Ch 1. The River (Patreon)

So much of life is thought to be buoyed forwards. That people can coast on by in the boat that keeps them afloat on the river of time. People fail to realize that the river is often going the wrong way. It takes actual effort to get to places that people would want to go instead of reverting. So often the events of the past repeat. This is due to the nature of the river.

The river pulls people. Slowly, inexorably backwards. Effort is needed to work against the pull. Sometimes the amount of effort needed to draw a person forward can be eased. The winds of fortune turn and catch their sails or a larger boat latches onto them to tug them along for a while.

For most people of the 16th Age, the Age of Progress after the Old World War, the winds of Fortune seemed to favour them. The effort needed to see themselves advancing further up the river was barely noticeable. At least that’s how it felt to the people of Felsburg.

Felsburg was a city that had the fortune of war never directly affecting it. That was for the Old World, not the New. The Old world was a place of antiquated thinking. The future and present was in the New world! No city was thought to demonstrate this better than Felsburg. The mighty eastern city of the Adelany nation. The inhabitants liked the way that sounded to their ears. It had a certain poignancy that rolled off their tongues. They never considered all the death that came hand and hand with

Felsburg had seen many a ship from the Old World War certainly, but only ever dropping off goods and picking up others that resulted in large succulent profits. Felsburg had it good. They marched on as the land of the ancestors struggled, their heads pointed up the river of life.

They also had their own signature river. A river that saw a great many boats upon it. Both commercial and leisurely in their nature. The river Fels was unlike the river of time however, it served as a mighty wind to push progress and inspiration. To the people that lived along it, the Fels river was wide and flowed how they wanted it to. The bankers and the industrialists that had holdings along the river liked to think that the river even flowed into their pockets. Instead of leaving them wet, the river deposited more mineral goods to the rich that they then ordered be turned into merchandise. Merchandise that resulted in profit.

Profit meant money. Money for some, meant progress.  

However, much as the nature of the river time was to erode and push back progress, money had a nature of its own.

It demanded to show itself. To talk and do a subtle kind of walk that only monied individuals could supposedly perform. Most people didn’t notice so much the walk or the walker. They focussed more on what was worn while walking. Money had many faces. It wanted people to know that you had it, so you had to find new ways to announce this. This resulted in rather full social calenders for the rich of Felsburg.

For these people, the soirees and galas were a glut of events that folded into each other and were events that were commented on throughout the week. If a host should fail to live up to the standard set for the previous weekend’s entertainment.

The quality of the parties sometimes had nothing to do with the actual end sum of money spent. Usually, it was more important to have memorable moments. Or moments that most didn’t remember. It wasn’t uncommon for the strongest of spirits to flow as off to the side people lounged with hookah. In bathrooms around any ‘good’ party, someone could be found ‘powdering’ their noses. In the eyes of the socialites that made up Felsburg, it wasn’t about how grand an event was, it was the memories made. The fleeting moments of highs or lows that made everything so starkly contrasted to their typical lives.

They wanted emotion and passion! They wanted it rushing through their veins so they didn’t have to be aware of anything else in their lives.

During these emotional counterpoints so much seemed possible. Especially for those that kept their heads. Sometimes in the most literal of meanings, sometimes it was the close encounters that made life grander.

It is therefore amusing that the only thing that could eclipse the social importance of a party, the essence of life, was a funeral.

But that would come later.

For now the rich, soon to be rich, the curiosities and the queer rubbed elbows or entertained at others' behest. The roles of each interchanging depending each person.

Judges from the local courts found themselves sweating as they raised against smug peddlers of vice and violence. Natives that had to beg to the Adelany government for land and acknowledgement of their ways found themselves fending off amorous advances of aunties with too much alcohol and not enough adventure in their existences.

Ladies toyed with hearts and brawled in dark alcoves with their rivals while men swooned and sallied out with swears and sharp words. Dancers dipped and often dodged their partners either in time or entirely ignoring the music laid out.

And on and on the river churned as bits of life crashed into each other, making it a heady cocktail that was all the sweeter on the tongue. It made for a gay affair, as long as you kept your head.

For all the passionate moments that drew the eye however it was the ignored moment that would have the most impact.

Ignored, but certainly in no way quiet.  

“Splendid evening old chap!” exclaimed ‘Lord’ Haya Barley “Positively capital affair I say!” Lord Barley was only a Lord in the sense that his own mind felt he should be one. His attempts to impress this onto others typically lived as long as a chicken introduced into a reptile enclosure.

The host for this evening, one Grandly Crabbings, did not stand from his seat for Barley. He merely offered a polite raise of his champagne flute. Doing more was likely to entice Barley into sticking around. Barley was one of those annoying incompetents that had no social grace but had the good fortune to have inherited a business that made one extend an invitation to him. He was a pillar of the community after all. A pillar built on steel, other people’s sweat, and lots of money. That sadly did not mean he had social graces, much the opposite in fact.

Lord Barley claimed a cushion directly next to Grandly by way of throwing himself at it. His rather large frame caused a reaction that would— had it not been discovered already — have inspired scientists into trademarking reactionary laws in their names.

His mass crashed into the cushion which bounced Grandly upwards slightly but ejected the poor girl he’d been entertaining on his lap to the ground. The woman made a hissing noise much like an affronted cat but was ignored by Barley as the man swept an arm around Grandly. “I’ve found myself a little party for two you could say!” he announced.

Grandly’s eyes tightened and he glanced in the direction indicated. The woman that was currently adjusting her coat about her body was certainly an exquisite piece of work but for the life of him Grandly couldn’t make out who it was. He made a note to remind his butler to clear out the front passage of the plants. It paid to have a clear view on who entered and left. Or more specifically who entered with who and then left with who. It’d make for good social barter no doubt.

Not that he needed it, he thought as he swept his eyes away from the mystery woman. He had the harbour master passed out at his bar alongside the inspector from FFA. He had Heiresses upstairs toying around with some young waiters he’d hired for exactly this purpose. Meanwhile, maids collected discrete evidence or even led some husbands on trips around the gardens. Or if he was feeling particularly spiteful, directly to the rooms their wives might be entertaining in.

A good party was three parts party, and seven parts aftermath after all.

“—bosom so grand they’re all but spilling out of my hands when I grab them!” said Barley as Grandly was forced to tune back in, the man thankfully coming to the end of his story as he did so.

“Well, all the best old chap!” He said before standing, using Barley’s arm around his shoulder to lift the man onto his feet before pushing him towards the door. “Don’t let me keep you.”

And just like that Barley was out of his mind, just in time for Grandly to raise his glass. Pretending to listen to the windbag could be hard enough he needn’t be dry while doing it.

“Another Sebastian,” he said to his butler before looking for where his previous partner had ended up.  He didn’t bother to think anything more on Barley. The man would turn up at the next event, and make enough of an ass, as usual, was the general consensus.

But then again, he hadn’t the eyes of a street thug that roamed the darker alleys of Felsburg. He hadn’t seen her hands that for only one moment that evening had been bared to the world. And so he hadn’t seen the criss-cross of scars that marred her rather pretty hands. Scars that told a tale of rough times and rough choices.

He hadn’t spotted her slinking around the estate he’d hosted this party, but that had been the point of her entrance. She had come in, seen what she needed to see, and then left with her spoils.

‘Lord’ Haya Barley had an exciting drive from the Grandly estate. It started with a revving of the motor that saw him screeching the tires on his automobile out of the driveway as he paid more attention to what was being done to him than where he was going. His partner was much more able though, and deftly directed the car with one hand while the other steered Barley. The jazz band that rang out over the hills faded as they sped off.

“Oh yes! You’re a minx you are! I can’t wait to get you back to my manor!”

“Oh sugar! You say the sweetest things!” purred the woman with a throaty chuckle.

Barley spared a glance at the road before placing a hand on the woman’s thigh. He licked his lips as his lady directed him further into the night. She grabbed the gear stick and adjusted it more to her liking. Then shot him a flirtatious smile. “Think you can do a roar over the Fels for me first? I want to feel how fast your engine can go!”

Barley looked up and saw that instead of being pointed towards home he was now atop the hill. Beneath the road stretched out straight before them invitingly. This was a road made to be raced down, the people that lived along it had long since grown used to the hoons blaring through. Barley and the others with good enough cars understood that. This was a street for them.

Drivers loved to be able to roar down and across the bridge set across the Fels. You could clock yourself to see how fast your automobile was. Barley grinned, he’d made enough claims and driven it twice before so he felt confident he could impress his lady. He eyed the finish line on the other side of the bridge. While he saw it he didn’t see the Sanctum’s monastery driver’s didn’t consider the chapel when they were racers. They didn’t do a lot of thinking in general.

The people that lived along the road considered it appropriate how rich, dumb, or both, were racing to their own funerals. The racers never really thought about how double-edged the cheers they got truly were. It never occurred to them what the people were truly cheering for.

He flattened the pedal to the floor and the automobile lurched forwards before quickly picking up speed as the decline allowed the metal wagon to add gravity to its acceleration. Barley gripped the wheel and stared straight ahead, now was perhaps the only time that he had to shut up and been quiet. He needed all his attention straight ahead.

Something his partner knew and took advantage of as she reached a hand up the split of her dress to place a hand on a long thin dagger. She extracted it easily before holding it low, where it would be out of sight.

The lights from the street lamps flashed ominously on it as each marker whizzed by, heralding Barley’s looming fate. The roar of the motor echoed down the near-empty streets. They passed a paddy wagon pulled off to the side and only got a shout before the constables returned to their work.

A few night owls leaned out of their windows or watched on from stoops as Barley sped forth. Sadly he looked too stable to offer them their late-night entertainment.

Barley didn’t notice any of this as the bridge began to loom in his vision, standing tall and ominous. Not unlike a cathedral resting right next to the finish line. The metal of the bridge glinted off the street lamps. A deep clang sounded out as the automobile soared up onto the bridge before landing like a clattering horse. For a second the wheel tugged harshly and Barley had to struggle as the car swerved across the lanes. Thankfully there was only one car that they had to dodge. The horn of the car blarted out while the driver cursed Barley for his idiocy.

Now that it was almost over Barley turned to give his lady a smug grin. “Heh! I think I beat the record!” The woman let the light shine on her perfectly straight teeth. Barley thought it made her look hungry but he obviously misunderstood the type as instead of throwing himself from the speeding car and to possible safety, he leaned in for a kiss.

He was allowed to enjoy the kiss for a small eternity. The softness of her lips only contrasting the hard metal in her hands. “Pull over sugar,” she said suggestively.

“Ho! I think It’d be much better to get home first dea—” “I said pull over. Now,” this time there was no softness in her voice, now she was hard. This time he saw the threat as her eyes glinted. This time metal kissed his flesh instead of soft lips. He stiffened as his throat involuntarily swallowed. Pressing the blade for but a moment closer.

“What?!” He spluttered only for her to flick him with her other hand.

“Ut! None of that now dearie, I want you to pull over in that alleyway and don’t think of making me stain my dress.” She grinned as he slowed and then turned into the alleyway.

“You won’t get away with this! I’m friends with the commissioner!” he blustered.

The woman ignored him, glancing into his rearview mirror as another car pulled behind. This one was more beaten up and entirely utilitarian. A trio of men got out. They swaggered up with thick pipes in their hands. When they reached the doors where Barley and the woman sat they knocked.

“Little pig little pig, let me in~!” singsonged the man. Barley swallowed down his indignation, his eyes flicked to the woman that still had the dagger to his face. She nodded encouragingly. He opened the door and stepped out.

He’d barely put his feet on the ground before his legs were swept from his position. One of the men squatted down to grab him by the hair, tugging his head upwards. His other hand held a weedy looking cigarette that he puffed on. The faint glow enough to just slightly illuminate his features.

“So, you’re the man who wandered into the docks eh?” The man leaned into Barley’s personal space. “Only you didn’t just wander in did’ja? Nah you were worse than a bull in a dress shop, made a real mess didn’t cha? Thought you were some sorta stallion yah? Racing around with no bridle on?” He let his teeth show as his smile widened. “Gotta make a message out of you now boyo. Shoulda stayed up in your fancy houses playing with the other rich types.”

“I have no idea what you mean!” wailed Barley.

The man grunted before dragging Barley up. “That girlie you ran over a few days ago? Ever think to stop and check on her?”

“That wasn’t me! I swear!”

“Nah it was, see only you have a car like that and look like this.” A metal pipe was placed in his hand. He gave it a swing causing a dull ‘whoom’ to sound through the alley. Then he swung it into the rich man’s ribs. Barley screamed over the sound of breaking bones.

“That girlie ain’t gonna walk again now. Think I’ll let you know how that feels.”

The pipes in all the men’s hands raised and were swung down. There was no unison in their swings, there was only violent intent. Barley started out wailing but after the first few hits he stopped and curled in on himself in some attempt to avoid the pain. It didn’t help him in the least. He could only whimper.

When they were done his legs were bent at strange, unnatural angles. The man that had started the beating grunted in satisfaction before tapping out another cigarette. “Don’t come around the docks again richie.” He then spat on the man before turning to walk back to his car.

He stopped when a faint click echoed through the alleyway. He turned slowly to find Barley with his mostly bent hand wavering in his direction with a small pistol in his hand. “D-d-damned g-gut-ter trash!” he snarled as he raised the pistol.

The alleyway was filled with a sharp crack. The man that Barley had been aiming at took in a huge breath as his mind recalled that it needed air. He patted down his front before turning to check on his companions. None of them had been hit either. They all glanced towards their car where a small circular hole was now visible. They traced the line from bullet hole to gun. They turned to find Barley paler than he had been a moment before, blood dribbled down his chin as he realized he had missed. He fumbled the reload only for a roar to rip from the thug’s throat as he threw himself at Barley.

This time the beating didn’t stop until Barley couldn’t move. When he was done he was drenched with sweat and blood. Barley merely gurgled wetly on the ground as blood seeped out into the cobbles of the alleyway.

“Johnny… the plan wasn’t to kill him,” said the woman that had been on the other side of Barley’s car. ‘Johnny’ took in more lungfuls of air before nodding.

“Yeah, yeah. It also wasn’t the plan to get shot in the back by the asshole.” He glanced around before grimacing. “Leave him here, take the car. Let’s get out of here before the constables come around. They’ll come cause of that gunshot.” As ordered the gang carried out their jobs. In but a few moments the alleyway was almost empty.

It had a few empty boxes with bottles stacked around them. The dead body of ‘Lord’ Haya Barley. And after a minute of the gang departing, a small boy.

The air rippled around the boy as he glanced at each entrance of the alleyway.

If you ignored that he seemed to suddenly appear from nothing, there was not much remarkable about the boy. He was a touch small perhaps, but the same was true of most street children. He wore roughed up brown pants with a tan shirt. His eyes were an icy blue that burned as they swept over the alleyway documenting potential threats or places that threats could hide.

Then the ripple vanished and he was wholly visible. His hair was filthy enough people would think black instead of his natural blond. His eyes roamed once more before inching forward. The gangsters had left but he had maybe another few minutes still, they'd checked the alleyway over when they’d parked, departed and not seen a thing to indicate someone else had been there with them. The boy licked his lips as he eyed the dead rich man.

It was a hot score, but sometimes it was worth it. He slipped forward and ignored the blood clinging to him as he snatched up the small pistol. He rifled through Barley’s pockets and found the man’s wallet. He grabbed up the cash, not counting it. That would be for later, when he was safe at home. For now, he looked for any jewellery that the gangsters had ignored. He found a ring and then his eyes fell on the shoes. They were good shoes, proper gentlemanly nobby shoes. Two-toned and everything! They’d probably sell for at least twenty-five whole dollars!

He pried them off the man’s feet and gagged at the stink he inadvertently released.

Then he got out of there. Sadly the constables pulled up just as he started to get going. They swung well-worn lanterns out of the paddy wagon as their feet hit the ground. The light from their lanterns lit up the alleyway. The boy ducked behind the empty boxes, plastering himself against the wall. He focussed within on that special place he’d found.

Once more, he vanished. A few seconds after he did, a constable rounded the corner and gave the boxes a practised if bored glance over. Done more out of habit than actually expecting to see anything. Most of his attention was on the body in the middle of the alley.

“Hey! You old drunk! Walk yourself home instead of… oh Lords and Ladies damn it.” The boy inched past the man, holding his breath as he did so. His focus remained on being unseen. The constable wouldn’t have seen him as he was too focussed on the dead body. Still, you didn’t get money in your hands by being careless.

“Sarge!? Get out here! We got a dead one! He looks rich!” From the other side of the wagon they had pulled up in, a curse rang out. The boy continued to inch away, making sure to not go too fast. When the other man entered the alleyway he picked up his speed. When he was nearly a whole block away he heard the clanging of constable bells and dropped his talent to sprint further away.

He didn’t have far to go in truth. He only had to go three blocks, but those three blocks saw him using his talent another two times. Each time he hid as police wagons pounded down the street towards where he’d come from. When the boy made it to his safe spot he jimmied open a window and clambered in. When he had swiftly shut the window, he allowed himself to slump against the wall.

He grinned for a moment before making a face as the dead man’s shoes wafted up to his nose. He tossed them into a corner and coughed.

“Leon?” called a voice from the other side of the room. Leon stiffened as one of the other occupants of the room called out.

“Shhh! Sally! Go back to bed! You’ll wake the matron!”

Sally ignored this request and instead dropped from her bunk, dragging her blanket with her towards where Leon sat regathering himself. The young girl plopped herself next to him and sighed contentedly. Then she looked up. “You stink.”

Leon merely sighed and shook his head before lifting the girl up to put her back to bed. He had no trouble with it. The girl was small and light. When she wouldn’t settle he climbed in with her and settled down to share the bunk. He let himself go to sleep with dreams of all the things he could do now with the money that’d soon come his way.

Sadly he was completely ignorant of just how the death of one Haya Barley would sink a ship and cause a swell that would drag so many with it. This would cause a lot of ships that had been happily plodding along to change courses lest they too be dragged under. Others still would find themselves buoyed up the river.

They just needed the skill to plot their course… or a lot of luck.