Post by hessper on Apr 10, 2007 4:47:01 GMT -5
ologue
The king sat on an over-elaborately decorated seat. He took a sip of tea, wistfully dreamed of hunting. These matters of state were really despicably boring. Managing to gag down the viscous substance that was supposedly ‘the chef’s finest.’ The bad taste probably had something to do with his decision to raise the taxes. He’d see about that.
He sighed and rearranged the sheets of paper in front of him.
Deep in his thoughts, he could only just hear the droning voices of the men of state,
announcing the next skull-numbing thing to talk about. “And now we shall move onto matters of the notorious gang of thieves; The Five Members, who were last sighted at…” the voice faded again, as the king yawned, checking his watch-chain; He still had two hours left.
How do I survive? He asked himself, as he tried to focus on the moaning voices of the court, as he languidly stretched and yawned, unaware of the appalled eyes watching him.
“He could do with a days work…” whispered one of the members to another, receiving ten grim nods in response.
“Your Majesty, if you wouldn’t mind paying attention. Now. We have located the precise location of the gang of thieves, and we are attempting to close in on them with a band of horse-men. They are headed to the eastern regions.”
The king yawned, and dismissed the man briefly with a wave of his hand, “Don’t have them arrested, Bartholomew. I have my plans.” His announcement was met by ten unwavering stares.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You may not have it. Sorry. I said what I said.” He knew that if he said it again, they would start weeding his plan out of him. Dumb council.
His steely eyes matched the members of the court, and they engaged in a fierce glaring competition, eventually the members of court broke their gaze, and continued as if nothing had happened.
Satisfied with his victory, the king sat back in his high chair, and started scrawling a letter. When he was done, he pressed his waxen seal to it, the steaming crimson wax read; ‘Edward Conrin VI King of Toveron.’
Chapter one
In a small village in the east of Toveron there was an ancient study. Consisting of a few ramshackle floorboards and littered by discarded documents and parchments of little matter, it was hardly an impressive site in the village. A couple of rusted lamps cluttered an ancient table, cobwebs wisped from the lanterns, like smoke. The villagers had no idea how old it was, much less what purposes it had served in the past. It was just a rundown shack; with boards shielding its windows and a bolted door. It could have been a plague house.
It was more or less regarded as a haunted shack. It was approached singularly by thieves and those of notorious trade.
Inside the study, Quixo was rummaging through the drawers, aged parchments thrust into the air, wavering delicately before falling to the ground. Coughing as the dust rose from the cobwebbed drawers; he brushed a strand of loose hair from his face, and flung open another drawer, hoping for the spare coin that might have been left there by one of the thieves. His legs made frequent and heavy contact with the rocking chair behind him.
Come on… Maybe one…
Columns of dust rose from the drawers in smokey pillars. He urged himself to keep searching as his eyes started to turn pink from the dust.
Sneezing again he flung himself back into the chair painfully regretting it, having been impaled on several large spear-like splinters lodging them cosily into his flesh.
“Eep!” He squeaked, standing up in a rush and ruefully picking at the splinters in his hands.
Quixo had been plastered in splinters almost as long as he could remember. He’d always been a peasant boy, wielding a grim looking scythe in a harvesting field since he had been what, six years? It had always reminded him of being the grim reaper, swiping the heads off wheat.
The scythes had always given him splinters, their handles like millions of little pike-bearing soldiers, their weaponry bristling.
And now he was fourteen, and probably going to hang due to heavy debt. He needed to pay twenty shillings to the Lord of the Manor, and, frankly, twenty shillings was precisely twenty shillings more than what he owned. And then there were the fines for his petty crimes. On top of that, he’d borrowed money from a lender, and still hadn’t repaid the man.
It all started when he was caught for the first time poaching rabbits and then he incurred a fine. He’d borrowed money from a lender, and paid the fine for poaching, but after that, he was caught again, and from there, it got worse.
He plucked another splinter from the palm of his hand, and continued his search for spare coins.
Lifting another dust-speckled document, he caught sight of a dull glint of silver. Rushing to snatch the silver piece from the draw, he examined it, painstakingly trying to pick out its value from beneath centuries of rust and grime.
Failing miserably, he scraped the powdery dust from the coin with his dirt-stained shirt.
His spirits fell yet again, when he saw that the head figure was not in fact the current king. Or, in fact, any past king of Toveron.
“Honestly…” He growled, looking at the helmeted figure on the cracked face of the coin. Beneath it was inscribed something in wavy and random ancient writing how old was the sodding study anyway?
He pocketed it, deciding he could probably sell it to some rich eccentric who collected ancient things for a hobby.
He rustled through the same drawer, his hands buried deep beneath the numerous texts. Quixo’s hands caught hold of a smooth metallic rod, beneath one of the documents. He pulled it from behind the sheet steadily, until the final leaf of paper yielded.
It rested in his palm, a long narrow key; the handle an elaborate swirl of thinly weaved metal, like a blossoming flower. Each petal dimly reflected the coppery light. The teeth of the key were ornately twisted, just as intricately as the handle. Down the beam, there were markings. Slits and gashes, like the key was an old battle worn sword, each greave was like a smouldering blue, glowing like a cloud swathed moon.
“Ok… Like that’s ever going to open a door.” He sniffed to himself, “I mean a lock can’t be that… complex…” He flipped it around in his hands; it felt smooth and cold, like a metal railing after fresh snow. It made him feel nervous, uneasy, and tense. What should he do? He could sell it to a rich person, for a lot of money, providing that the person didn’t turn him over to the court for witchcraft. What if someone saw him with it? They’d cause a riot, no doubt. Quixo could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He stole a look over his shoulder. Had anyone seen him? It felt like the air was closing in on him, crushing him.
He needed to get out. He shoved the Key into his pocket. Muttering as he strode to the back-door, he walked blindly into thin spider webs.
He stepped into the bitter winter air, swiping sticky threads from his face irately. He assumed a brisk pace, hunching his back against the wind, and thrust his hands into his pockets. He felt the smooth beam of the key. The key. Key.
He snapped out of his reverie, closing his eyes and trying to focus on the now. It was impossible, he needed to get rid of the damn thing as soon as possible; who on earth could he sell such an unlawful thing to?
He could probably sell it to a thief; they didn’t mind the law much.
The thoughts churned in his head, as he rambled down the snow spattered streets, tripping over a few ill-placed paving stones.
He caught sight of a man of lavish attire who was glaring at him, squinted eyes. Feeling uneasy, he picked up his pace and broke into a light jog, had the man recognized him?
“Oi, you!” came the cry, Quixo stopped, and turned around to meet his fate, as the man closed in on him, fists clenched, “You owe me fifteen ruddy shillings, an’ I ain’t game to wait no longer, see?” He growled. Quixo was fiercely debating with himself, over whether to break into a sprint to avoid a beating, or to stand still and hope for the best. “Look David, I can, I honestly can repay you later, just give me some time…” Quixo felt his voice withering; he’d said those exact same words over and over and over. He clenched his fists around the key in his pocket.
“Yeah, well you’re two months overdue… Whachoo got that pocket? Bet ‘smoney, you filfy miser. Come on, pass it up!”
Quixo instantly shrunk.
“No David, I tell you, I don’t have money to save, it’s not money…Eep!”
The next thing he saw was a blurred figure lunging forwards. A sharp pain on his cheek, as David landed a punch on his jaw, the man begun wrestling with him, yanking his hands out of his pockets. Quixo was too busy nursing his jaw and yelping to do anything about it.
David’s face turned to that of a shark’s, as fished around in Quixo’s pocket. “Ha! Scream like a girl, dats how you scream.”
“Heh, interesting…” Quixo squeaked in a both surprisingly and disturbingly high-pitched voice.
Quixo got ready to run, if the David saw the key, he was ruined.
“Well feels like we do have money in here… Let’s count it…”
Quixo watched in mortification as the man produced the ancient coin and the key.
David’s face showed similar horror.
He could feel the blood in his hands throbbing, his knuckles turned ghostly pale.
The key was clenched in his hands; David’s face a mix of terror and cruel glee.
The key clattered to the ground, Quixo stooped to pick it up, muttering apologies softly to David, none of his words were coherent to the English language. He put the key back into his pocket, feeling his heart drum wildly in his chest.
“I could have you burnt for this.” He snickered, more to himself than anyone else.
“I-I understand that, David, in highest regards…” Quixo tried to keep his sanity, and swallowed hard at the lump swelling in his throat, “But let’s just try keeping this down, yes?”
“Hand me the money.” David’s tone was serious, “Give me the money, all fifteen shillings, an’ I won’ report you, see?”
“David, I only have nothing, I don’t have any money on me, I’ll get it, I promise, just not right now, I’m working off taxes first…” Quixo’s voice dawdled, “Please?”
“Then, Quixo, I siggist you start running away right now. Might postpone your death.”
Quixo felt the streets turn dead quiet, “Please?” He whimpered, but he already knew what was coming. He shuffled back a little, his heels jolted against a fence, narrowly missing a rusty nail.
“Eep!” He yelped, his foot throbbing. “What do you mean?”
“I can probably rack up more money with a reward for reporting you for a magician than fifteen shillin’s worth of savin’s. Git, run.”
“Give me a night!” He blurted, his high-pitched tone ascending, “I can have it after tonight, I promise!”
David’s eyes narrowed, “well, I sippose, as long as you pay me an extra five, with the lot.” David grated the words; each sound he made was like a long steel hook being sharpened against a stone. Quixo was too relieved to notice. “Very well, I swear I’ll meet you later!” Sighing, he staggered down the rest of the streets, moving the key into one of his other, slightly more discreet pockets.
There was no way in heaven that he could rack up that much riches in one day. But there was always some way to get money. If not the whole lot, he could probably earn enough to quench David’s raging thirst.
He tripped over the threshold of his cabin, and let himself tumble over on a lump of straw.
The room wasn’t a desirable spectacle. A small dirt-smeared and cracked mirror inhabited a clustered corner.
He clenched his eyes shut; he had to think.
His jaw was still throbbing, and his legs ached from yesterday’s field labour.
Clenching his eyes shut, and nursing his bruised jowl , Quixo tried to focus on means by which to rack up enough money to save his life.
And then, his thoughts drifted useless into the swirling winter wind.
The sun sunk beneath the horizon, like the face of a golden coin, tantalizingly out of his drowsy reach.
Chapter two
His eyes snapped open; but all they saw was a pitch black world in front of him. He remembered with a nauseating jolt; the reality ricocheted through his bones.
Snapping up, he swept his coat up off the ground, and donned it as he sprinted down the eerily deserted streets. He could see the faint glow at the horizon – soon the streets would be swarming with people.
He needed to borrow more money. If he went to a friend and promised with all of his heart to pay him back, he might have a chance of acquiring enough.
His breath rattled as he waited at the makeshift door, his knuckles still stinging from knocking on the splintery wood and from the biting cold. He noted, with no particular interest, that the dew-drops on the spindly patches of grass growing through the paving had turned to ice overnight.
The door swung open, squealing on its hinges. Beneath the lintel, stood an oddly tall man with a long nose, the end of which was tipped delicately with crimson. “Yes?” He grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes wearily. “Robert, you wouldn’t happen to have some… spare money?” Quixo didn’t know how he said it, but he did; the words slipping timidly out of his mouth.
The giant scratched the back of his neck, “No, sorry,” he yawned, squinting. “Well, it really depends how much you need…” He yawned again. Quixo got the suspicion that he was speaking to thin air.
“Twenty shill’-”
“Twenty Shillings?” blurted Robert, finally snapping awake, “twenty shillings? Now where do you expect I could possibly—?”
“Hush! Keep the noise levels down; I don’t want the whole town to hear about my debt. Honestly.”
Robert continued in quieter tones, “Where could you possibly, possibly expect me to get that kind of money? I’m only town crier, that’s the only thing I really do, ‘part from farming, of course…”
“Please, I honestly need it, we’re talking about my—” Quixo found himself being cut off again,
“Look, I’ll let you in on it. I’ve got a big story to report this mornin’, big news. I’ll give you half of what I get, right? Settled?”
“Honestly Robert, you don’t earn half as much as what I need…” pleaded Quixo.
“Settled? I’ve got a good feeling about today.” Robert’s voice was gruff and irritatingly assertive.
“Yes, yes, alright. Thanks a lot.” He had to agree that he had gotten a good deal. Fifty percent of income? It was a good bargain…
“Here, come with me. I’ll hand it to you on the spot.” Robert grasped Quixo by his collar, and he was more or less dragged to the town-centre.
“Robert, mind if I part with you here and…sort of…hide? There’s someone I don’t want to see…” Quixo stammered, trying to see if David was in the crowd.
“Yeah, there are a lot of people who you don’t wanna see. Don’t be long now…” He nodded, and turned to address the town, his voice booming.
Quixo kept his head low as he proceeded, through the few people gathered. First, Robert yelled what he usually yelled: boring stuff. Things like the fact that a famine was coming up, so we all better start practicing our groans.
Then, as his voice faded, Quixo heard something that made him spin around, his ears trained hard on the faint voice.
“The Five Members have been sighted in a town not five miles away. They are headed our way, and their exact whereabouts still remain elusive. But we have discovered another one of their names, ‘Smick Stepe.’”
Quixo felt himself drawn towards the crowd again, just to listen the rest of the story.
He caught David’s contemptuous eyes, as he shuffled through the crowd, and immediately started briskly walking away from the crowd again, hoping that David would take time to register the fact that he had just seen his adversary.
He was still sidling away, when he felt David’s warm grip over the back of his neck.
“Have it?” He growled, Quixo could smell tobacco brewing within David’s mouth.
“Five minutes. That’s all I need.” Said Quixo, trying to be as quiet as possible amongst the crowd.
David spat a wad of sticky tobacco onto the ground, his jaw-line firm. “I’ve already given you a day. What more do you need?”
“Five minutes.” Quixo could feel David’s grip on the back of his neck tightening.
“I’m not jokin’ around, boy. This is the deadline right now.”
Quixo frantically searched his pockets, only able to produce a small strand of sallow string and the ancient coin. Grinning sheepishly, he offered them to David. They were turned down more or less instantly.
“I mean real money, the currency of this realm, not a dead one, Quixo.”
“Don’t have any.”
“Then you’re pretty much done for then, ain’tcha?”
Quixo started trying to prise David’s ever-gripping fingers from the back of his clammy neck. “Five minutes, and I can get you five shillings. Roughly.”
David’s fingers loosened over Quixo’s neck, sweat beading on his forehead. David grunted grimly as Quixo started backing away from him slowly.
Quixo kept walking until he was sure he was out of sight. He stopped, and stood on the icy streets, glaring at his delicate smoky breath. He could still feel the key’s icy beam in his pocket, and he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to escape David’s wrath.
After five seconds delicate contemplation, he was short of time; he broke into a run, his feet thudding dully on the cobblestone road, as he disappeared into the mist.
He found himself running into a silvery forest near the village’s outskirt. Icicles hung from the skeletal tree, like ghostly leaves.
All that Quixo could hear was his own distraught breath, and his feet crunching in the snow beneath him. Peering behind him, he could see his footprints winding aimlessly behind.
Pulling up his jacket, walked on. David would be reporting him for witchcraft now. It had been well over a five minute run to get here.
They would be searching for him now.
He picked up his pace, he might be able to make it to the nearest village by nightfall, and he could avoid a sleepless night in the woods.
He heard something that made his breath leap from his chest;
Distance muffled voices, barely audible shuffled through the woods, and Quixo caught sight of a far off glowing fire. Curiosity overpowering him, he sidled closer, he was really close, he could see them dropping pieces of parchment into the flickering fire. He could see them really clearly now, there were four of them. Two women and two men, sitting around the fire. And then his heart jumped into his throat. He knew who they were;
“The Five Members have been sighted in a town not five miles away. They are headed our way, and their exact whereabouts still remain elusive. But we have discovered another one of their names, ‘Smick Stepe.’” He could remember Robert saying it, just like that, and he felt himself stumbling backwards, and ducking behind a bush.
A rain-spattered parchment flapped wildly in the fierce wind, nailed to a bony road-side tree. An analytical eye swept over it;
‘THE FIVE MEMBERS’
-notorious gang of thieves headed our way.
-report to authorities if sighted
Beneath the writing was an etching of four stalwart figures; three men with long wiry noses, and heavy stubbles, and two girls who looked synonymous to wild haired witches. Above each person were crudely scrawled names.
“Well I’m offended,” Muttered the viewer, plucking the notice from its original perch, and striding to a nearby camp fire and shoving the parchment in to the eager flames.
“I found another one, Vix.” He muttered, kicking a few twigs into the fire.
“They’re everywhere. Did they draw us the way they usually do Smick?” said one of the four people warming their hands around the fire.
“As per usual. You’d think if they’d want to catch us, they’d draw us right. God.” Grumbled the figure, as he watched smoke coil from the shrivelling parchment like wispy words curling in the air.
The king sat on an over-elaborately decorated seat. He took a sip of tea, wistfully dreamed of hunting. These matters of state were really despicably boring. Managing to gag down the viscous substance that was supposedly ‘the chef’s finest.’ The bad taste probably had something to do with his decision to raise the taxes. He’d see about that.
He sighed and rearranged the sheets of paper in front of him.
Deep in his thoughts, he could only just hear the droning voices of the men of state,
announcing the next skull-numbing thing to talk about. “And now we shall move onto matters of the notorious gang of thieves; The Five Members, who were last sighted at…” the voice faded again, as the king yawned, checking his watch-chain; He still had two hours left.
How do I survive? He asked himself, as he tried to focus on the moaning voices of the court, as he languidly stretched and yawned, unaware of the appalled eyes watching him.
“He could do with a days work…” whispered one of the members to another, receiving ten grim nods in response.
“Your Majesty, if you wouldn’t mind paying attention. Now. We have located the precise location of the gang of thieves, and we are attempting to close in on them with a band of horse-men. They are headed to the eastern regions.”
The king yawned, and dismissed the man briefly with a wave of his hand, “Don’t have them arrested, Bartholomew. I have my plans.” His announcement was met by ten unwavering stares.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You may not have it. Sorry. I said what I said.” He knew that if he said it again, they would start weeding his plan out of him. Dumb council.
His steely eyes matched the members of the court, and they engaged in a fierce glaring competition, eventually the members of court broke their gaze, and continued as if nothing had happened.
Satisfied with his victory, the king sat back in his high chair, and started scrawling a letter. When he was done, he pressed his waxen seal to it, the steaming crimson wax read; ‘Edward Conrin VI King of Toveron.’
Chapter one
In a small village in the east of Toveron there was an ancient study. Consisting of a few ramshackle floorboards and littered by discarded documents and parchments of little matter, it was hardly an impressive site in the village. A couple of rusted lamps cluttered an ancient table, cobwebs wisped from the lanterns, like smoke. The villagers had no idea how old it was, much less what purposes it had served in the past. It was just a rundown shack; with boards shielding its windows and a bolted door. It could have been a plague house.
It was more or less regarded as a haunted shack. It was approached singularly by thieves and those of notorious trade.
Inside the study, Quixo was rummaging through the drawers, aged parchments thrust into the air, wavering delicately before falling to the ground. Coughing as the dust rose from the cobwebbed drawers; he brushed a strand of loose hair from his face, and flung open another drawer, hoping for the spare coin that might have been left there by one of the thieves. His legs made frequent and heavy contact with the rocking chair behind him.
Come on… Maybe one…
Columns of dust rose from the drawers in smokey pillars. He urged himself to keep searching as his eyes started to turn pink from the dust.
Sneezing again he flung himself back into the chair painfully regretting it, having been impaled on several large spear-like splinters lodging them cosily into his flesh.
“Eep!” He squeaked, standing up in a rush and ruefully picking at the splinters in his hands.
Quixo had been plastered in splinters almost as long as he could remember. He’d always been a peasant boy, wielding a grim looking scythe in a harvesting field since he had been what, six years? It had always reminded him of being the grim reaper, swiping the heads off wheat.
The scythes had always given him splinters, their handles like millions of little pike-bearing soldiers, their weaponry bristling.
And now he was fourteen, and probably going to hang due to heavy debt. He needed to pay twenty shillings to the Lord of the Manor, and, frankly, twenty shillings was precisely twenty shillings more than what he owned. And then there were the fines for his petty crimes. On top of that, he’d borrowed money from a lender, and still hadn’t repaid the man.
It all started when he was caught for the first time poaching rabbits and then he incurred a fine. He’d borrowed money from a lender, and paid the fine for poaching, but after that, he was caught again, and from there, it got worse.
He plucked another splinter from the palm of his hand, and continued his search for spare coins.
Lifting another dust-speckled document, he caught sight of a dull glint of silver. Rushing to snatch the silver piece from the draw, he examined it, painstakingly trying to pick out its value from beneath centuries of rust and grime.
Failing miserably, he scraped the powdery dust from the coin with his dirt-stained shirt.
His spirits fell yet again, when he saw that the head figure was not in fact the current king. Or, in fact, any past king of Toveron.
“Honestly…” He growled, looking at the helmeted figure on the cracked face of the coin. Beneath it was inscribed something in wavy and random ancient writing how old was the sodding study anyway?
He pocketed it, deciding he could probably sell it to some rich eccentric who collected ancient things for a hobby.
He rustled through the same drawer, his hands buried deep beneath the numerous texts. Quixo’s hands caught hold of a smooth metallic rod, beneath one of the documents. He pulled it from behind the sheet steadily, until the final leaf of paper yielded.
It rested in his palm, a long narrow key; the handle an elaborate swirl of thinly weaved metal, like a blossoming flower. Each petal dimly reflected the coppery light. The teeth of the key were ornately twisted, just as intricately as the handle. Down the beam, there were markings. Slits and gashes, like the key was an old battle worn sword, each greave was like a smouldering blue, glowing like a cloud swathed moon.
“Ok… Like that’s ever going to open a door.” He sniffed to himself, “I mean a lock can’t be that… complex…” He flipped it around in his hands; it felt smooth and cold, like a metal railing after fresh snow. It made him feel nervous, uneasy, and tense. What should he do? He could sell it to a rich person, for a lot of money, providing that the person didn’t turn him over to the court for witchcraft. What if someone saw him with it? They’d cause a riot, no doubt. Quixo could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He stole a look over his shoulder. Had anyone seen him? It felt like the air was closing in on him, crushing him.
He needed to get out. He shoved the Key into his pocket. Muttering as he strode to the back-door, he walked blindly into thin spider webs.
He stepped into the bitter winter air, swiping sticky threads from his face irately. He assumed a brisk pace, hunching his back against the wind, and thrust his hands into his pockets. He felt the smooth beam of the key. The key. Key.
He snapped out of his reverie, closing his eyes and trying to focus on the now. It was impossible, he needed to get rid of the damn thing as soon as possible; who on earth could he sell such an unlawful thing to?
He could probably sell it to a thief; they didn’t mind the law much.
The thoughts churned in his head, as he rambled down the snow spattered streets, tripping over a few ill-placed paving stones.
He caught sight of a man of lavish attire who was glaring at him, squinted eyes. Feeling uneasy, he picked up his pace and broke into a light jog, had the man recognized him?
“Oi, you!” came the cry, Quixo stopped, and turned around to meet his fate, as the man closed in on him, fists clenched, “You owe me fifteen ruddy shillings, an’ I ain’t game to wait no longer, see?” He growled. Quixo was fiercely debating with himself, over whether to break into a sprint to avoid a beating, or to stand still and hope for the best. “Look David, I can, I honestly can repay you later, just give me some time…” Quixo felt his voice withering; he’d said those exact same words over and over and over. He clenched his fists around the key in his pocket.
“Yeah, well you’re two months overdue… Whachoo got that pocket? Bet ‘smoney, you filfy miser. Come on, pass it up!”
Quixo instantly shrunk.
“No David, I tell you, I don’t have money to save, it’s not money…Eep!”
The next thing he saw was a blurred figure lunging forwards. A sharp pain on his cheek, as David landed a punch on his jaw, the man begun wrestling with him, yanking his hands out of his pockets. Quixo was too busy nursing his jaw and yelping to do anything about it.
David’s face turned to that of a shark’s, as fished around in Quixo’s pocket. “Ha! Scream like a girl, dats how you scream.”
“Heh, interesting…” Quixo squeaked in a both surprisingly and disturbingly high-pitched voice.
Quixo got ready to run, if the David saw the key, he was ruined.
“Well feels like we do have money in here… Let’s count it…”
Quixo watched in mortification as the man produced the ancient coin and the key.
David’s face showed similar horror.
He could feel the blood in his hands throbbing, his knuckles turned ghostly pale.
The key was clenched in his hands; David’s face a mix of terror and cruel glee.
The key clattered to the ground, Quixo stooped to pick it up, muttering apologies softly to David, none of his words were coherent to the English language. He put the key back into his pocket, feeling his heart drum wildly in his chest.
“I could have you burnt for this.” He snickered, more to himself than anyone else.
“I-I understand that, David, in highest regards…” Quixo tried to keep his sanity, and swallowed hard at the lump swelling in his throat, “But let’s just try keeping this down, yes?”
“Hand me the money.” David’s tone was serious, “Give me the money, all fifteen shillings, an’ I won’ report you, see?”
“David, I only have nothing, I don’t have any money on me, I’ll get it, I promise, just not right now, I’m working off taxes first…” Quixo’s voice dawdled, “Please?”
“Then, Quixo, I siggist you start running away right now. Might postpone your death.”
Quixo felt the streets turn dead quiet, “Please?” He whimpered, but he already knew what was coming. He shuffled back a little, his heels jolted against a fence, narrowly missing a rusty nail.
“Eep!” He yelped, his foot throbbing. “What do you mean?”
“I can probably rack up more money with a reward for reporting you for a magician than fifteen shillin’s worth of savin’s. Git, run.”
“Give me a night!” He blurted, his high-pitched tone ascending, “I can have it after tonight, I promise!”
David’s eyes narrowed, “well, I sippose, as long as you pay me an extra five, with the lot.” David grated the words; each sound he made was like a long steel hook being sharpened against a stone. Quixo was too relieved to notice. “Very well, I swear I’ll meet you later!” Sighing, he staggered down the rest of the streets, moving the key into one of his other, slightly more discreet pockets.
There was no way in heaven that he could rack up that much riches in one day. But there was always some way to get money. If not the whole lot, he could probably earn enough to quench David’s raging thirst.
He tripped over the threshold of his cabin, and let himself tumble over on a lump of straw.
The room wasn’t a desirable spectacle. A small dirt-smeared and cracked mirror inhabited a clustered corner.
He clenched his eyes shut; he had to think.
His jaw was still throbbing, and his legs ached from yesterday’s field labour.
Clenching his eyes shut, and nursing his bruised jowl , Quixo tried to focus on means by which to rack up enough money to save his life.
And then, his thoughts drifted useless into the swirling winter wind.
The sun sunk beneath the horizon, like the face of a golden coin, tantalizingly out of his drowsy reach.
Chapter two
His eyes snapped open; but all they saw was a pitch black world in front of him. He remembered with a nauseating jolt; the reality ricocheted through his bones.
Snapping up, he swept his coat up off the ground, and donned it as he sprinted down the eerily deserted streets. He could see the faint glow at the horizon – soon the streets would be swarming with people.
He needed to borrow more money. If he went to a friend and promised with all of his heart to pay him back, he might have a chance of acquiring enough.
His breath rattled as he waited at the makeshift door, his knuckles still stinging from knocking on the splintery wood and from the biting cold. He noted, with no particular interest, that the dew-drops on the spindly patches of grass growing through the paving had turned to ice overnight.
The door swung open, squealing on its hinges. Beneath the lintel, stood an oddly tall man with a long nose, the end of which was tipped delicately with crimson. “Yes?” He grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes wearily. “Robert, you wouldn’t happen to have some… spare money?” Quixo didn’t know how he said it, but he did; the words slipping timidly out of his mouth.
The giant scratched the back of his neck, “No, sorry,” he yawned, squinting. “Well, it really depends how much you need…” He yawned again. Quixo got the suspicion that he was speaking to thin air.
“Twenty shill’-”
“Twenty Shillings?” blurted Robert, finally snapping awake, “twenty shillings? Now where do you expect I could possibly—?”
“Hush! Keep the noise levels down; I don’t want the whole town to hear about my debt. Honestly.”
Robert continued in quieter tones, “Where could you possibly, possibly expect me to get that kind of money? I’m only town crier, that’s the only thing I really do, ‘part from farming, of course…”
“Please, I honestly need it, we’re talking about my—” Quixo found himself being cut off again,
“Look, I’ll let you in on it. I’ve got a big story to report this mornin’, big news. I’ll give you half of what I get, right? Settled?”
“Honestly Robert, you don’t earn half as much as what I need…” pleaded Quixo.
“Settled? I’ve got a good feeling about today.” Robert’s voice was gruff and irritatingly assertive.
“Yes, yes, alright. Thanks a lot.” He had to agree that he had gotten a good deal. Fifty percent of income? It was a good bargain…
“Here, come with me. I’ll hand it to you on the spot.” Robert grasped Quixo by his collar, and he was more or less dragged to the town-centre.
“Robert, mind if I part with you here and…sort of…hide? There’s someone I don’t want to see…” Quixo stammered, trying to see if David was in the crowd.
“Yeah, there are a lot of people who you don’t wanna see. Don’t be long now…” He nodded, and turned to address the town, his voice booming.
Quixo kept his head low as he proceeded, through the few people gathered. First, Robert yelled what he usually yelled: boring stuff. Things like the fact that a famine was coming up, so we all better start practicing our groans.
Then, as his voice faded, Quixo heard something that made him spin around, his ears trained hard on the faint voice.
“The Five Members have been sighted in a town not five miles away. They are headed our way, and their exact whereabouts still remain elusive. But we have discovered another one of their names, ‘Smick Stepe.’”
Quixo felt himself drawn towards the crowd again, just to listen the rest of the story.
He caught David’s contemptuous eyes, as he shuffled through the crowd, and immediately started briskly walking away from the crowd again, hoping that David would take time to register the fact that he had just seen his adversary.
He was still sidling away, when he felt David’s warm grip over the back of his neck.
“Have it?” He growled, Quixo could smell tobacco brewing within David’s mouth.
“Five minutes. That’s all I need.” Said Quixo, trying to be as quiet as possible amongst the crowd.
David spat a wad of sticky tobacco onto the ground, his jaw-line firm. “I’ve already given you a day. What more do you need?”
“Five minutes.” Quixo could feel David’s grip on the back of his neck tightening.
“I’m not jokin’ around, boy. This is the deadline right now.”
Quixo frantically searched his pockets, only able to produce a small strand of sallow string and the ancient coin. Grinning sheepishly, he offered them to David. They were turned down more or less instantly.
“I mean real money, the currency of this realm, not a dead one, Quixo.”
“Don’t have any.”
“Then you’re pretty much done for then, ain’tcha?”
Quixo started trying to prise David’s ever-gripping fingers from the back of his clammy neck. “Five minutes, and I can get you five shillings. Roughly.”
David’s fingers loosened over Quixo’s neck, sweat beading on his forehead. David grunted grimly as Quixo started backing away from him slowly.
Quixo kept walking until he was sure he was out of sight. He stopped, and stood on the icy streets, glaring at his delicate smoky breath. He could still feel the key’s icy beam in his pocket, and he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to escape David’s wrath.
After five seconds delicate contemplation, he was short of time; he broke into a run, his feet thudding dully on the cobblestone road, as he disappeared into the mist.
He found himself running into a silvery forest near the village’s outskirt. Icicles hung from the skeletal tree, like ghostly leaves.
All that Quixo could hear was his own distraught breath, and his feet crunching in the snow beneath him. Peering behind him, he could see his footprints winding aimlessly behind.
Pulling up his jacket, walked on. David would be reporting him for witchcraft now. It had been well over a five minute run to get here.
They would be searching for him now.
He picked up his pace, he might be able to make it to the nearest village by nightfall, and he could avoid a sleepless night in the woods.
He heard something that made his breath leap from his chest;
Distance muffled voices, barely audible shuffled through the woods, and Quixo caught sight of a far off glowing fire. Curiosity overpowering him, he sidled closer, he was really close, he could see them dropping pieces of parchment into the flickering fire. He could see them really clearly now, there were four of them. Two women and two men, sitting around the fire. And then his heart jumped into his throat. He knew who they were;
“The Five Members have been sighted in a town not five miles away. They are headed our way, and their exact whereabouts still remain elusive. But we have discovered another one of their names, ‘Smick Stepe.’” He could remember Robert saying it, just like that, and he felt himself stumbling backwards, and ducking behind a bush.
A rain-spattered parchment flapped wildly in the fierce wind, nailed to a bony road-side tree. An analytical eye swept over it;
‘THE FIVE MEMBERS’
-notorious gang of thieves headed our way.
-report to authorities if sighted
Beneath the writing was an etching of four stalwart figures; three men with long wiry noses, and heavy stubbles, and two girls who looked synonymous to wild haired witches. Above each person were crudely scrawled names.
“Well I’m offended,” Muttered the viewer, plucking the notice from its original perch, and striding to a nearby camp fire and shoving the parchment in to the eager flames.
“I found another one, Vix.” He muttered, kicking a few twigs into the fire.
“They’re everywhere. Did they draw us the way they usually do Smick?” said one of the four people warming their hands around the fire.
“As per usual. You’d think if they’d want to catch us, they’d draw us right. God.” Grumbled the figure, as he watched smoke coil from the shrivelling parchment like wispy words curling in the air.
Also, since you used the word tea two sentences ago, it seems very repetitive.