[h3]Gullian - Edge of the Slums, Early Evening

[color=7ea7d8]Lucien Beaumont-Dubois[/color] [/h3]

[b][color=7ea7d8]"Well... that could have gone better..."[/color][/b] 

Lucien reflected bitterly on his earlier meeting with 'Lord' Vargas the fucking guttersnipe of a kingpin. Lucien was sure he could pull more in one good day than that man made in a year off the measly little commissions he collected from all the ragamuffin pickpockets and petty thieves he associated with. He was a nobody, but a useful nobody when Lucien had been setting stage for his whirlwind seduction of the nobility of Gullian. Now he was turned away, cap in hand, at the doors of men such as Vargas. 

He kicked in impotent rage at a puddle of sewage and detritus as he made his away through an alley that was practically a tunnel by virtue of the sagging overhangs of the buildings on either side. A few months ago Lucien wouldn't have been seen dead in this section of Gullian, now it served as his home neighbourhood. No one here during his time in Gullian had possessed enough money to warrant his attentions, therefore, few here would know who he was. 

The question that raced through Lucien's head first and foremost however, was how Vargas had seemed to know that he had sunk so low. Most people thought that he had fled the city with all of those misbegotten gains and was living in luxury somewhere else. In fact, Lucien was fairly sure he had started several of those rumours at about the time things went south in order to cover his tracks. He had been careful to keep a very low profile these last few months. So how had Vargas seen through him? He had given him that contemptuous little smile when Lucien had told him that he still had quite the tidy sum behind him and simply asked if that was the case why wasn't he on a beach in The Rigomar Islands in that case. The man had known the money was gone, and Lucien had been in his power from then on.

An old woman, grey-haired, shuffling and bent back was pulling a cart laden with rags along in the opposite direction. As they met they both eyed each other contemptuously, she clearly thinking Lucien another petty-bourgeois come to the slums to indulge some sick perversion, he loathe to step aside to the sort of peasant he would run down with his carriage previously. They stood there for a few moments in the half light of the alley and amongst the leavings of the great anthill of Gullian. Lucien shifted to the left to squeeze past the cart at the same moment the old woman did. Irritated, he turned to his right to attempt the same again, but the rag-woman also turned right and they were at an impasse once again. His temper got the better of him.

[color=7ea7d8][b]"I say, hag, move aside for your betters or I might talk to my friend the high commissioner of the courts and see to it that you're horse whipped!"[/b][/color] The harsh bark of his own voice surprised him, he didn't normally get like this, where was it coming from? 

The old rag-woman looked back at him with a fierce look in her eyes. It surprised him, where had he seen that look before?

[b]"Just cos' ye come down 'ere with yer fancy clothes and yer shiny sword, doesn't make ye better than us!"[/b]

Lucien leaned back a moment as the old woman shouted him down in stunned silence, before he threw back his head and laughed.

[color=7ea7d8][b]"You're more right than you know, grandmother. My apologies."[/b][/color] Then he bowed to her and stepped aside for the cart to roll on through. The old woman looked at him wearily as she passed on by, expecting some kind of cruel trick no doubt. But there was none. As she turned the corner Lucien looked at the empty alley behind him, before turning himself to scurry off back towards his lodgings. Just another ant in the great anthill.

Somehow the whole incident had improved his mood. The Vargas had held him in the palm of his hand had made him angry, but he supposed the whole thing hadn't been a complete waste of time. Vargas had refused to lend him money, he also had turned down all the schemes that Lucien had spit balled to him in that cramped booth in the Faded Lantern. However, Vargas had said he had Lucien in mind something and that he would be in touch again if Lucien was interested. It galled him to work 'for' Vargas, but honestly he needed the money, if it got any worse he'd start turning tricks for wealthy widows.

Lucky began to whistle as he made his way up to the front door of the miserable tenement house he was sub letting a tiny attic room in. Everything would be alright, he would trust his luck and hang on for a little longer. Vargas would come through, he might be able to run a few small cons, as soon as he had a little capital behind him he would find somewhere to move on to. A little capital could grow big if he invested it right or won big at card table. New name, new city, new life. The pickings would undoubtedly be poorer than Gullian, but he was souring to the place as much as its notables had soured to him. A little money and a change of scenery would put the worlds to right.

These idle thoughts of the future kept Lucien from really paying attention to his surroundings as he bounded up the worn and cricked brick steps to the peeling painted door of his block. If he really had been paying attention Lucien might have noticed three shadowy figures watching the building from down the narrow street. All of them were dressed in leathers and had cudgels at their sides. He might have recognised them as hired bailiffs. Unfortunately Lucky did not see these men until they standing behind him as he fumbled for the key to the building.

[b]"Lucien Beaumont-Dubois."[/b] 

A shudder of fear run through Lucky at the sounding of his full name. It seemed that one of his creditors had caught up with him. He turned and looked the three men in the eyes. All three were big stocky men, roughly shaved and mean looking. The one at the front who had spoken was balding and had a curved scar running from his temple around the side of his head. They weren't asking, they knew who he was, question was how did they know where to find him and how was he going to get out of this one?   

[b][color=7ea7d8]"Ah Gentlemen, I didn't see you there! Fumbling away with this damned lock wasn't I? Sometimes I think they are more trouble than they're worth. What can I help you with"[/color][/b] He swung the key chain around in his hand nonchalantly. Be relaxed, be confident. He would play it nice an cool, there could still be away to weasel out of this.

[b]"I am afraid Mr. Dubois that you owe our employ-[/b]

[b][color=8493ca]"It's Beaumont-Dubious actually, and technically Esquire as well, but please continue.[/color][/b] He smiled politely, as if to ask for forgiveness for the intrusion. Put them off their guard.

[b]"Beaumont-Dubious, then, regardless you owe our employer the Baron Ulrich Von Dragomir the sum of-[/b]

[color=7ea7d8][b]"Ah Ulrich! I haven't heard from him in months! How is the old man, still as much as a lecherous rogue as I recall? Has he received my letters?"[/b][/color] He laughed heartily, and then looked around as if slightly confused as to why no one else was laughing with him. Imply some kind of higher more personal relationship with their employer, invoke a familiarity that makes them uncomfortable. [color=8493ca][b]"Sorry, I cut you off there old chap, what was it you were saying?"[/b][/color]

[b]"You owe the Baron the sum of three thousand gold pieces which you took out as a loan in order to finance preliminary surveying work for the construction of a new canal linking Taratino and Bordia." [/b] Only three thousand? Lucien was sure he had borrowed more than that from the Baron... [b]"Failure to pay will result in the confiscation of your remaining assets and your interment into a debtors gaol until such a time that your debt is repaid."[/b]

Lucien looked around between the stony faced bailiffs as if this was some kind of joke, something not be believed or taken seriously. It was of course very serious, these men wouldn't hesitate to raid this building, ransack everything he had and toss him behind bars. All-Seer knows, that was what they expected to do today. So put them on the wrong foot. Act like you have the money, act like its a trifle to you.

[b][color=8493ca]"As I said, hasn't the Baron been receiving my letters? The survey was a success, the canal is feasible, I've been meeting with investors all this week. In fact I've just come from the docks, talking with a notable merchantman who's interested in committing many thousands to the project. The first few instalments of the Baron's money is with the Gullian Stock Exchange in an account under his name. Has no one retrieved the money yet?"[/color][/b] He raised an eyebrow and gave them all a disapproving look, as if this was somehow their fault. 

[b][color=7ea7d8]"No matter of course, I have the rest of the Baron's money here in promissory notes that can be exchanged at any reputable bank in the city."[/color][/b] He opened the leather pouch at his belt and drew out one of the small rolled up scrolls of paper within. [color=7ea7d8][b]"I only have a few hundreds on me right now, but if you accompany me up my little love nest above."[/b][/color] He winked at that. [color=7ea7d8][b]"I think I have a few larger denominations in the safe. Then we go to bank together and sort this all out like gentlemen. Please, do come up with me."[/b][/color]

Lucien opened the door to the tenement and beckoned them inside. The men seemed slightly put off by this, being invited in my the man they were sent to apprehend. It was working. Of course the note he had showed them was worthless, it was a forgery, worth nothing as soon as banking clerk got the chance to look at it properly. But these goons didn't know that, he just had to string them along until he had an opening, then he would run.

They followed him up the tight and winding stairs to the hot and stuffy attic that his rooms shared with several others. A few of the other residents peered out of their doors as the strange party tramped up through the building, stamping dust and dirt from their hobnailed boots. As they went up Lucien began to chatter aimlessly to keep the casualness of the situation bobbing along.

[color=7ea7d8][b]"So how the devil did you actually find this place then? Its where I take any peasant girls that catch my fancy for a little bit of secluded romance, you know. But I suppose I've been spending a little bit too much time here lately, the most recent one is really such a pretty little thing, I can hardly stand to leave her along. But such foolish things they get into their heads, she's convinced we might yet marry! Ah here we are now, one moment please, don't want you boys disturbing my 'bride-to-be'."[/b][/color] 

Another wink elicited a chuckle from one of the men as Lucien sidled through the door and into the room beyond. Now was his chance, time to get away as far and as fast as he could. Fuck Vargas's job. Gullian was dead to him. Let Lucien Beaumont-Dubious be dead too. Time for a new life.

As soon as the door closed he slid the bolt, opened the window, and began to climb out.

It was a tight fit, with his sword still at his waist and the little dormer window not being particularly large in the first place, but he made in nonetheless. Out onto the rooftops, the adrenaline was pumping and it was telling him to fly as far away from here as possible. He clambered awkwardly across the shingles looking for a place to get down. From behind him he could here the sounds of the bailiffs breaking down his door. He leapt across a gap between two roofs onto a slightly lower building but there was still no obvious way down. 

And then he saw it.

A cesspit.

A large open cesspit full of soft stinking shit. They were out on the roof now, shouting at him. There was no time to look for anything else. This had to be it. It was either this or prison. Lucky hadn't enjoyed prison the last time. Fuck it. At least they wouldn't him this way.

He jumped.

It wasn't the smell that him first, Lucien had been hurting towards it too fast to notice. The sewage covered his boots first, then his thighs, then his waist. But as his downward momentum slowed, his forward moment ploughed his chest and then, finally, his face inextricably forward into the mass of human waste and filth that was to be his salvation from the real prospect of spending the majority of his life incarcerated. It did not feel like salvation. After that initial impact with the slurry the reek filled his nostrils and the taste overwhelmed his mouth. He felt his gorge rise at the odour, and his mouth filled his own vomit.

But there was no time, they were coming, and he had to be gone by the time they were back down the stairs or it would all be for nothing. Frantically he wiped the muck from his eyes and face and began to thrash his way to the brick parapet of the cesspit to haul himself out, coughing and spluttering all the while as he did so. As he crawled out his stomach turned again to spray another gout of bile onto the stones beside him. And then he was up and onto his feet and running.

He ran in no particular direction, just away. Hopefully, once he had some distance he could get deeper into the slums where a man covered in excrement would ultimately be less noticeable. But for now he would settle with anywhere away from here. 

[color=7ea7d8][b]"Please God, Gods, All-Seer, any God, fuck it, any devils or demons that might be listening too. Just let me get away from here, let me start again, I won't fuck it up next time. I won't I promise. It'll be different. I promise."[/b][/color]

Maybe it was the silent reverie of blasphemous and futile prayer that distracted Lucky from road in front of him. Maybe it was the fear of those who were undoubtedly chasing him. Maybe it was faeces in his eyes. Whatever it was, it proved to be his undoing. As Lucien charged down the road, an old rag-women with a cart pulled out in front of him from a side alley. 

The cart spilled its load of sackcloth and rags as Lucien tumbled head over the tails to the cobbles below. His head span, he tried to stand but he couldn't. Someone was shouting something at him... the old woman... from before... He managed to prop himself up on one arm and get to his knees. He knew he needed to go but his body wasn't responding, everything felt so slow, so sluggish. 

A trickle of blood ran down forehead and into his eye, obscuring his vision.

But he could see fine with his other eye. He saw him, the man with the shaved head and curved scar on his temple stride up towards him. He was smiling, the studded cudgel was in his hand. He raised it up.

[b][color=7ea7d8]"No... no... Please... I can explai-"[/color][/b]

The cudgel came down.

Everything went black.