From alt.pub.dragons-inn Tue Nov 28 10:04:45 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8883 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!news.nic.surfnet.nl!sun4nl!EU.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!news.sprintlink.net!nntp.coast.net!news2.acs.oakland.edu!newshub.gmr.com!news.ived.nec.gmeds.com!sun126!sz9njm From: SIMONJ@rh.wl.com (Jeff A. Simon) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [Jake Shade] Chapter 6: Grace Under Pressure (Repost) Date: 27 Nov 1995 19:26:00 GMT Organization: General Motors Corporation Lines: 680 Distribution: world Message-ID: <49d3c8$2um@mloeff01.ived.nec.gmeds.com> Reply-To: SIMONJ@rh.wl.com NNTP-Posting-Host: sun126.hqs.mid.gmeds.com Keywords: Jake, Shade, Chapter 6, Grace Under Pressure, repost ********************************************************** What has gone before: A mysterious outlander calling himself Jake Shade has arrived in Generica. A young female thief by the name of Yvette Anastel has acci- dentally come into the possession of a mysterious talisman. This talisman is desired by a host of frightening people, not the least menacing of whom is a corrupt officer in the Watch known as Grace. Yvette was captured by Grace while returning from the shop of a Fortune Teller. With the help of Jake Shade, she has temporarily escaped. Still, the young woman can sense her hunters growing ever nearer. ********************************************************** "Quis custodiet ipsos constodes?" "Who watches the watchmen?" - Juvenal, Satires, VI, 347 Chapter 6: Grace Under Pressure Yvette slipped quietly into the ruined bakery, careful not to awaken Winder. Her carefulness went for naught; their two years of life on the streets had sharpened her brother's senses to a fine edge. Winder sat up and watched her as she changed out of her torn street clothes. "Where've you been?" he asked. Yvette felt a twinge of annoyance at having her where- abouts questioned by a sibling four years her junior, but she knew Winder was just concerned about her. She removed an old nightgown from its hiding place, and smoothed it out as best she could. At one time the garment might have been a pretty color or adorned with ribbons or lace. Now it was featureless and faded to a dull white. She pulled it over her head and then slipped into her hammock before she replied to her brother's query. "I went uptown and had my future read. I thought maybe a seer could tell me where we should go from here." "Did it work?" Winder inquired after a moment. "No. All it did was screw up my head." Yvette sighed. "Well, easy come, easy go." Winder said, referring to the silver he had stolen from a merchant earlier in the day. "It was only one coin. The worst part was that on the way home I ran into Grace." Yvette heard Winder sit up on his cot. Although she was looking at the ceiling, she could feel his eyes staring at her from across the room. She had never spoken with Winder about her ordeal the first time Grace had caught her, but she was wise enough to know that he had suspicions. "I take it that you got away okay." Winder's tone was casual, betraying only the idlest of curiosity. "I had a little help," Yvette told him. "After Grace grabbed me, a pair of outlanders saw what he was doing and decided to intervene. One of them got Grace so mad he forgot all about me. I managed to slip away while he was busy making macho noises at them." "You're lucky they were outlanders," Winder told her. "If they'd known who Grace was they probably would've looked the other way." Yvette's eyes were gazing at the ceiling, but she was seeing the rugged features of the man who's intervention had spared her Grace's ministrations. The man's features had been fairly young, but his eyes . . . something about those green eyes hinted of great age. They had touched something within her soul. They whispered to her of wonders she had never seen and places she had never heard of. Yvette knew she would not soon forget those eyes; nor the man to whom they belonged. "I think that he would have helped me even if he had known who Grace was." Yvette told her brother quietly before rolling over and closing her eyelids. Puzzled, Winder lay back down. He was used to Yvette's odd mood swings and had ceased trying to figure them out. He felt his side gingerly, where bandages covered a slash across his ribs. Luckily, he had arrived home first, saving himself the problem of concealing the wound from his sister. "Goodnight, Yvette." Yvette did not answer. She was already asleep, dreaming of far off places and legendary heroes. In her dreams, a hero of great wisdom and sadness rode against evil warriors of a chilling countenance. In that far-off world, children were never orphaned and the honor of women was never violated. Winder watched his sister sleep for a moment, then sighed and closed his eyes. ********************* Miracek winced as Grace entered the Watchpost, slamming the door behind him violently. Everything about the tall man reeked of violence. That in itself was not an altogether bad thing, the captain mused to himself. Miracek needed warriors in the Watch, not diplomats. Still, Grace required delicate handling. He made a habit of keeping Grace posted in the Low City, as far away from people of importance as possible. "Grace, I need a moment of your time," Miracek called out. The tall Lieutenant stalked over to Miracek's office, every pore in his body exuding resentment. Grace had not yet learned that it took more than a talent for mayhem to earn the right to command men. If Miracek had his way, Grace would still be a sergeant in the Watch and not an officer. Still, talent was capable of carrying a man far, and there was no one more talented with a blade than the pony-tailed Lieutenant with cold gray eyes. "Grace, I have received another series of complaints about you," the captain said blandly, his expression betraying nothing. "Who is it this time?" Grace sneered, "the pimps down at the harbor, or the loansharks down in the Low City? Miracek had swallowed enough of the Lieutenant's surly attitude. "Actually, these complaints are being made by some of the merchants running the caravans," Miracek informed him. "You remember what a merchant is, don't you Grace?" Grace drew himself up stiffly and stood at attention in front of the captain's desk. His gray eyes blazed angrily, but he made no reply to Miracek's question. "Then let me refresh your memory, Lieutenant. A merchant is someone who brings goods, taxes and revenue into the city of Generica. Melwis, the man who runs Generica, is also a merchant. The guild which happens to pay your humble salary, along with mine, happens to be called THE MERCHANT'S GUILD!" Miracek slammed a hand down on his desk. Grace contin- ued to look at a spot six inches above the captain's burly shoulders. The Watch Captain sighed in frustration. "I want you to go down to the caravan area and smooth this over, Grace. I don't want to hear another complaint from any merchants about your behavior. Is that understood?" The tall Lieutenant saluted crisply. "I guarantee that you will not hear another complaint from those merchants, sir!" he pledged. He spun on his heels and marched out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Miracek let out a sigh of relief. "Well, that didn't go too badly," he told himself. ************************ "Gak! The smell of him!" Ghirken complained, his voice muffled behind one hand. He drew a disapproving glance from the priestess tending the catatonic form of Jacobius Bunggarelli. "Shut up, weebo." Falchion ordered quietly, looking at the bed- ridden man with disbelieving eyes. Just two weeks ago, Bungg had been a figure that commanded respect. Well over six feet tall, muscled like an ox from three years in the Middle Marches, few men would have wanted to tangle with Bungg. Yet here he was, lying in filth, unable to control even his own bowels. "His hair is white as a ghost!" Ghirken said in an awed voice. Falchion pretended to be unimpressed but inside, he too marveled. Bungg's thick black hair had indeed gone completely, shockingly white, seemingly overnight. "What happened to him?" Falchion asked the priestess in a quiet voice. "No one knows," the priestess said, shrugging. "Someone found him like this out on the streets and brought him here." She wiped Bungg's sweating brow with a damp cloth. "He hasn't spoken a word since he got here." Falchion watched as Bungg thrashed feebly on the bed, his wide eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling above them. 'What could have done this to such a dangerous man?' Falchion wondered. He paced the small room nervously. The sight and smell of his incapacitated friend made the close confines of the chamber all but unbearable. A few more minutes in the room were all that he could stand before he had to leave. "Take good care of him." Falchion told the priestess and pressed several gold coins into her hands. The woman's eyes lit up when she saw the gold. A lifelong criminal, Falchion recognized greed when he saw it. Although he was a ruthless businessman who made his living by exploiting that greed in others, for some reason the sight of avarice in a priestess angered him. Falchion retained his grip on the woman's hands. Looking into her eyes, Falchion tightened his fists slowly, inexorably. The woman's face turned white; she began to thrash in his grip. Falchion smiled a thin, cruel smile and leaned in closer to the woman. "I'll be checking up on him. If I don't like what I find, I'll be back to pay you a visit." Ghirken moved up behind Falchion, his considerable mass thus adding an even more threatening note to an already intimidating situation. "I understand." the priestess managed to gasp out, her teeth gritted in pain. Falchion gave her hand a final squeeze before releasing her. He took one more look at Bungg, then headed for the door. Out on the street, Falchion filled his lugns with the relatively untainted night air. The sight of Bungg lying there, stripped of all dignity, had shaken him deeply. 'I'll die before I let that happen to me,' he vowed silently. "Boss, why we wastin' time on a drain-brain like dat when we still ain't found the talisman?" Ghirken wanted to know. Falchion stared at his underling coldly, until the brutish enforcer dropped his eyes. "I wasn't questioning you or nothin'," Ghirken said, shuffling his feet, "It's just dat I thought we had more important t'ings to do." "Don't think, Ghirken. It's not your strong suit." Not without effort, Falchion bit back further words. He struggled to control his anger. Despite the fact that Ghirken was by far the larger man, the enforcer trembled with barely suppressed fear. He knew that he had crossed some invisible line. He had not been with Falchion long enough to voice his opinions. Now there was nothing for him to do but wait and see whether he had gone too far. Falchion stared at some invisible object in the sky, rubbing his temples as if they pained him. The Crime Lord knew that his ties with Bunggarelli were not known to his hired muscle. Ghirken could not be expected to understand. "Forget it, Cha-head. Let's find that talisman." ************************* "It wasn't me Grace, I swear it!" The merchant squealed in pain as Grace twisted his arm further out of its normal range. The tall swordsman had the fat little man pinned across a sturdy table, all his weight on the knee planted squarely across the man's back. Grace grinned savagely, exerting more pressure. "I know you think I'm stupid, Rothgup, but now isn't the time to be playing me for a fool." "I'm not Grace, I swear on my mother's grave!" The fat man shrieked again as the Lieutenant twisted his arm even higher behind his back. Panarchus, who was standing in the doorway of the merchant's tent, turned and pulled the flap down behind him. Assured of their privacy, he added his own voice to the conversation. "Your mother's grave isn't the one you should be concerned with right now," Panarchus told the little merchant. "Right now you ought to be concerned with the shallow grave we dug about three miles outside the city limits. You ought to be concerned with the fact that - for now - it's empty. You ought to be concerned with how you are going to keep us from using your corpulent little body to fill it." Rothgup's teary eyes widened as he realized for the first time how dire his situation really was. Grace eased the pressure on the merchant's shoulder, letting him regain his breath. It didn't take Rothgup very long to arrive at the only option truly open to him. "It was the others. They put me up to it. I didn't want to go to Miracek, they made me do it." Grace shifted his weight slightly, rocking his knee up higher into Rothgup's spine. "We need a name, little weebo. Who's idea was it?" Rothgup stalled, loyalty to his peers warring briefly with his instinct for self-preservation. Grace tightened his hold on Rothgup's shoulder in a manner that hinted of previously unexplored frontiers in the realm of pain. The virtue of loyalty never had a chance. "It was Bahrageus. He's the one who came up with the idea." Grace and Panarchus exchanged knowing glances. It was what they had suspected. Panarchus lifted up the tent flap and stepped outside. Grace straightened up, pulling Rothgup to his feet as he did so. The tall Lieutenant brushed the fat merchant's tunic off, patting him almost tenderly on one fleshy cheek. "No warning next time, little man." Grace told him. Rothgup did not breath again until the tall swordsman had departed. Outside the tent, the two Watch Lieutenants consulted with each other. As they spoke, a large black bird swooped down and landed on the taller man's shoulder. Panarchus was startled, but Grace was accustomed to this occurrence. "Malfaedor wants to see you, Grace," the raven squawked in a scratchy voice. "Tell him I have some business to take care of first," Grace instructed the bird. The bird flapped its wings impatiently. "Right now Grace, right now!" the raven insisted. The tall Lieutenant turned his head, staring directly into the raven's beady black eye. With a squawk, the bird took flight. It circled the mercantile compound with heavy wingbeats before soaring away. Grace looked at his partner. "Let's go turn up the heat on Bahrageus." ************************ Grace strode across the bridge that spanned Malfaedor's fetid swamp of a moat. The tall Lieutenant hated the fact that a visit to the Necromancer became occasionally necessary. Hated it with a passion. Malfaedor loved to play the role of evil sorcerer to the hilt, meaning that the Archmage made sure his stronghold's atmosphere matched that of his own black nature. A man-sized creature of reptilian nature dragged itself onto the bridge ahead of Grace. It looked something like the mutant offspring of an albino scorpion and a crazed alligator. It hissed venomously at the Lieutenant, lunging at him with jaws snapping. Grace barely broke his stride as he leapt high in the air, landing on the reptile's neck with savage force. Cartilage crackled as he ground his heels down viciously before lifting his boots. He continued on, leaving the creature behind to thrash out the last moments of its life in agony behind him. Two skeletal warriors stood at the entrance to Malfaedor's tower, one to either side of the massive portcullis. Whatever intelligence they still retained after their ghastly rebirth, it was enough for them to recognize the tall swordsman. They moved their rusty pikes aside as Grace stomped past, not even sparing them a glance. Malfaedor was feeding what looked like a baby mouse to his raven when Grace walked in. The bird hissed angrily at the tall Lieutenant from the safety of the Archmage's shoulder. Malfaedor chuckled softly. "You have a certain charm about you, Grace. Animals seem to sense it right away." Grace did not reply to the Archmage's jibe. He glanced about the huge antechamber for a moment, deciding which of the ornate rugs covering the floor was likely to be the most valuable. Finding it, he walked over and began wiping his boots upon it. If Malfaedor was displeased by this behavior he gave no sign of it. Instead the Necromancer sniffed the air, cocking his head curiously. He sniffed again and looked at Grace with a slighlty quizzical air. "Have you been sleeping with gypsies?" he asked Grace. "You smell like a campfire." "There was a fire down at the mercantile compound earlier this morning," Grace told him. "Tragically, a merchant was killed and all his worldly possessions destroyed." Malfaedor laid a finger alongside his nose on the side of his blind eye. "And you just happened to be there." he said mishievously. Grace just looked at him blankly, and Malfaedor knew no answer would be forthcoming. "Has Falchion located the talisman yet?" the Necromancer asked, tossing another squirming morsel to the raven. Grace snorted. "Falchion claims that he knows where it is. He says that he'll have it to us by tomorrow night." "Let's hope he makes good on his promise," Malfaedor told him. "If he fails, it won't matter." Grace assured the Archmage. "Oh? Why is that?" Malfaedor asked, raising an eyebrow. "Last night I ran into . . . an old acquaintance of mine. It turns out that she has the talisman. A couple of outlanders prevented me from recovering it, but I know where to locate her if Falchion fails us again." "Well, well, well." Malfaedor chuckled to himself. "The mighty Grace, foiled by a pair of mere outlanders." "They had help," Grace snarled, "One of them dragged that crowd from the Dragon's Inn into the matter. There was nothing I could do with so many witnesses in the area." "Oh, I believe you Grace, really I do." Malfaedor said in a mocking tone. Grace ignored it and took a seat. "I think that one of the outlanders is the one who knocked Bungarelli out of commission," he told the Necromancer. "Jacobius Bunggarelli. Wasn't he the one who was originally supposed to pick up the Talisman from the Dothasians?" Malfaedor asked. "Yeah, he's the one. I told you we shouldn't have put that group of Middle Marches momma's boys in charge." Grace had never ceased reminding Malfaedor of that particular point. "I'm more interested in this outlander. If he is the same one that melted Bunggarelli's brain, that's twice that he's come between us and the Aroch Talisman." Malfaedor left off feeding his familiar, and began pacing the chamber thoughtfully. "I'm sure that it's just a coincidence," Grace told him. "If that crowd of Dragon's Inn flitboys hadn't shown up, I would have taken the outlander out of the equation permanently last night." "I am not so sure," Malfaedor mused quietly. "When you are dealing with arcane matters such as the talisman, it's best not to make assumptions." Grace rolled his eyes as he always did whenever Malfaedor began talking about 'Wizardly Matters' and climbed to his feet. He flexed his long legs as he did so, working out the kinks. He spared a glance for his boots, checking to make sure he had gotten all the moat-creature's blood off of them. "If you're so worried about the outlander, I'll kill him. It shouldn't be that hard to locate him. He doesn't seem to be the type to keep a low profile." "No Grace," Malfaedor ordered. "I want you to stay on top of Falchion and the recovery of the Talisman. I'll send one of my other agents to deal with the outlander." ************************** "What'd he say?" Panarchus asked, eyeing the reptilian monstrosity nervously. Grace slid his boot under the still twitching carcass. He levered the broken thing over the side of the bridge, and it was seized and devoured by other, larger creatures living in the moat below. The two men walked off the bridge and out of the Archmage's compound. "He said to forget about the talisman and to concentrate on finding the outlander and the girl," Grace lied, checking to see if he had gotten more ichor on his boots. "Well, that sucks," Panarchus bitched. "He's the wizard, not us. How the hell does Malfie expect us to find these people without a crystal ball?" Grace chuckled and tapped his friend on the arm. "It just so happens that I saw the girl coming out of a Fortune Teller's shop last night. Let's go see what he told her. It might give us some leads." "Sounds like you're grasping at straws to me," Panarchus told him. "Could be, Panarchus old buddy, could be. Regardless, we better get a move on." "To the Fortune Teller's?" Panarchus asked. "No, first I want to stop somewhere and get my boots polished." Panarchus sighed. ********************* "They're gone," Winder told Yvette. Startled, she wiped sleep out of her eyes and looked out the window. It was after dusk. Winder had packed all of their stuff while she had been resting. "Why'd you get all our stuff together?" she asked her brother groggily. "We're getting out of here, that's why." Yvette snarled and began checking her gear. Winder had missed a few things. She went and got them, then busied her- self repacking her bag. It was pitifully small when she was done. "This is just typical, Winder. Where the Grauna are we supposed to go? Just because you saw -" "I've got a place for us to go," Winder cut his older sister off. "A safe place." Yvette caught Winder's eye and glared. His gaze didn't flicker, so she knew that he was on the level. That left her even more puzzled. "What was that?" she asked suddenly, heart beginning to race. "What was what?" Winder asked. "I didn't hear anything." Yvette bit back a scream as the inside of the bakery shook with the sounds of a tremendous impact on the front door. The sounds of wood splintering followed. She cursed, realizing that her stiletto had been lost during the alter- cation with Grace the night before. Winder grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the back of the bakery. Lacing her fingers together, Yvette boosted Winder to the top of one of the ruined ovens. Winder reached down and helped her scramble up beside him. Yvette felt even more adrenaline flood her system as the back door also shook under an impact, the wood door rattling in its frame. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a shadow moving in one of the high windows. She did not have time to look as she and Winder frantically cleared their makeshift patch from a jagged hole in the roof. Once the hole was clear, Winder shimmied through. Yvette heard something moving on the floor below her, but before she could turn her head to look, Winder's pale arm reached down for her. She grabbed it and swung herself to the roof. She got to her feet, meeting Winder's gaze across the hole. Below them, the front door finally gave and crashed loudly as it fell into the bakery. Winder motioned for her to follow and took off over the rooftops. It was a long time before the pair stopped for breath. "Where are you taking us Winder?" Yvette asked him, gasping for air. Winder was not much better off. He had to suck in a few breaths himself before he could answer. "We're going deeper into the Low City. Closer to the Shunned Center." Yvette looked at her younger brother with wide eyes. Winder could see that she was thinking of bolting in the other direction. He put out his hand and after a moment, she took it. "I have some friends there. Trust me." ******************************************************************** All the characters appearing in this Jake Shade story are copyrights of Jeff A. Simon, 1995, all rights reserved, with the exception of Captain Miracek of the Watch. He appears courtesy of someone else. Editing done by Kent Peterson. This story may not be reprinted without the express permission of the author, with the following exception: This story may be archived on A.P.D.I. and Games.F.R.P.archives and may be distributed by their keepers upon request for private use. ********************************************************************