A short draft...
I wrote this simple draft a few nights ago and just got around to editing it for mistakes. I'm still not sure I caught them all. In any case, it's not the final form that will be in the work (it may not even make it into the final version), but it is a scene I've considered including.
Mr. Sands directed him with the poker from his fireplace. William sat down slowly. The warm glow lit them both on mirrored profiles as they stared at each other, curiousity playing in their eyes. Mr. Sands was probably three times William's age. Damn near venerable as far as Blackwater society goes. His skin was pale and his hair was pulled back tightly into a braid of gray which rested against his smoking jacket's lapel.
"You are William Bouchard? For all the trouble you have caused me, I half-expected a gypsy." He returned the poker to the fire, stirring the coals to a crackling blaze around a few fresh logs.
"I am William, Mr. Sands."
"I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm afraid, in spite of my appreciation of your efforts, I have to disapprove. You see, while I am impressed with your skill, you have chosen my business into which to interject yourself. I have very few options at my disposal, William. Are you aware of the situation you have put me in?"
"I don't quite understand." William watched the door silently creep open and a man in black step inside holding a long blade coated in soot black to dull the gleam from the fire. He wasn't supposed to be seen, but Willaim's nerves had him on heightened alert. William looked at Mr. Sands, and slid his hand into his coat pocket with the strange packet of powder Amaryllis had stashed there as he left her house earlier.
"Yes, William. You understand now. The decision I must make is an unfortunately simple one. You have seen too much and have stolen important files from my private club's offices. The files I can recover from your home, wherever you've hidden them, but you... Ah William, you are a liability I cannot permit to remain unchecked."
"So, you plan to kill me then." William sat back in the plush chair, sinking into the shadows. He drew the paper pouch from his pocket and rested his hand on the arm of the chair, concealing the powder under his spread out palm.
The fire was roaring and the orange glow lit Mr. Sand's perfectly calm expression. Mr. Sands leaned closer, motioning to the killer to stand his ground. "I don't have to. You could ask me for a position in my employ. It would be a lucritive endeavor for both of us. You are a talented thief, and I need talented thieves to advance my private agendas. I could provide you with more professional training, you would have no financial issues to worry about, and it would only require one thing to complete the deal."
"That I return the papers I stole from your private club."
"No. My men are already attaining those from your home. No, if you ask for a position in my company, there is one thing you have to do."
William didn't like where this was going. He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward into the firelight again, "What?"
"Kill your new friend, Marcus." There was no emotion in it, no anger, no passion, just business, cruelty and business.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you don't leave this room with your life, William."
William flinched at the tone in his voice, the words sounded cheery, even happy. William scrunched his brow with understanding. He could tell from that happy sound that Mr. Sands fully expected him to turn down the offer and provide an excuse to silence him.
"You're cutting into the arm of my chair with those unkemp nails, William. Please, stop digging in your fingertips. I need an answer."
"You want me to ask for employment in your company; you demand that I kill Marcus to gain that employment..."
"Standard interview process. I never hire anyone who can't defeat their betters in an unfair fight. He is a sorcerer, intimidating enough to warrant my people ignore him. His wife is under his protection, as is his friend and your neighbor. I want them exposed, I want him dead, and you are able to get close to him. Fail, and I don't have to kill you. Marcus will do it for me. Refuse and no one will ever find the body. At least if you try and fail you'll receive a handsome plot in the Fire of Truth Chapel grounds."
"My answer is no, Mr. Sands." William closed his fingers around the pouch again and threw it into Mr. Sands's well-tended fire. The specially prepared parchment ignited in a flash and the powder inside spilled like sand over the surface of the logs. Igniting, the powder sent a thick billowing cloud of noxious smoke spreading through the room.
A sharp poker sank into his shoulder and WIlliam cried out in pain. Sands was coughing and waving his hands in the smoke. The assassin was trying to get under the smoke to see his target. William shoved Mr. Sands and his poker back into his arm chair. "I don't kill, Mr. Sands. Not now, not ever. I am a thief, not a murderer."
"You are dead, Mr. Bouchard! Wherever you go, my men will hunt you down. It may take years, but you will die at their hands, Bouchard, and I will make sure they take everything you love from you in the process."
William heard, but had no answer, the assassin had found him when he spoke and was on top of him, though his blade had made no contact. With deft agile manuevers, William slipped around the killer and found himself backed to the door, where he slipped into the outside hallway.
Mr. Sands was screaming for his guards. Footsteps were pounding through the halls of the second floor. The powder had almost burned off and the smoke was dissipating in the chamber. William had no time. He bolted for the nearest window and within seconds William was on the ground in the gardens runing for the edge of the Sands's estate.
A hedge of roses hurt as he beat his way throgh the brambles, but the thorns stung with a pain that let him know he still lived. A second or two more in Sands's office and William would have been fertilizing the roses instead of bleeding from them. It was a small relief, one that would sting when Amaryllis got around to doctoring it.
Mr. Sands directed him with the poker from his fireplace. William sat down slowly. The warm glow lit them both on mirrored profiles as they stared at each other, curiousity playing in their eyes. Mr. Sands was probably three times William's age. Damn near venerable as far as Blackwater society goes. His skin was pale and his hair was pulled back tightly into a braid of gray which rested against his smoking jacket's lapel.
"You are William Bouchard? For all the trouble you have caused me, I half-expected a gypsy." He returned the poker to the fire, stirring the coals to a crackling blaze around a few fresh logs.
"I am William, Mr. Sands."
"I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm afraid, in spite of my appreciation of your efforts, I have to disapprove. You see, while I am impressed with your skill, you have chosen my business into which to interject yourself. I have very few options at my disposal, William. Are you aware of the situation you have put me in?"
"I don't quite understand." William watched the door silently creep open and a man in black step inside holding a long blade coated in soot black to dull the gleam from the fire. He wasn't supposed to be seen, but Willaim's nerves had him on heightened alert. William looked at Mr. Sands, and slid his hand into his coat pocket with the strange packet of powder Amaryllis had stashed there as he left her house earlier.
"Yes, William. You understand now. The decision I must make is an unfortunately simple one. You have seen too much and have stolen important files from my private club's offices. The files I can recover from your home, wherever you've hidden them, but you... Ah William, you are a liability I cannot permit to remain unchecked."
"So, you plan to kill me then." William sat back in the plush chair, sinking into the shadows. He drew the paper pouch from his pocket and rested his hand on the arm of the chair, concealing the powder under his spread out palm.
The fire was roaring and the orange glow lit Mr. Sand's perfectly calm expression. Mr. Sands leaned closer, motioning to the killer to stand his ground. "I don't have to. You could ask me for a position in my employ. It would be a lucritive endeavor for both of us. You are a talented thief, and I need talented thieves to advance my private agendas. I could provide you with more professional training, you would have no financial issues to worry about, and it would only require one thing to complete the deal."
"That I return the papers I stole from your private club."
"No. My men are already attaining those from your home. No, if you ask for a position in my company, there is one thing you have to do."
William didn't like where this was going. He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward into the firelight again, "What?"
"Kill your new friend, Marcus." There was no emotion in it, no anger, no passion, just business, cruelty and business.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you don't leave this room with your life, William."
William flinched at the tone in his voice, the words sounded cheery, even happy. William scrunched his brow with understanding. He could tell from that happy sound that Mr. Sands fully expected him to turn down the offer and provide an excuse to silence him.
"You're cutting into the arm of my chair with those unkemp nails, William. Please, stop digging in your fingertips. I need an answer."
"You want me to ask for employment in your company; you demand that I kill Marcus to gain that employment..."
"Standard interview process. I never hire anyone who can't defeat their betters in an unfair fight. He is a sorcerer, intimidating enough to warrant my people ignore him. His wife is under his protection, as is his friend and your neighbor. I want them exposed, I want him dead, and you are able to get close to him. Fail, and I don't have to kill you. Marcus will do it for me. Refuse and no one will ever find the body. At least if you try and fail you'll receive a handsome plot in the Fire of Truth Chapel grounds."
"My answer is no, Mr. Sands." William closed his fingers around the pouch again and threw it into Mr. Sands's well-tended fire. The specially prepared parchment ignited in a flash and the powder inside spilled like sand over the surface of the logs. Igniting, the powder sent a thick billowing cloud of noxious smoke spreading through the room.
A sharp poker sank into his shoulder and WIlliam cried out in pain. Sands was coughing and waving his hands in the smoke. The assassin was trying to get under the smoke to see his target. William shoved Mr. Sands and his poker back into his arm chair. "I don't kill, Mr. Sands. Not now, not ever. I am a thief, not a murderer."
"You are dead, Mr. Bouchard! Wherever you go, my men will hunt you down. It may take years, but you will die at their hands, Bouchard, and I will make sure they take everything you love from you in the process."
William heard, but had no answer, the assassin had found him when he spoke and was on top of him, though his blade had made no contact. With deft agile manuevers, William slipped around the killer and found himself backed to the door, where he slipped into the outside hallway.
Mr. Sands was screaming for his guards. Footsteps were pounding through the halls of the second floor. The powder had almost burned off and the smoke was dissipating in the chamber. William had no time. He bolted for the nearest window and within seconds William was on the ground in the gardens runing for the edge of the Sands's estate.
A hedge of roses hurt as he beat his way throgh the brambles, but the thorns stung with a pain that let him know he still lived. A second or two more in Sands's office and William would have been fertilizing the roses instead of bleeding from them. It was a small relief, one that would sting when Amaryllis got around to doctoring it.