Out of the Shadows

Book 1 of 3 in Lenore’s storyline

Chapter 1 ~ Strange Saviors

Lenore ran. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Her muscles felt like they were on fire, but burning alive was far better than the alternative. The Enforcers weren’t known for their clemency or for doling out quick punishments. Lenore had one advantage: this was her turf. Well, not hers per se, but she knew it well enough for it to be hers. She dipped into alleys, scaled fences, double backed, and even released a few harried chickens from their little wooden cages, wincing and mouthing a few silent apologies to the owners as she did so. She had no choice, though. Despite everything she did, the Enforcers remained on her trail, getting inches closer with every stride. Lenore began to panic. What if she couldn’t lose them? What if they caught her? How bad was it going to hurt? She pushed herself to go faster, but her body just couldn’t obey. Lenore was counting off suicide options in her head when her midsection flew back, trailed closely by her head, arms, and legs.

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Calm down! Calm down! What’s wrong? What’s happening? Why did he feel this way? Was it Lenore? Sitting in his office, out of nowhere, panic had suddenly gripped him tight and was shaking his insides. His heart was racing, his mind desperately searching. But for what? There was the pain as well, like a repeated kicking to his back. It wouldn’t stop. It was angry! It was pushing him to do something, to help her. His men were just outside… no. They couldn’t see him like this. They couldn’t know about her. No one could. He couldn’t allow word of this, either the panic or her, to get out. It could ruin him. It could kill her. He sat back in his chair, willing the roiling in his stomach to settle. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine something soothing, something that would calm his heart or distract his mind. Nothing worked, and he sat alone at his desk, riding out the waves of panic that swept through him and prayed that Lenore was safe.

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On the surface, it seemed a fairly quiet, content city. It was called Springhaven due to the freshwater spring in the southern part of the city, which fed a brook that gamboled merrily through the city. Its old name had been Prism, named for the different colors of stone that had been used to construct nearly everything in the Old World. Many of the buildings from that time were gone, save for the old palace, which was now the Parliament building, and a few others, but the walls and their distinct colors remained. Thus, the people still referred to each section of Springhaven by the old names.

Most people did well enough to feed their families and then some. The streets were kept in good repair, loose cobblestones being replaced within days, while education was provided for children until they came of age at sixteen. The farms around the city produced, medicine was competitively priced, and people had the freedom to learn new trades if they proved capable. There were, of course, those who had made more or less of themselves, but that was the responsibility of the individual. If one wanted to increase their station, they simply had to work for it. What the casual observer didn’t see was the fear, the discontent that simmered barely beneath the mask of idyllic provinciality.

There were penalties for disrupting the system, severe penalties. Those that threatened to “bring chaos unto the public” were made examples of. Therefore, any activities that might be deemed as chaos-bringing had to be done in the darkest of shadows, away from any eyes that might know someone who knew someone who knew someone that might feel the need to inform the local law enforcement about those activities and their engagers. To be a criminal was to take one’s life—perhaps one’s sanity before that—into their own hands. To hide, aid, abet, or turn a blind eye to a criminal, though, was almost as bad.

It created an odd dichotomy in the public. Many understood the laws and followed them to the letter, staying as far from anyone remotely shady as possible and washing their hands of any blame when the need arose to report someone. And then there were those who decried the severity of the law, citing how ruthless the criminals that somehow evaded identification and capture were forced to be. After all, if a ne’er-do-well did ever decide to turn over a new leaf, he was forced to undergo the purging, grueling, torturous trials to prove his sincerity. Funny enough, almost no one ever came forward to repent. The other side would then claim that the fact that the career criminals were so terrible just proved why the laws were necessary. Just think of how bad it would be if the laws weren’t as strict as they were. In addition to that, let no one forget that it was the criminal’s choice in the first place to involve themselves in something everyone knew perfectly well carried a heavy price. And on and on the debate went.

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It had been a normal evening for Lenore so far. Her marks strolled by unaware of her presence in the willow tree above them while she sat as silent as a cat stalking a mouse. The gardens were a good place to work. The visitors were almost all well-to-do, there were plenty of places to hide in the trees and bushes that were scattered about, and the babbling of the brook masked any noise she might make, as if the babbling of her marks didn’t do that well enough for her. They were mostly empty-headed dolts that had nothing better to do than walk through the government-maintained giant flowerpot, also known as the city gardens. Oh, to have no financial worries whatsoever. Lenore wanted to kick each and every one of them in the teeth, but she’d settled for nicking their trinkets. Then she’d head back to the attic, maybe have a bite to eat, sleep, and do the whole thing all over again.

It wasn’t Bitsy’s fault that everything had gone wrong in the end, though he had been acting like the coast was clear, which was what Lenore usually used as a guide. Bitsy was Lenore’s faithful little ringcat and partner-in-crime. She and Bitsy tag teamed on pickpocketing the patrons of the garden. The best was when they could detach the mark’s coin purse—it was stupidly fashionable to display this prominently for everyone to see just how rich you were—as coins didn’t require appraisal. She would take what she could get, though, and if that meant a bracelet or fob watch of unknown worth, well then, that was that. As soon as the mark was done staring into their paramour’s eyes or up at the stars or down into the brook, as marks were wont to do while on a romantic stroll, and had decided to move on, Lenore would move on to a new spot. She never liked staying in one place too long, lest her victims come back to search for their lost items, which was why she liked the tipsy ones best. She often watched Bitsy for his body language and used that as her cue for when it was safe. Admittedly, though, she liked to prowl from under willow trees because of the excellent cover they provided.

The timing had just been all wrong this time. Lenore had just alighted to the ground to join Bitsy and see what goody he had managed to pluck from the gentleman’s pocket. Hmm, it was a small, smooth stone, but it was too dark to make out much else. Oh well, maybe it would get her a few coppers. Suddenly, the wall of leaves parted and a new couple walked into Lenore’s hunting ground.

“What in the world…” the man exclaimed.

Then there was a period of a silence for a few seconds wherein Lenore simply stared at the couple dumbly while they stared back at her. It was the hesitation that did her in. Lenore had wasted those precious few seconds debating whether or not to try and lie when she should have just run. It would have been fruitless anyway. Lenore did not fit the bill for the garden’s usual clientele, not at all.

Issue number one, Lenore looked far too young to be out at that hour. She made herself look that way, though, because people were far less skeptical of someone that looked like they belonged in mid-level courses than of someone who had only recently come of age. Her dark hair was left down and had braids in a few places to mimic the style that most young girls were currently wearing. Issue number two, her clothes screamed criminal. She wore boy’s clothing because they were simply easier, but they were all black to help conceal her. Issue number three, she was dirty and carried what looked like a skinny, stripey tailed cat with her. Although, Bitsy shot off into the darkness in that moment, so at least he was safe.

The next sound was the astonished gasp of a woman from behind her. Lenore spun around to see that the couple from before had returned, probably alerted by the first man’s exclamation. The robbed couple was shouting for the Enforcers before Lenore was three strides away. Even worse, the garden was surrounded by gates, gates that couldn’t be scaled. Lenore knew this for a fact; she had tried before. She made a beeline for the entrance as fast as she could, and thus ensued her mad dash through the city, whizzing by fine plaster-and-dark-beamed manors, shops, and upscale eateries with harried chickens in cages beside them.

When Lenore was pulled backwards, she was surprised because she thought she’d had at least a bit more of a lead than that. It didn’t matter, though. She wasn’t going down without a fight. Maybe by some miracle she’d catch a break and get free again. Lenore drove both elbows back as hard as she could, which may have just worked if it weren’t for the fact that she and her captor were already falling backwards. She landed on something soft in complete darkness and was on her feet again in less than a second. There was that complete darkness thing, though. When she had been running a moment ago, her path had been lit by the soft glow of petrolsene lights and the moon. Where was she now? Lenore backed up until she hit a wall and remained ready to fight. She began inching her way to the side, thinking there might be a door somewhere. The sound of heavy boots running approached and then faded, followed a few moments later by a single match light. The match light became an oil lamp, and the area all around Lenore was suddenly bathed in a warm, yellow glow. She saw the man first, gingerly holding his arm across his abdomen. She was about to cry out, “You!” but a delicate hand clamped itself over her mouth with a determination that belied its delicacy.

“Shhhh!” a female voice hissed in her ear. “Do you want to get us all caught?”

Lenore did not try to speak, but shook her head earnestly. Of course she didn’t, but what did her would-be accusers have to worry about?

“I’m going to let go of you now, but you must stay silent. Understand?” the woman said firmly.

Lenore nodded this time and was released. The woman joined the man and began to poke and prod him in a way that looked more like a medical examination than anything else. The man made no move to stop her, and Lenore watched them both warily. Finally, when the woman seemed satisfied, she kissed the man on the cheek and turned her attention back to Lenore. She glanced at what Lenore could now see as a cellar door and motioned for her to follow. Lenore had no desire to do any such thing, but couldn’t think of a better idea. There were Enforcers outside looking for her, but these two could just be planning to turn her in later. That logic didn’t really make sense, though. If they had any kind of sense, they wouldn’t waste time that the Enforcers could use to accuse them of helping Lenore. Besides, there were no Enforcers inside… as far as Lenore knew, anyway. That being the case, she followed, but at a distance that kept her safe from the couple’s reaching arms in case they tried to grab her again.

The three walked up a narrow staircase and up into a large kitchen replete with a potbelly stove large enough to cook an entire lamb in. From the kitchen they walked through a butler’s closet—closet my eye, Lenore thought—and into a grand dining room. The woman motioned for Lenore to sit, which she refused to do with a defiant glare.

“Suit yourself,” said the woman with a very unladylike shrug.

She then sat while the man stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“First of all,” the man said kindly, “let me apologize. I am deeply, deeply sorry for drawing attention to you. We did not mean for you to be discovered.”

Lenore was very confused and intrigued by this, but still said nothing.

“Allow me to make the introductions,” the man continued. “I am Sir Gwenael Allen and this is my lovely wife, Philomena.”

“Mina will do just fine,” the woman interjected suddenly, giving her husband’s hand a squeeze.

He smiled and added, “You may call me Neal.”

Lenore didn’t call either of them anything. She simply remained silent, wondering whether or not she could make it out the cellar without being caught.

“We’re not going to turn you in,” Mina said after several moments.

“Why not?” were the first words Lenore said to the couple.

The two shared a smile that seemed to hold a great meaning for them and then turned back to Lenore.

“We do not… agree with the severity with which criminal punishment is exacted,” Neal explained.

“Don’t think that means we condone criminal behavior either, however,” Mina added firmly, giving Lenore a hard glare.

“Well, I appreciate you hiding me and all. Trust me, I really do,” Lenore said defensively, “but, seeing as how my criminal behavior is going to continue, I’ll just be on my way.”

Lenore turned to leave, but Mina spoke again with such force that Lenore stopped in her tracks.

“And just what is so important for you to get back to?”

Lenore narrowed her eyes at the woman there who was now standing tall and ramrod straight. She didn’t like the woman. Who was this stuck up peacock to think she had any business asking Lenore such personal questions?

“Thank you both again,” Lenore snipped. “Good night.” With that she turned on her heel and left the way she came.

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Bitsy was waiting for Lenore back at the attic when she arrived just before dawn. It wasn’t really an attic so much as dead space between the attics of her parent’s old house and the one attached next door. It grew almost unbearably hot in the summer and bone achingly cold in the winter, as simple wooden walls were all that separated Lenore from the outside. She’d discovered the space when she was little, having accidentally found the hidden latch to the small door and crawling through. She’d found a similar entrance on the neighbor’s side and jammed the handle with some scrap metal. Thankfully, no one on the other side seemed to know about the space. At least, Lenore had never heard anyone try to get in. If they did, she didn’t know what she’d do or where she would go.

Lenore had to move in her cramped little space carefully, always being as silent and stealthy as fog creeping over the earth, lest the neighbors or new occupants of her parent’s old house heard her. She only ever came and went when it was properly dark outside, sneaking out via a window in the attic and the large tree growing just outside.

As for Bitsy, Lenore never worried about her little companion; it was easy for him to disappear when necessary. He was sitting on a rafter when she came in and leapt down to greet her ecstatically. The little creature nuzzled her neck and wrapped his long bushy tail around it as he chattered happily.

“I’m glad to see you too,” Lenore sighed. “That was a close one tonight. Glad I caught a break for once…”

Lenore’s mind drifted back to the couple that had saved her from certain torture. They were certainly different, odd maybe, but they had been kind, and Lenore had not experienced real kindness in a long time. Oh well, it was done now. Lenore took just enough time to fill her stomach with some stale bread and dodgy-looking cheese before falling asleep to the sounds of a waking city.

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Ninth Year of the New Age, Second Day of the Earth

Official report submitted by Fifths Campbell and Ellis:

We were alerted and gave chase to a thief this evening. The thief was preying on citizens visiting the gardens. Cries from the latest victims—a Mister Malachite Nichols and Miss Temperance Hester—alerted us to the trouble just after a quarter past twelve as we patrolled our usual route. Mister Nichols reported a prized piece of Old World Jade as stolen. See the end of this report for a record of the eyewitnesses’ descriptions of the thief*. As we began pursuit, the perpetrator made for the Rose quarter of the city. Visual contact was difficult to maintain through the alleys she took between the manors. She disappeared completely somewhere between the Chicory Lane and Anemone Green. We recommend working with local shopkeepers and residents to put up barriers and fences to block these types of escape paths.

Eyewitness Description Report: Female, small, probably about fourteen years of age. Most likely a vagrant, judging by the clothing, which was black, made for a boy, and very shabby. Very dark eyes and long, dark hair. Light skin.

*We understand there were two other eyewitnesses, but they disappeared before we arrived, and neither Mister Nichols nor Miss Hester could name them or remember anything about them.

Into the Fire

Across the Ice

Raven’s Cry

Falcon’s Favor