Black Hart

Gradsul by Twilight

Chapter 5 - 'Red' Hannay

It had been a boring journey, without incident, along the coastal road. He had seen many Keoish ships and boats patrolling the waters offshore, and quite a few patrols stopped him on his way, more than he would usually have expected. On his way to Saltmarsh he had taken the more worrying forest path that skirted the southern boundaries of the Dreadwood, and had almost had a few dodgy entanglements with the bad guys.
But it too was awash with Keoish soldiery - the King, who eventually relented to signing the Treaty of Greyhawk after initial opposition, had giventhe lip service of winter's passage to the agreed peace , and on the first day of spring, so Cinion had heard, his armies marched to the Dreadwood to flood that place in an effort to rid it of its troubles for once and for all. Not that they had seen much success, but by all accounts they were making their presence felt. Kimberos Skotti had gotten away with these hostilities as he was fighting against a 'non-Treaty' enemy - to the letter of the law, anyways.
Everyone knew that the Hepmon, Olman and Amedian barbarians that had flooded the forest from the Hoolmarsh came from the Sea Princes, via their new masters. But so long as the Scarlet Ones denied any involvement, sticking to their ludicrous story that they were 'escaped slaves' who had rebelled, the King was free to engage them without fear of war breaking out elsewhere as a result. Cinion felt a measure of sympathy for those slaves - he had almost ended up as one himself.
He had decided to forget about Irongate, at least until he was in a better position to do something about it. A position he would have been unlikely ever to be in had the ship taking him to a life of slavery in the Hold not been captured by a Keoish patrol in the Azure Sea. Even then, he would likely just have been allowed to heal and set loose in Gradsul had it not been for Koftus Grymsdale's interest in him.
It had been 'Father' himself who had, while he recovered his wounds from the Scarlet Ones' 'interrogation style', tracked down most of his precious magical items that had been on board as a present to the Prince of Monmurg, retrieving them from the sailors and marines who had shared them up as booty on the ship's capture.
He dismounted and walked the pony for the last mile up to the westward gate of Gradsul. He had not spent long there once healed, and didn't know his way about the city well, but he should be able to find the dockfront easily enough. It was a lawless place, he knew, a place frequented by many thieves, wastrels and vagabonds, even more so than any other seaport he had been in, although he imagined that it would not compare to the likes of Blue. The Count of Gradsul, Hieram Sellark, was not one to waste money on the policing of his subjects, and as a result the merchants bringing their goods through this port suffered crippling 'losses' at times, if they did not pay the appropriate personages properly.
As they approached the gates, a guard moved his halberd into Cinion's path and challenged him.
"And what would be your business in our city, little man?" he said, his smug grin showing the sad satisfaction this kind of power gave him.
"Kind Sir," Cinion replied, "I have traveled here from afar to purchase fine cloth and other fineries. If you would please let me pass, I am weary from my travels..."
"Fair enough!" the guard said, grinning idiotically at the other three guards behind him. "That'll just be a Rittern for Underheight Tax, and you'll be on your way short-stuff!"
"So be it" replied Cinion, smiling "A Rittern for your tax, and a Rittern for your troubles, for having to strain your neck to address me."
"It must be quite hard with all those rocks in your head," he added in his native halfling.
The guard stood aghast as Cinion tossed the two coins to him, and barely managed to hold onto them. As he strolled past the oaf, his fellow guardsmen burst into uproarious laughter, and the merciless insults began to flow in the fool's direction.
Cinion couldn't help but smile at the bully's fate, but made a quick mental note to avoid that guard in future, lest they go to round two. He felt somehow that next time, dolt that the guard was, things may get unavoidably nasty.

He had a stangely nervous feeling as he walked through Gradsul's streets. This was where he had gained consciousness after being rescued from the slave-ship, and he could not help the flow of thoughts he had associated with this place - the smell of healing oils, the Peloran priests' chanting, the helplessness that had come with his injuries and illness. But in the end there had been gratitude - for his life, for his health, for his chance to continue the ways of Brandobaris and to avenge.
The nervousness passed and he breathed in the salty smell of adventure. The streets were narrow and the crumbling houses in this quarter were tall, leaning over into the street above. He could never understand the Gradsulian liking for their tall, thin buildings until Kyrus had explained to him that the Count taxed his subjects on the width of their abodes. So the subjects made them narrow but long, and so it was!
He passed through the warehouse district, neighbouring the docks. The Orgsworth, they called it - mostly dull, thin buildings full of merchandise bound to leave the city by sea or by river or by road, with the occasional townhouse to speak of. Apparently these had become fashionable in the last decade, for those who longed for such an appellation and could afford it.
The docks had no local name, just the 'Docklands'. It was a lawless place, even more so than the rest of the city. More than half the men who worked the docks would be thieves, supplementing their meagre wage by pilfering form their employers - and those were the best of the men! After dark, the Docklands was no place for the man who feared for his life, or flouted his wealth. One could never be sure of being rescued by the guard in Gradsul - one could be certain he would not in the Docklands.
He was not too sure exactly where the Golden Anchor was, and walked along the length of the docks to be sure not to miss it. The place was heaving with all sorts of life, mostly workers loading and unloading the many ships that were anchored there. It was busier, far busier, than when he had left here, but that was due to the Treaty and the increased trade it had brought, although the seas about the city were still rife with pirates and cutthroats. Privateers, undoubtedly in the employ of the Slave Princes, plied those waters, although they took care not to linger too long, for the Keoish fleet was again gaining the upper hand in the region.
And there it was! He looked at the front doors of the Golden Anchor, weather beaten and battered - if its clientele were as rough as its facade, he was most likely in for an interesting time therein. Given the gate guard's attitude, he would expect no less than derision by the 'crusties' inside. As he gave Mandeg's Carver a reassuring pat, the double doors to the inn flew open and a shapeless form flew through the air, landing a few feet outside in a heap.
The wretched, smiling drunk looked up at him for a second before dropping his head and returning to oblivion. Cinion was impressed at his state for so early in the afternoon.

The smell of alcohol and body odour within was almost overpowering in the early afternoon heat, which seemed to turn this place into an oven. It was dull but not dark inside, and very, very noisy - Cinion had to concentrate to hear himself think. He could see how this was a good place for the likes of him to meet in secrecy.
To his surprise nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention as he weaved his way through the drunken mob to the bar. Most likely nobody had seen him, through his stature or their insobriety, or both. Embarrasingly, when he reached the bar, he could barely see over it, and perched himself upon a stool to have a better chance of being seen.
A grotty barman, overweight and filthy, and probably the only other person aside from him who was sober, wandered over to him. When he was in front of Cinion, without a word, he gave an upwards 'what do you want?' flick of his head.
Cinion replied, "I wish to rent a single room for a weeks stay."
The barman nodded in acceptance.
"Seven Rittern that'll be!" he grumped.
"And my pony - it'll need stabling, its out the front," Cinion added.
"Another four Rittern," he added. "Make it a Merkke and we'll add the extra Rittern to yer bill."
Cinion handed him the Sea Princes coin, and the man pocketed it - if he had noticed, he never showed any sign of it!
He took a long key from under the counter and put it on the bar.
"Top o' the stairs, third door on the right," he said, motioning to the stairs with a flick of his head."Do what ye like, but any trouble and yer out!"
Cinion wandered up the stairs and, as directed, tried the key in the third door on right, From the way it unlocked, it was rarely used. He hadn't imagined many visitors to the city would chose this establishment as their home, but he had been in worse.

As he set to unpack, barely a minute into the room, there was a solid knock at the door.
"Who is it?" Cinion shouted, his hand resting on Mandeg's Carver.
"Its about yer payment, sir," a deep woman's voice announced.
With his blade half-drawn, Cinion went to  the door. As he opened it, there indeed was a human female, abut five feet tall with brown hair and green eyes. She was not very pretty, plain and 'common' in appearance, apart from, that was, her mail shirt and the cutlass that hung from her side.
"Barad was not too happy with your payment", she said, smiling knowingly and revealing a mouth with several teeth missing.
She looked towards his hidden hand.
"Well, are yer going to ask me in or are yer going to stick me with that blade?"
Sliding the blade back into its scabbard, Cinion stepped back and let her into the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
"We are quite secure here," she said, sitting down on the bed next to his pack. She held out a hand to him. "Meyrit O'Vayl, at your disposal."
She gave him a curt nod, grasping his right hand with a firm shake. Her hand was thickly calloused, most likely the product of many hours spent with the cutlass in her hand. He glanced down momentarily, and it was then that he noticed the thick red scar, not long healed, running down her right forearm.
"I assume that yer Cinion Quicksiler?" she asked. As Cinion nodded she continued. "I am the first here - easy, being that I'm a native of Gradsul. 'Father' has made me aware of the situation."
Cinion knew, without speaking his name, that she was referring to Koftus.
"I have little to add. His boat has not yet arrived, so we have some time to set up - not long though, I fear. 'Red' Hannay O'Vailey lives near to here, on the Promenade."
It figured - Cinion knew that this was the seediest part of the Docklands area.
"There she 'entertains' her well-paying clients. She, well, shall we say 'caters' for their 'extraordinary' tastes." As an afterthought she added, "Allegedly!"
Cinion could only imagine what tastes these men had.
"Ah dunno when the rest are due - only one as I know anything about is the 'top'. Apparently he's a Baron or something - goes by the name of Eloi Brandt. I s'ppose we should get started while we wait."
Cinion recognised the word 'top', used by thieves in this town to denote the boss, the leader - obviously this Baron Eloi Brandt, of whom he'd never heard, was leader of this team.
"I'd reckon yer've more of a mind for these things, Cinion. I tend just to be brought in for the rough bits hereabouts."
She smiled as she said this - obviously she enjoyed her work.
"I had reckoned until the others came we should watch either Hannay's place or the docks for this man, but I'm not much for the sneaky ways. What do yer think?"
"I think you should keep an eye on the docks," Cinion replied. "I will take a look at this woman's place as well as attending to some other buisness while I am here."
Meyrit nodded.
"Not much we can do without the others, I suppose. I'll watch the docks for this 'Shelliak' then, and send someone fur yer if it lands."
With that she left without further ceremony. She seemed a very Oerthy type!

With a spring in his step, Cinion gathered his belongings and headed out.
He spent a short while wandering about the Garrthen District, trying to remember which house belonged to 'Tuft'. Kanto 'Tuft' Whittle was a halfling warrior who was far-travelled and fond of adventure, as well as being a devotee of Brandobaris. He actually had a small shrine to their god in his house, and it was this, as well as the company of his kin, that he desired. Tuft had a certain turn of phrase that rarely failed to send Cinion into fits of laughter - subtle, yet hilarious.
He smiled at the nickname - it came from the fact that both his feet were completely hairless, apart from one pathetic tuft of bushy dark hair on his left big toe! Not so pathetically, he had found out, Kanto had earned this disfigurement in a battle with a red dragon!
Then came his next obstacle - he stood battering on the door for a good ten minutes before deciding the shuttered house was empty of the living.
"He's gone away!" a woman shouted to him from across the street, pretending that she had always intended to brush her front steps at that time. "Took his sword and mule and went off with them rogues he associates with. Gone three month now, not a word."
Cinion nodded and started wandering away - doubtless some fruitful quest for the tufted one. Regaining his bearings he soon found his way onto the Promenade.

Soon he had found it - an upper flat on the corner of Bekker Street, looking out onto the bussling Plasfeyr, the market square of the Promenade. By day it sold all the usual items - food, drink, equipment. By night it was a human meat market, the town's red light district, but with no need for the red lights as the flesh trade dealt openly in this town.
There was an abundance of guest houses and inns nearby, catering to the traveller who intended to indulge in the delights of the Plasfeyr, and that would probably cater to watching Hannay's home. The square itself would be rather exposed by night, unless one took the guise of a whore, and that risked a success in attracting business that Cinion dared not even entertain. For now he could easily wander about the market, checking out the house.
There was only one door, leading from the Promenade, to her flat. There were two shuttered windows, one facing onto the Promenade, one onto Bekker Street, to the front. To the rear, he imagined, in the usual style of Gradsulian buildings there would be an enclosed back courtyard. This gave cause for concern, as it would not be easily accessible to them, without drawing attention, and if there was a window to the rear it could provide an unnoticed means of exit.
Communication would also be impossible, barring the others having some magical means. This too would be a problem if the mark left, for Cinion knew it was pretty much futile ordinarily to follow someone alone. In a place as busy as the Promenade they would need, at the very least, three men to do the task properly.
He thought for a minute, and then walked back to the Golden Anchor.

As dusk fell, Cinion arose. After the morning's journey it had not been difficult to sleep, and he felt refreshed. A mouthful of dinner and he would be out the door, going invisible at a suitable point and heading quickly over to Hannay's flat. He had spoken to Meyrit before retiring - she had no news, but would keep watching the docks through the night.
Standing on the corner of the Plasfeyr, the first problem became evident - it was mobbed! Of course it was Freeday, and as well as the prostitutes, thieves, drunks, and all other types of lowlifes milling around were the multitude of customers out to enjoy their only day off. Getting across it invisibly without bumping into anyone would be difficult. A quick scan showed no half-Olven women with red hair, but he did not expect to find her. Apparently Hannay had a good clientele, and worked from her home, not the streets.
By the time he reached Bekker Street his heartbeat was pounding in his ears, and a sweat had formed on his forehead. It had been very uncomfortable sneaking across through the crowd, and hard work. He had earned one poor drunken scumball a pimp's punch as Cinion accidentally bumped into his tart, the pimp and the tart thinking he was sneaking a free sample! He would have to remember the dangers of this type of escapade in future.
He quickly found an ideal downpipe, and clambered up - it passed to the left of the Bekker Street window, but he could see and hear nothing within, for the shutters were closed. As was the style in Gradsul, the eaves overhung the street by a couple of feet, and this caused him a small delay as he tackled the overhang. However, within a minute he was safely on the roof, or as safely as anyone could be on a roof.
From the top he looked around him - there was indeed an internal courtyard, and in fact an access alleyway to the far side leading into it. From the roof along Bekker Street he saw the back door, and then returned to the Promenade side to watch the front door.
It was so long before anyone went to the door, perhaps two hours, that Cinion almost missed him, watching the entertaining scenes unfold below. He barely saw him, an older man, perhaps middle-aged, attempting to cover his dignity with a large felt hat and a thick coat, despite the heat of the Gradsul evening.
Quickly, Cinion moved over to the downpipe, and as luck would have it, the shutters were now open. Sliding down, he saw that it was a sort of living room, plushly decorated. And there standing at the front door, which was on the east wall, with it open slightly and one foot behind it, was 'Red' Hannay.
She was quite beautiful, slender and no-doubt supple. Her red hair gave her a passionate, fiery look. She was dressesd in loose-fitting cotton clothes, quite dull in colour and unappealing to the eye. On the other side of the door, he could barely make out who she was talking to, she opened the door so little.
With an angered tone, she said, "No! You know I do not work Freedays, so begone."
With that she slammed the door shut, bringing a large crossbar over it to keep it shut.
She must have had a profitable clientele, he mused, to refuse business, and not to be working on a Freeday eve, a tart's busiest night.
She turned from the front door and walked to a door towards the Promenade, and entering a room there. This door was on the far side of the room from him, on the west wall of the living room, and there was another closer to him on the same wall.
The man banged on the door for a minute or so, begging Hannay to let him in, then there were only the sounds of the Plasfeyr.

Cinion waited, his arms locked straight to prevent them getting too tired. The ironic thought occurred to him that if he did fall, most likely he would bleed to death in the gutter as no-one would see him.
After he was sure that the man had indeed left, he pulled his way back onto the roof, and slithered over to the Promenade side. There he was just in time to see the man leave the doorway, staggering slightly as though drunk. He then wandered about the Plasfeyr propositioning a few of the prostitutes - Cinion realised the ones he was asking all had red hair. One by one, they refused his demands, whatever they were - some voiciferously, and with a threatening pimp on hand to sort him out, others quietly. Eventually he found someone to whom his tastes and terms were acceptable, and they walked off, with her supporting his drunkenness as they headed to the north on the Promenade.
From what he had seen of the man he was not in the slightest convinced that he was his mark. He pushed up, and was about to slither back down the drainpipe when something caught his eye. Standing on the far side of the Plasfeyr, in the doorway of the tavern there, was Meyrit!
He followed her gaze, and saw the man just ten feet before he reached the door. Apart from having a chin beard as well as a moustache, the man fitted Walt's description of Vellip O'Shad exactly! He was wearing a sky blue suit, well cut, with silver embroidery on the wide cuffs and the collars, and a pair of shiny black leather sailor's boots
Cinion had seen such fashions amongst quite a few people about the dock, especially officers of the Royal Fleet. With a casual gait the man approached the door and entered the close.
Quickly, more practiced this time, he made his way back down the drain pipe. As he reached the open window he heard a knocking on Hannay's door.
"I told ye, damnit, I ain't workin' the night!" Hannay yelled from within the other room.
The knock was repeated, and Cinion noted a pattern to the knocks this time. Three knocks, a pause, two knocks, another pause, then three fast knocks.
Almost instantly the door to the other room was flung open, and Hannay vaulted across the room, throwing off the crossbar and swinging her front door open. There stood the man, and her face lit up, her mouth opening to yell in excitement.
To her surprise the man closed his open hand over her mouth and pushed her back into her flat, pushing the door closed with his foot. He grabbed the crossbar and placed it across the door, then turned to her.
She looked bemused, and he smiled to reassure her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her, firmly and passionately.
"There is someone following me, since we docked," he said, rushing over to the door she had left open and into the other room.
Hannay followed him in there, saying, "But Vellip, you ..."
Her voice trailed off and Cinion could hear only muffled tones from the other room. They were still talking, but not loudly enough for him to hear from where he was over the noise of the Plasfeyr.
With the ease of much practice, Cinon slipped through the open window and into the room, walking carefully around the wall to the left. He tip-toed round to the open door where he could easily hear the pair talking.
"Over there, by the inn," Vellip said. "Cow's been on me since the docks!"
"What will you do?" Hannay said, a hint of panic in his voice.
"First, calm down, you're no use to me in a fit," he said, his voice cold and calculating. "Lock the door, shutter the windows, and don't leave here again tonight. When you do leave, make sure you're not followed - if you are, get a heavy to go with you."
Cinion heard footsteps coming towards him from inside the room, a man's heavy bootsteps.
"But what will you do?" Hannay questioned.
The footsteps stopped.
"Leave unseen," Vellip said. "Don't come into the kitchen for five minutes!"
The footsteps started towards him again.
"Tell Gelders that I'll meet with him on Sunday eve, nine bells, the usual place," he said as he walked back towards the living room.
Cinion suddenly realised that he was between the two doors, the other being what he presumed was the kitchen. There was a couch about four feet from the west wall, which his back was pressed against - the mark 'might' get by without touching him, but that was unlikely. He could possibly move out of the way silently, his efforts being aided by the mark's heavy footsteps, if he moved quickly.
As he moved to act, Cinion suddenly realised that there were no windows or doors in the kitchen. How was the mark going to get out through there?
With a spring, Cinion leapt clear of the couch, lightly touching its back for balance as he alighted on the arm of the chair. As he balanced precariously, he held his breath, sensing the man's approach.
As the mark opened the kitchen door Cinion got a good look at him. His heart sank when the man closed the door behind him. However, his mind was quickly yanked from the disappointment when he saw Hannay entering the room and going towards the shutters. With a speedy yet careful step, he sprang again onto the window ledge, reaching out for the drainpipe and swinging round it into thin air.
As he gained a more secure footing, Hannay closed the shutters.
Looking about, he saw Meyrit was still standing at the pub, watching the entrance to the close. The Plasfeyr was now extremely busy, and he feared crossing it invisibly in case of discovery. Cinion climbed the drainpipe to the all-too-familiar roof, and quickly ran about the edges peering down for any sight of Hannay's visitor. There was none!
With a sigh, he sat down to await Meyrit's departure.

The air was starting to get cold by the Meyrit decided to give up on her task. Almost all of the people were gone from the Plasfeyr, and Cinion had no trouble darting across it invisibly to catch up with Meyrit.  It was about eleven bells by now.
Making sure he was unseen he removed his ring and, now visible, continued to run after her. She was quite surprised at his arrival. She was even more surprised when Cinion told her she had been 'made' by the mark.
"It ain't really my thing," she said glumly, "all that following an' stuff. But I thought I'd done better than that - oh well, lots to learn I suppose. The 'Shelliak' is docked at the harbour, he was alone as far as I could tell. I followed him to Hannay's and I never saw him once he went in. Mind you, I never saw yer either, so that ain't saying much."
Meyrit returned to the docks to check out the boat, leaving Cinion to return to his room. Now that the mark was lost he had a plan, but it would require the aid of Brandobaris, and before that he needed sleep and prayer. Arriving back he prayed for the deepest slumber and quickly was asleep.

Cinion was worried - it had been so easy - far too easy!
Climbing up the drainpipe, the shutters had opened without so much as a whisper. Casting his magical silence, he began searching the whole apartment with his other spells. He could find no magic, no traps, and the sensation detected in the place was from the bedroom, where a person of of mostly neutral approach, with a taint of evil thoughts, was.
Carefully opening the kitchen door, he found indeed that there were no other windows and doors, and no other ways out that he could see. Again and again he searched the place, with no result - the only thing of note he found were all this 'Vellip's' clothes folded neatly in a pile beside the sink. Cinion was totally bemused.
Replacing everything as best he could the way he found it, he left the flat, locking the shutters' latch back down as he went. He was surprised at how light it was outside - he had been working in there for some time, and without doubt had been unprotected by the silence spell for the majority of it.
"Damnation!" muttered Cinion.
"Too many possibilities," he thought to himself. Not even his most powerful magics would be of any real use in figuring out where O'Shad had gone, or more importantly how. Oh well, this web had only started to be woven, and O'Shad was as free as a fly...for now.
At least he knew that Red had to meet this Gelders character sometime within the next day and a half, and since, thanks to his prayers he wasn't going to be tired anytime soon, he decided to maintain a watch on Red's place...again.
This was beginning to get tedious!

The day passed slowly for Cinion - four hours or so of watching the occasional drunk, or even more occasional guardsman, walk by, then the Plasfeyr market began in earnest.
The first sign of Hannay was late in the morning, as she arose to fetch water from a nearby well before returning to her home. A few hours later she wandered about the market, even wandering into Bekker Street to buy bread, but then, again, returned home.
The Plasfeyr was busy, and did not begin to wind down until after 6 o'clock, when the first of the whores appeared. Soon after, Cinion saw what he expected and that made him smile.
Over by the inn where she had stood before, was Meyrit - but not the Meyrit of the night before! In the daylight her ugliness was only accentuated by the thick make-up, gaudy clothes and curly wig she now wore. What scared Cinion was that in the dark she would undoubtedly be attractive to some lecherous drunken soul longing for some 'company'.
As he climbed down the drainpipe again, the shutters were open and the sounds and smells of cooking floated over to him. Hannay was in the kitchen, singing as she cooked. He could see that she had pulled a bath in front of the fire, and a cauldron, presumably of water, boiled thereon. Over the back of her sofa lay a revealing silken gown, purple in colour and obviously worth a few Merkke.
As Cinion slid down to the ground, a fine drizzle fell from the clouds above. Quietly letting Meyrit know he was away, he then returned to the inn as daylight faded, to recover his sleep and spells, glad to be out of the rain.

When he left the inn it was still raining - nothing substantial, but constant and relentless.
At the Plasfeyr, it seemed, it was business as usual, although there were not quite as many 'ladies' there tonight. Most of them had umbrellas to shield them from the rain, or sheltered over the protruding eaves of the buildings. Searching about, he was puzzled that Meyrit was no longer there! Perhaps Hannay was on the move.
He quickly scurried up the drainpipe, taking care in the rain. The shutters were now closed, but he could hear Hannay's reasonable voice singing away within. Returning to the roof he again scanned the Plasfeyr for Meyrit, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Sitting once more above the close entrance, Cinion found the drizzle somewhat irksome, especially as he had to concentrate that little bit more to be sure to see everything occurring below, especially in the darkness. Bodies shuffled around, but none moved towards Hannay's door all night.
He had begun to wonder if she was taking another night off when the black horse-drawn carriage pulled up outside her door. Cinion watched intently as the footman opened the door and a gentleman, wrapped in a thick weatherproof cloak and wearing a top hat, stepped down and entered the close.
Within a minute the carriage pulled away. Clutching his holy symbol, Cinion muttered the prayer that would set his spell in motion, focusing on the area about Hannay's living room. Unlike before, he could now detect a faint trace of magic - nothing strong, but there was a definite presence. Wasting no time he continued his scrying, praying to know the alignment of the man.
As he finished his spell he realised that he was too far from the man, and quickly slid down the drainpipe, stopping outside the all-too-familiar shutters. He could hear the man's bass tones rumbling inside, and he closed his eyes in concentration as he sought out his true alignment. The feeling was dark, careless and with a sharp order to its evil.
Bridging between the drainpipe and the windowsill, Cinion pressed his ears to the divide between the shutters, straining to hear what was being said within. He could make out the man and Hannay talking - their tone seemed urgent, almost excited, but he could not hear what they were saying. Damn the cursed shutters!
Suddenly he froze - there was a noise from above, up on the roof!

Holding his breath, Cinion glanced up, just in time to see a face appearing over the edge. It was a pale face, with piercing eyes, although he could not tell what colour in the dimness of the night. Dressed in black, he could tell it was a man, but as his features were covered with the same black material as his clothes, he could see little else.
For an instant as he stared straight into the man's eyes he felt confident that, being invisible, he was unseen. Suddenly the eyes changed, and Cinion knew that the man was smiling, the deep, satisfying pleasure of a spider as it slowly crawled towards its trapped prey. In a split second an object was dropping towards him, and Cinion could do naught but raise one arm to protect himself.
Surprisingly, the object felt light as it hit his arm, and then for an instant he could see nothing. He choked slightly, and as the powder fell on him, his first thought was of poison!
But there was no pain, no burning, and the choking went in a second, leaving only a new but somehow familiar taste in his mouth. As he opened his eyes Cinion saw why it was familiar. He was coated, mostly on his upper body, with a layer of white powder, and now he knew what it was - flour!
He was visible!
There was a pain in his right hand, and the next thing he knew he was hurtling downwards through the air. As he hit the ground, the air rushed from his lungs and he was winded badly, gasping for breath as he tried to get up. He could not - his body would not let him. He heard noises, angry shouts all around, and what little light there was soon disappeared as snarling faces gathered about him.
"Burglar!"
"Call the guard!"
"Tie him up!"
"Beat him down!"
Cinion's head was spinning and he earned a moment's relief as his lungs managed to haul in their fill of air. Determined to be off and away from this rabble he rolled onto his side and he tried to push himself up. Searing pain shot through his right hand, which had been holding onto the drainpipe, and which the man had somehow broken in their encounter. He crumpled back onto the ground.
As he drew the second of his breaths, the first blows began to rain down on him. With the taste of blood in his mouth, Cinion blacked out...

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