Here goes nothing. It hasn't got everything in, I planned, but it
already is the longest instalment, so making the break here makes sense.
I'm also not quite sure if I got the end right... Oh, hell, see
yourself. Read, have fun, comment.
*****
Laiva opened her eyes to the dirty grey of a new dawn. She was
painfully aware of every patch of her skin and of more bones than she
remembered having, but she was alive and that was not a small feat
considering. Two storeys were more than enough to fall to to death.
Probably; she didn't exactly have experience with that.
She experimentally wriggled her fingers and toes, and,
satisfied with the results, sat up. She instantly regretted it.
Everything seemed to revolve around her, her vision blurred and her
head felt far too heavy to keep on top of her body; she only managed
to keep herself from falling over right away, mostly because she had
forgotten how to do that.
Her mind was in no better shape than the rest, with thoughts
racing like wild, but without any direction, running and circles and
spinning as the rest of the world around her. All she could do was
trying to sit still and taking deep, regular breaths, hoping that
everything would eventually come to rest again.
And eventually it did. However long she sat like this, finally
the dizziness subsided and she gradually became aware of her
surroundings. Despite her body trying to tell her otherwise, she had
to realise that she had been extremely lucky.
The small courtyard she found herself in offered plenty of
opportunity to break your neck. Among the softer things to crash into
were a few stacks of wood, at least softer than the paved ground, but
there also were plenty of large metal vats and buckets as well as all
kinds of tools with far too many sharp edges and points. And instead
of landing on any of these, she ended up in the single soft spot in
this open air workshop had to offer: A lone heap of rags, less than
metres in diameter.
She slid down from the heap and onto her feet. Her legs felt a
bit wobbly for a moment, but that passed rather quickly. More
importantly, as far as she could tell she had no broken bones, no
wounds, not even as much as a sprained ankle; she had been very lucky
indeed. Better even, she had even managed to shake off her pursuers.
They had probably been looking for her all over the city, but
she doubted the guards even knew this little courtyard existed. The
irregular pentagon was as secluded as it could get, completely closed
off by windowless walls covered in ancient ivy. Only the last wall
sported a couple of narrow windows, almost completely overgrown by ivy
as well, and a single door that, she would bet, was only ever used by
those who worked here.
Fortunately, those workers didn't seem to be early risers, but
it was high time for her to get out of here nevertheless. Sooner or
later they would show up and she'd rather not have to explain what she
was doing here. The ivy looked strong enough to bear her weight, but
after that night, and in her current state, she'd rather take her
chances with the guards than doing any more climbing. She was lucky
once more, though: The door wasn't locked.
It opened into a small room with a staircase to the right and
three doors, counting the to the courtyard she had come in through.
The door to the right turned out to lead into a small kitchen; that
one was no use to her. The one opposite to the courtyard entrance,
however, lead into a small shop cramped from bottom to top with paper.
There were shelves on three walls, shelves under the window on
the fourth and even two more standing freely, all of them full of any
kind of paper imaginable. It came in white, in yellow, in pink, thin
enough to be almost transparent or thick like cardboard, you name it.
She had never seen so much paper in one place and then in so many
different forms... It was overwhelming.
For a couple of moments she was standing in awe, before she
remembered that she should rather get out of here than waiting for
anyone to find her. She sneaked to the door, using the shelves in the
middle of the shop for cover as good as she could, lest anyone see her
through the shop window. There wasn't anyone out in the street yet, as
far as she could tell, but with the sun up it could only be a matter
of minutes before it was swarming with people.
The door, however was locked. Not with a bolt either, but with
a big mechanical lock attached somewhat below the handle. She didn't
even have to try the door, a simple look was enough to see that it
wouldn't open, but she tried anyway. It didn't even budge half a
finger wide.
That was so stupid. Why would anyone use a mechanical lock
anyway? As if such a little latch would stop anything from getting in;
a good push and the whole thing would come off the door. Not that you
had to matter about that kind of thing with a large shop window, but
nevertheless. Those things were weak, expensive and it was damn
inconvenient that there was one on this door. If it had a bolt she'd
already be outside by now, but as things were she'd either have to
break it or wait for someone with a key to show up, both of which were
likely to get her in trouble.
Before she could decide on what to do next, however, she
caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was in the
street and was coming for the door. She backed away from the door and
ducked into the shadow of the shop. A moment later there was a heavy
knock on the door.
Laiva held her breath. She had to get out, and she had to get
out now, before the whole house woke up. The kitchen was a dead end,
and climbing the stairs would get her caught only faster. The only
choice left was left was going back into the courtyard, if she liked
it or not.
Before she could open the back-door of the shop, however, she
heard steps descending the stairs on the other side. She gulped; there
was no way to go now. She feverishly tried to think of something
before the door came open and was she discovered, but there was no way
out of this. All she could do now was trying to hide behind the
shelves and hope for the best. She managed get behind the shelves and
throw herself to the ground, just before she heard the door opening.
At once her body was aching all over again, the pain that had
dulled down flaring up again. She drew a sharp breath, but the
shopkeeper or whoever had entered the room didn't notice, the ongoing
knocking drowning every other sound.
She heard a key turning in the lock and then the front door
was opened, accompanied by the ringing of a little bell.
'How may I be of service, Master ...'
Laiva instantly pictured an elderly man with a wrinkled face,
little piercing eyes and balding hair that hadn't started to grey yet.
Chances weren't too bad that the real man had at least some likeness
to that; back at home she had sometimes tried to imagine stranger's
looks from their voices for fun and usually got it more or less right.
'I'm irredeemably sorry to have to raise you at such an early
hour, but I have found myself in dire need of your products and have
been referred to you as the best of your trade in all of this duchy.'
She couldn't picture anything from that voice. It was male,
lower than the other one and with a certain authority to it, but that
was just about anything she could tell. But 'early hour'? And who
talked like that anyway?
'You humble me. Can I interest you for some of our fine white,
or did you have something specific on your mind?'
'Indeed I had. You wouldn't happen to have something
cerulean?'
Cerulean? Was that even a word?
'An unusual colour, for sure, but I think I can offer you
something that should fit the bill. If you will follow me.'
Follow? That could either be good or bad. She pushed herself
off the ground, biting back on the pain, that inevitably followed, and
peered through the shelves. An older man, who looked remarkably like
what she had pictured him, moved to the back of the shop and started
rummaging in one of the shelves, a second man following him. He was
tall, clad in a black robe and carried himself with an air of regality
that left little doubt about his high birth.
Much more important, however, was that he hadn't closed the
door behind it. It stood still wide open, only a metres from her. She
moved around the shelves and closer to the door. It was so close, she
could touch it with her outstretched arm now.
'Here we go.' the elderly main said. Laiva thought he was
holding a packet of paper in his hand, though she couldn't tell for
sure with his back turned towards her. The man in black looked down,
facing the wall. This was as close as it would get; it was now or
never.
She tensed her muscles, the adrenaline coursing through her
body making her oblivious to the pain, and made a dash for it. Before
anyone had the chance to react she was out of the door. She turned
into the street, and for a moment her eyes met with those of the man
in black, looking over the shoulder of the shopkeeper, who didn't seem
to have noticed anything. Was he... smiling at her? A few moments
later she had vanished in the labyrinth of the city's little alleys.
--
emmel <the_emmel*you-know-what-that's-for*@gmx.net>
(Don't forget to remove the ** bit)
story archives available at
http://ranira.wordpress.com
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