Havelock Vetinari :: mid-2005 timewarp AU :: Milliways
When Havelock pushes open the door to the bar, it takes every ounce of self-control not to flinch back from the sudden wash of noise and light into the dead silence of the dark alley behind him
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It all feels real, though he knows it is magic-made. He breathes the sweet air; his bare feet pad over the soothing soft grass; he drinks from the water of the lake.
And after he has done these things, giving each his due attention, he turns like a reed swaying in a pond towards the dark forest.
His regrets are louder here, his sense of abdicated duties more insistent. He would almost like for some creature of Oberon's to come and carry him off through the trees.
He would struggle, he thinks. But maybe not too much.
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It is for this reason that he allows his footsteps to drag just enough to be audible as he passes by a little way behind, on his way to the lakeside.
Sneaking up on people is unwise, especially in a place like thiis, where you can meet anyone.
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... All right, all right, so he's paranoid. But it's not as if the dreadful mortal is an improvement over agents of his erstwhile lord.
He ought to be disappearing.
He means to be disappearing.
But he hangs back a moment, staring.
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Havelock had looked when the figure had moved, naturally, and now is now staring at the strange creature - with whom, he realised a little while after the fact, he does not remember finishing a certain conversation. And he always remembers details.
He came out here for peace, not- whatever is going on here.
The assassin raises a hand - empty, and wipes his hair back from his eyes (trading a smudge of dark green from his face to the back of his hand) - using the moment to break their gazes.
He has had quite enough confrontation for one day, if more can be avoided.
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He's never come here on purpose, and only rarely come at all. But the boy (perhaps twelve, perhaps thirteen) was only intending to go into his tent for the last time. He has gear there.
It doesn't matter.
Any place is as good as another to a soldier with no name, no comrades, no captain. He feels hollowed-out, distant from himself. He's moving because he's trained to, and because the alternative is staying still, and because he's leaving Middie Une no matter what else he does.
But the bar is full of bright lines and chattering civilians.
Outside looks quieter.
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It's the same reason Havelock came out - that and the clean cold water of the lake.
For this reason, there is a tall slim figure folded up beside where the water laps at the banks, not moving.
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