From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison) Date: 13 Jul 93 05:41:48 GMT Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [MG] Street Crimes [ADMIN] Co-written with Penny Hutchison; Errol is her character. This takes place just after the collapse of the pocket universe that held the war between Mar and Dariel. --*-- The Walker was bugging out. Errol took a step back into the shadows and made his way to the side door. Jameson went stumbling half-blind out the doorway. Some magician type tried to cast a spell on her and the shreds of Dariel she was carrying in her hands disrupted the web of magic. Errol smiled to himself, and decided to visit the Guild later to "discuss" coercive magics with the fellow. Later, though. He ran behind Jameson Walker, trailing her wake through the curious crowd outside the Spitting Cobra and then past the rebuilt streets of Generica Low Town. That was almost too bad, really, the reconstruction had eliminated a lot of very useful blind alleys and secret ways. Walker was going straight to the west, and this would not do - she'd end up going into the Shunned Center at that rate. And normally she wouldn't be going that way... Yes, there it was, the teasing thread from the Bride of Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat, so subtle in its suggestion that there was no hint of menace for the rewoven white bird of Hope to react to, nothing to turn aside until it was too late. <> He snapped the words off with a cold edge, and the lure of the Great Mother flinched away with a whine and a snarl. She still paid heed to the agreement, but it was annoying to her, and she wasn't going to tolerate this forever. Walker turned south at the next intersection, following some unknowable map in the labyrinths of her mind. She skirted the Buffer. By this time she had attracted four or five of the Low Town's more disreputable denizens, and Errol was forced to stop and deal with the two who were closest. "Good evening, Frau Bertine." He blocked the narrow entrance to the alleyway. Walker was barely visible moving out the far end. "What do you want? Get out of my way, little man, or my bully-boys will hang you up by your own innards." Bertine was infuriated that this little nothing had called her Frau -- nobody in Generica had any idea that she was a woman, and she had no intention of anybody finding out. She gestured a command, and the two hired guards lunged forward, like dogs set off their leashes. She was surprised then when they pitched forward, knives sprouting from their foreheads. She was even more surprised when he tossed his stinking cigarette into her face, and the smell knocked her to her knees. Her last thought on blacking out was that she mustn't be found here, helpless. When she woke later in the throne room of le Roy Boyz, naked and in chains, she was sure of it, especially when the Kink, the leader of the gang, started the Royal Payback. She had time to regret making enemies of this particular gang. Errol made his way through the sewers, the shortcut leading him to where Jameson Walker was currently making her way around the edge of the Buff. Up and out, in front of her: the second closest pursuer had managed to signal ahead, and there was an ambush in the way. He looked at the gang-markings on the ambushers' clothing: a spider in a web, with a smiling elven face. Demon Spiders, four of them, all humans. Fine. Demon Spiders were behind several of the recent setbacks that had affected his business deals. These should be easy to handle. Walker was coming down the street now, so he slid up behind the first of the four, and gently introduced the long point of his second favorite kris-knife into the fellow's kidney. The best part of this kind of a strike was that the victim never made any noise. Except this one just dropped his knife, which was too bad, because it did make a noise on the ground where it landed. The other three whirled to see what it was, and Errol had to be very fast in ducking in order to go unseen. The leader of the ambush squad snarled a quick order: "Abort, home!" and they made a quick dash for the manhole that Errol had used a few moments earlier. They would have gotten away, too, but there was Hot Seccho, leader of the Night Martens, a half-ogre and about as big as a wall, and his four human gangmembers, and about a dozen orc-dogs. A few minutes hot discussion, invocation of Bethor Rinch (the half-drow member of Night Martens who was also pals with the leader of the Demon Spiders) but that didn't work: Rinch had been given a new lease on death just a few days earlier by one of the Unnel Chuz, and Seccho wasn't hot on Spiders today. Rumble happened. Errol giggled quietly to himself as Walker made her way past the entrance to the alley where the ambush was going to come; she was going further south. He fell in behind the Demon Spider tracker who was following Walker. The poor geek didn't know why their ambush failed to come off, and he was getting careless in his nervy way, almost clumsy enough for Walker to notice him, even in her current distraction. Errol decided to be polite and used the cosh instead of the monowire garotte; the tracker fell to the ground in a dishevelled heap and Errol took off again, heading further to the south. The neighborhood was changing again; from the slums of the Buff and the Low Town, to the industrial area. Walker was heading west now. The merchants and carters in the industrial area didn't particularly notice one more crazy lady staggering through the streets, and Errol took advantage of the change in terrain to obliterate some more of Walker's traces. Two of the pursuers had stopped when they found themselves getting too far from their home bases, and another lost her trail when she got into the Industrials, but there was that last one. Errol waited for the pursuer: a big kid with a sword and makeshift armor in yellow and black, and an "X" belt-buckle. The "X-Paladins" these ones were. Not usually a bad lot. He trailed the lad for a few blocks, as Walker managed to avoid all the traffic and made her way to the rocks below the cliff -- the Lighthouse was up that cliff, and these rocks were generally safe, the tide only got high here during really bad storms. The young pursuer started to follow her out onto the rocks, and Errol was there in the way, clove-stinking cigarette wafting up from under his fedora hat, trenchcoat pulled tight against the cool sea breeze. "Wouldn't go there, my boy," he said unctuously. "Not a good idea. Rocks are slippery, you could get ... hurt." "What business is it of thine?" The kid had been practicing his knightly dialogue, anyway. "What is thy interest in yon fair damsel?" "Damsel? Oh, she'd like that," Errol chuckled. "You seem like a fairly non-harmful sort. Go take this message to the Corder's Forge just east of Merchant's Hill." He held out a folded piece of paper to the youth, who looked skeptically at the writing on it. "Doesn't say anything." "It's not for you. Give it to the master-smith or to his chief journeyman, Kam, I think he's called. Oh, and here's a groat for your trouble." Errol tossed a gold coin to the lad, who caught it reflexively in his left hand, and tested the metal. A moment after he pulled it from between his teeth, his eyes grew blank and he stood straight, receptive, as the drug on the coin took effect. "Always works," Errol smiled to himself. "Listen, boy. You take this letter where I told you, then go back and tell your gang leader that the mark you were following got away. All you remember about going to the forge is that you were looking for a new knife, and you heard they might have some, but they didn't have any. Then, tonight, go to the front door of Charlie Ale's place on the south side of Merchant's Hill, and spend that coin on a beer and a little gambling. You don't remember talking to me, until I tell you, ok?" "Yes, milord." "Good. Go now." Errol grinned widely as the young would-be knight began trotting off into the city.