them. No treasure was safe from the band of thieves, and even rumours of the gang's interest in a treasure was enough to leave the owner of that treasure shaking. On top of that, the trio was impossible to catch, if tales were to be believed, and not one of the gang had ever been captured to answer for their crimes. Well, that had to be true, as there would be no mercy should any of the members get caught; for such a long list of thievery there was only a noose awaiting them. Getting caught once was all it needed, there would be no need for a second time. In the underworld, the reputation of the trio was already legendary.
His heart beating rapidly, the Englishman backed off from the corner. So, now that infamous gang was after his lord's treasures. Well, they would never get so much as to look at them, if Arthur had any say in the matter - and he had. He didn't give a shit about the lord's treasure itself, true, but he had his pride as a guard, and that was enough.
“Shush, Gil,” the second voice, the one with a Spanish accent, hushed the first one. “We are not there quite yet.”
Yes, you are not there yet. Arthur's only hope was the advantage of surprise; those two oafs were clearly ignorant about his presence, so-
Wait. Two oafs?
Arthur's hand flew to the hilt of his sword. Two could not form a trio. So where was the thi-
Thump.
Arthur's vision flashed with a white lightning and suddenly the ground was no longer beneath his feet, but beneath his face. A muffled moan, a mixture of pain and surprise, escaped the Englishman's lips as the night around him faded into complete and utter darkness.
xXx
Part Two
Author: marinoa
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: FrUK, England, France, Prussia, Spain, Russia
Summary: A normal day in a guard's life: an extra shift, a freezing night, boredom, and too little pay. But of course that would not be enough to suffer when it's about Arthur Kirkland, no; all that is needed to make his day even worse is an infamous band of thieves. AU, oneshot.
Author's note: Hello, you. :) How are you all? I have been quite silent lately, and more than anything, this piece is to show you that I'm still alive and to get back into writing.
Meanwhile: this fic is my translation of my story Taas niitä päiviä. It's about time I finally translated it as I promised in the far past. The plot for this story had been on my mind for three or so years before writing it down, so it's a bit embarrassing to publish it - you will see why if you read it. :)
And before I let you move on to the story, I'll have you know that translating one's own text is freaking hard, at least in the beginning. As the original words were my own, too, I couldn't detach myself from them enough to create as hueful a result in English as it (hopefully) is in Finnish. So I apologise for the not-so-smooth and flat-ish text. And by the way, I'll have you know that there are 7 957 words in the original Finnish version and 10 658 in this English translation.
Now you may read the story.
One of Those Days Again
The moon was already high on the sky when Arthur Kirkland rubbed his hands together in vain attempt to get even some warmth into his stiff fingers, cursing. The autumn night was freezing-cold, so guarding the treasure chamber of the lord of the castle offered very little enjoyment - particularly as the said lord himself was probably enjoying the warmth of his hearth within the safety of his stone walls at that very moment. The image irritated Arthur, because Mister High Lord had known not a single day of work in his whole life, and he didn't even seem to realise how hard others slaved for him.
But such was the way in the world; some people were born rich, others had to work their asses off to make a living. Not that Arthur was unhappy about his life, not particularly. Despite his young age, he had rather a high position among the guards of the castle. He was, after all, one of those few who were entrusted with the key to the treasury. However, it wasn't that Arthur did his job so responsibly and well for the love for the lord - truly, he didn't give a damn about the lord. No, he was an excellent guard because he took pride in what he did. However, the lord of the castle (in other words, the payer) didn't need to know that.
A freezing gust of wind woke Arthur from his thoughts, and the Englishman tried to wrap his cloak more tightly about himself. The lord was truly a useless idiot for deciding to have his treasury right outside the main castle itself - that, or he enjoyed having his guards freezed to death. Sure, a massive stone wall surrounded the whole castle area, including the treasury, but it hardly was any good for the guards; if anything, the wall only served to make their duty even more miserable. The narrow passage that was left between the wall and the castle walls only served to give a nice passage to the freezing wind. Fighting thieves kept you warm at the very least, but against the wind one could only defend oneself with a thick, furry cloak - if you happened to have one, that is. Well, lucky for Arthur, his shift would end in an hour, at the booming of the midnight bells. The Englishman pitied the poor fellow who would have to do the actual night shift.
To get his remaining hour pass by quicker, Arthur began checking his equipment for what felt the hundredth time. The sword - in its scabbard on his belt. Two knives - hidden in his clothes. The key to the treasury - hidden safely in a masked hollow in the sole of his boot. Everything was how it should be... so what next? Arthur sighed, both of boredom and cold. Well, he could check his equipment to kill time and to stay warm. His sword - in its scabbard on his belt. Two knives...
“To hell with it!” the Englishman spat out. At that rate he would sink into madness, and sooner rather than later. Once again he found himself wondering if his pay was really worth either getting bored or freezing to death. Or, most likely, both at the same time. “Two in the price of one,” he muttered to himself with dark sarcasm, rubbing at his arms.
His gloomy musings, however, came to an abrupt halt as a hand covered his mouth and another wrapped around his torso. The young guard started and his right hand flew reflexively to the hilt of his sword, but as cold steel touched his unprotected neck in a subtle warning, he changed his mind about that. Heart beating furiously in his chest, Arthur froze, cursing his own carelessness.
“A wise fellow, you,” a voice whispered into his ear, hot breath tickling his cold skin. “Aren't we incautious today, hmm?”
Fear evaporated at the very moment Arthur recognised the familiar French accent in the voice of his assaulter, but it was immediately replaced with something worse: a disgustingly annoying feeling of sheer and utter idiocy. How could have Arthur let himself be taken unawares by the Frenchman... again?
“Hands off me, Francis,” he hissed, both relieved and ashamed of the fact that his assaulter had turned out to be just the cook of the guards. A French cook, to worsen his abashment.
Arthur felt the knife leave his neck, only to find the arms around his chest tightening, bringing him close to the man behind him. The Frenchman's chuckle made the Englishman curse his stupid heart, which continued to beat like there was no tomorrow even though there was no danger any more. Well, though, there might be a completely different kind of danger present...
“Now you can say that,” Francis allowed, “But what if I were a murderer or something? By know, you'd be a corpse, licking the dust off my boots.”
“Shut up,” Arthur snorted and pushed away from the Frenchman in irritation, hating him even more because he was absolutely right. In his defence the young guard could only say that nowadays, it was only Francis Bonnefoy who had the ability to take him by surprise. The Frenchman was able to move so silently yet swiftly that he could get himself almost anywhere without being noticed. No one knew how a simple cook had acquired such a skill, though Arthur was convinced that Francis, known to be a bloody lothario, had learnt it during his not so secret nightly visits that he was said to pay young men and women - the Frenchman seemed to take himself for a fucking Casanova. What Arthur didn't understand, though, was Francis' position as a mere cook; with the talent he possessed, the Frenchman would make an excellent guard. And yet, in all that five week's time that Francis had spent in the service of the lord, the Frenchman put to use his gift of moving only to infuriate Arthur... just like now.
“Rude, as always,” the Frenchman said and clicked his tongue. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, trying hard not to notice how cold it got again after Francis' arms were gone. “What are you even doing here?” he demanded; the cook's shift always ended an hour before midnight.
Francis flashed him his cursed smile that had managed to tie Arthur's insides in knots more than once. “What, do I have to explain my every move to you?” he asked playfully, leaning against the wall. “You just looked so miserable standing here, alone and cold, that I thought I would grace you with my company for the rest of your shift.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Arthur muttered dryly. And yet, despite having his doubts about the cook's real motives (everyone knew Francis to run from one conquest to another, never truly taking interest in anyone), the Frenchman's words made him feel a little bit warmer inside.
Francis had seemed to set his eyes on Arthur since the very day he started working as the cook of the guards. The Frenchman's constant flirting and quickly spreading reputation had only served to annoy the young Englishman, and when Francis had started pouring all his attention on Arthur, the guard had proudly announced that he would never join the imbeciles drooling after the cook. Despite the Englishman's rejecting behaviour towards the Frenchman, Francis never seemed to get discouraged, vice versa; the more Arthur tried to be unpleasant to him, the more delight Francis took in plaguing him. In spite of the Frenchman's efforts, however, Arthur's inner defences didn't fail him; Francis would never be able to brag about charming him, at least. Arthur saw no sense in giving in to Francis, only to be cast aside like all the others had been before him. Not that Arthur had ever considered giving in to him, goodness, no!
“Your shift ends at midnight, doesn't it?”
Arthur shook off his silly thoughts and looked at Francis, raising his rather impressive eyebrows. “Judging by your earlier words, you'd think that the answer was obvious.”
“And how are you planning to spend the rest of the evening, after you are free?”
The question deepened Arthur's earlier doubts about the cook's motives. “What does it have to do with you?” he asked suspiciously.
“Are you going home?” Francis continued, unfazed by the reserved response.
Arthur snorted. “Where else can you go in this rathole of a town?”
“Just asking~”
The Frenchman didn't press the matter any further, and Arthur dropped it, as well. It was not like he had had any hopes, after all.
For a while neither of the two said anything, both focusing on trying not to freeze alive, but soon enough Francis stretched his back and gave Arthur a small smile. “Well, I'll be on my way, then.”
Arthur was too busy convincing himself that he wasn't at all disappointed to spare a look at the Frenchman. “Right,” he only uttered, nonchalantly. “So much for keeping me company till the end of my shift.”
“I have matters of great importance tonight, I'm meeting my friends.” Francis grinned. “Ah, so you would not like me to leave?”
“You wish,” Arthur muttered and hoped to sound convincing. He probably succeeded, at least in his own ears.
“Don't worry, chou,” Francis laughed somewhat mockingly, knowing perfectly well that Arthur couldn't understand a word of that stupid croaking that was generally known as French. “You will get into my bed some other night.”
“Go to hell.”
“Ever so eloquent.” Francis leant in to place a light kiss upon Arthur's cheek and quickly withdrew to avoid the punch that he knew would follow.
“Hey! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?”
“You can tell me not to do that as many times as you wish, cher, but it will never be many enough.”
Arthur shot a dirty look at the smirking Frenchman. “I thought you were leaving. It's impolite to keep you 'friends' waiting.” No doubt the Frenchman had once again managed to wrap some innocent lady around his little finger.
“You are not the one to preach of politeness to other people.” Francis sighed condescendingly and gave a wave with his hand. “See you later.”
Arthur followed Francis' retreating back with his gaze until he disappeared behind a corner, then allowed himself to sigh. Perhaps he truly ought to quit working for the lord; the pay was nowhere near sufficient to cover not only boredom and freezing, but also the nuisance of the French cook, too.
When the midnight bells finally rang, Arthur all but flew to the guards' room to mark his shift ended and to leave the key of the treasury to the guard who would be on duty from midnight till dawn. But instead of his colleague, he found only the commander of the guardsmen in the room, a large Russian called Ivan Braginski. Shit, that was bad news - if the guard who would take the following shift wasn't waiting in the guards' room, it could only mean that...
“Oh, Arthur,” Ivan noted, content. “Tino fell ill today, so I'm afraid you have to take his shift, as well. I have understood you have no plans for the night anyway, am I right?”
The tone of the commander suggested that even if such plans had existed, they had better be cancelled now. Arthur groaned, but he had enough self-preservation not to show his discontentment more than that; Ivan Braginski was known to be a man who was not to be annoyed too much. “Tino had best make it up for me,” the young guard grumbled to himself and looked at his superior. “Fine. But I expect this to be noted in my pay.”
The Russian shrugged. “That's for the lord to decide.”
His mood considerably lower than before, Arthur stalked into the kitchen to have a mug of something hot before a new freezing session, then forced himself out of the door again - not home, like he had been supposed to do, but back to his place between the walls. The night would be long...
But he was wrong about that. The night didn't turn out long, it turned out even longer. Minutes dragged by like hours, and hours dragged by like... Arthur didn't even dare think of that. There was an eternity between him and the dawn, at which his shift would finally end, and that eternity wasn't any shorter even after Arthur had checked his equipment ten times. The guard didn't even have anyone to share his misery with, as every guard had their own area to watch - alone.
“This sucks...”
In the lack of anything better to do, Arthur settled for staring at the castle and imagining how the lord was wrapped in blankets in his warm bed, sleeping sweetly, protected by his strong walls and loyal guards. The lord really had no reason to complain; he had a nice castle, five hot meals a day, and a bunch of people, who were stupid enough to give even their lives for him and his damned possessions, if it ever came to that.
Arthur sighed. Every passing day he found it harder and harder to find sufficient reasons to stay in the lord's service... and the ridiculous cook of the guards' room was definitely not among those reasons! But he had to earn his living, and for the time being the young guard had no idea where to go should he abandon his current job. One day, he thought, moving his eyes from the castle to the stars, one day I'll get away from here and start enjoying my life for real...
Clang!
Arthur froze. Right, either that metallic sound was some guard fooling with his sword, or then something was amiss. Well, it might have been only Arthur's imagination, too, as the sound had been very faint, but the Englishman trusted his instincts. Thus he started creeping in the direction where the sound had come from. He didn't hear it again, but better safe than sorry, right?
Approaching the corner of the building, Arthur pressed against the wall and proceeded to have a careful peek what was behind. That was when he heard them: whispers. Very quiet whispers, but the Englishman could make out the words nonetheless.
“You are late, idiot!” one voice hissed.
“Can't help it, amigo, I had to take care of a guard there.”
“Whatever, let's hurry now. The area of the guard with the key should be just behind the corner.”
Something twisted in Arthur's stomach at that. The guard with the key? Blimey, that probably meant him, didn't it? A quick check proved that there were two intruders, which made two on one. Arthur forced himself to stay calm and think... and think quickly.
“Heh, everything runs smoothly!” the firstly spoken voice sniggered quietly. “After this job is done, fame and glory will rain on our awesome Bad Touch Trio! Chicks will-”
Arthur felt adrenaline rushing in his veins. Bad Touch Trio? He had heard much and more about that gang of thieves, everybody had. The infamous trio was formed, according to the name, by three men, and those men were known to boast that no lock would hinder them. No treasure was safe from the band of thieves, and even rumours of the gang's interest in a treasure was enough to leave the owner of that treasure shaking. On top of that, the trio was impossible to catch, if tales were to be believed, and not one of the gang had ever been captured to answer for their crimes. Well, that had to be true, as there would be no mercy should any of the members get caught; for such a long list of thievery there was only a noose awaiting them. Getting caught once was all it needed, there would be no need for a second time. In the underworld, the reputation of the trio was already legendary.
His heart beating rapidly, the Englishman backed off from the corner. So, now that infamous gang was after his lord's treasures. Well, they would never get so much as to look at them, if Arthur had any say in the matter - and he had. He didn't give a shit about the lord's treasure itself, true, but he had his pride as a guard, and that was enough.
“Shush, Gil,” the second voice, the one with a Spanish accent, hushed the first one. “We are not there quite yet.”
Yes, you are not there yet. Arthur's only hope was the advantage of surprise; those two oafs were clearly ignorant about his presence, so-
Wait. Two oafs?
Arthur's hand flew to the hilt of his sword. Two could not form a trio. So where was the thi-
Thump.
Arthur's vision flashed with a white lightning and suddenly the ground was no longer beneath his feet, but beneath his face. A muffled moan, a mixture of pain and surprise, escaped the Englishman's lips as the night around him faded into complete and utter darkness.
xXx
Part Two