"Em?" He called, his voice a very lonely sound in the noonday air, smothered until all was silent again. 

He had waited for more than twenty minutes just under the wall, where the guards were on duty. They had discussed it, that every two hours there was a small window of sentries that were switched out, which allowed them to sneak past it to grab their dingy on the riek. But as it were, she missed the window of opportunity. Even now, Neil heard the chatter of the new guardsmen as they approached, their Nuln-forged pikes visible before the men themselves were. 

"Emmaline!?" He called one last time to no avail. The charming thief ducked back behind an almoner's shop just before the sentries passed, and he crossed his arms in the shadows of the building. Should he be worried? She did tend to dawdle when her attention was rapt by something interesting, but she was also methodical. He didn't suspect she would make a new boyfriend worry for some flippant reason, would she? He couldn't tell. Something felt wrong, but he wasn't sure. After a moment to think, he decided to backtrack. Maybe she simply forgot and went looking. 

Neil made his way out of the alley and up the wide metropolitan street. A horse drawn carriage cantered by him toward the docks, pulling a black coach. To his left, a group of fops in feather hats walked by like a pack of storks, likely heading for Kaufman district to get a head start on the nightlife beside the Griffon Gate. A man from Ind sat beside a chandler's shop, holding out a cup to place coins in. Strangely enough, across the street from the foreigner was a broken barrel, the contents of which truly reeked when exposed to the noonday sun. 

Neil approached the fellow, seeing a kindred spirit in him. He knelt down in front of the dark-skinned man, placing five gold krowns in the cup and smiling. He knew a plant when he saw one. Like as not he worked for one of the local organizations. "I need some help, if you're willing." He asked, subtly moving his hand right in front of his chest so as to keep it hidden from all eyes save the beggar's. 

The man from Ind smiled. 
[hr] 

Hours had gone by, but the sun still dominated the sky. Small wisps of clouds hovered on the horizon, not daring to block the rays of sunshine until the fiery orb had grown weary of the day. Unfortunately, that was little help to Emmaline, tied and gagged in the old cellar beneath the abandoned grainery, with only the barest hints of daylight pierced through the wicker door above her. Other than a few open palmed slaps to her face when she didn't seem to cooperate, they had done little to her save call her a few unsavory names she had heard a thousand times before for just being an attractive woman. 

Neil was privvy to none of this yet, still fearing the worst. Which was why he concocted a plan. The entrepreneurial young engineer had gone back to the Gunnery School, procuring a small barrel from Master Gunter's apologetic secretary. He didn't have time for an elaborate costume, but he made sure his hair was combed and he wore a jacket over his shirt to hide the plainness of his garb, before he found himself right before the abandoned grainery he had scoped out not a two hours ago. Rundown though it was, anyone with any sort of wiles could tell people occupied this area. Whoever it was, there looked to be about four men in all from his last surveillance. 

He knocked on the door and waited patiently. 

The door opened. A bulbous nosed man with greasy hair and a tall face glared at him, a knife not-so-well hidden behind his leg, clutched in a hand. "What do you want, eh?" 

"Hello, sir. I-I work for the Almoner's office near the Riek, and we had a report that one of your barrels busted. I was told to deliver this cask of pickled herring to you." 

"Wh-" The fellow started, suspicion warring with bewilderment. He looked behind Neil to see he was alone, then back inside to his mate, whom he whispered to. 'Blighter' and 'Pickled Herring' were mentioned, before Neil was rudely told to go away. But not before they took the barrel right out of his grasp, slamming the door in front of him. From his small window of vision, he didn't see Emmaline. Good, it meant there would be no collateral damage that he cared about. He decided to sing a small song his mother used to sing him as a child, aptly dubbed 'Sigmar's Sacrifice' that lasted thirty seconds exactly. 

He got a bit over halfway before the phosphorus was exposed to air and ignited. 

He had worked with such chemicals before. It wasn't explosive per-say, but it was unpleasant to be within ten feet of a small dash of phosphorous, much less an entire cask full! A grin spread across his boyish face, unholstering his two pistols and none-too-gently shoving his foot into the door of the grainery. Unfortunately, his foot merely just [i]went through[/i] the wood, leaving his leg stuck. He simply bounced forward and followed the door, swinging open with him attached. He needn't have worried, seeing as two of the men were burned significantly, one across the face and the other on his side. 

The abandoned tower was small, with only two floors and no walls blocking the second floor floor from being visible from below; with a few barrels, all smelling of pickled herring. No doubt it was to be a budding business, like as not soon to be a bit less than lawful, considering the location they had chosen for it. Well, it was already unlawful, since this wasn't their property, but the city's. He didn't judge them for that. Just for taking his woman. A wicker door opened from the ground, a mean and frizzled-haired fellow gaping at his burned compatriots before swinging his eyes towards the lad who's foot was caught in the door. Neil gave him a blank look, and then pointed his gun and shot the man between the eyes. Immediately he went limp, falling back down into the cellar. 

"You bastard! You're here for that big titted bitch aren't you!" One of the men accused. Not the one who had answered the door. He would never see or probably speak again. This was the other fellow. He wasn't writhing on the ground anymore, going for his firearm and trying to cock it.  

"Every man needs a big titted bitch in his life." Neil philosophized, trying to shove his foot out the door. "This one's mine." 

The speaker, a talabeclander by his hair, found his nerve (and gun powder) and fired at Neil just as the young man yanked himself out of his predicament, hitting the ground and firing back. It was a blink and you miss it moment, considering the man blinked and saw nothing but Neil, ass on the ground. His gun barrel smoking. Soon he felt cold, and a pressure in his chest. And then warmth as a wetness covered his form. Neil watched him hit the ground noiselessly. 

"Ulric's genitals!" A voice cried from below. A hoarse one. Neil began to reload his guns as he heard the last man cry out. "My brother will not hang! You willing to die for this bimbo?" A blunderbuss went off below, like as not to show Neil he had one. Neil wasn't going to judge, but that was kind of stupid. 

"I've dated bimbos. She's smarter than that. Smarter than me at least, which means she is much smarter than you. Now let her go. Sigmar have mercy on you because I won't!" Neil warned. 

"If...If I let her go, will you have mercy or not?" he called, quizzically. Neil stopped. 

"Uh...pr-probably I will have mercy, yeah. I can see how that was confusing." 

"No deal anyway, herr asshole!"