The clerk, now considerably more solicitous, escorted Emmaline to the door. A pair of guards followed at a respectful distance, probably more interested in observing Emmaline’s departure than providing any actual security for the ink spotted young man. As they stepped out into the street the clerk looked around, clearly expecting to see a coach or some servants.

 

“Did you come here alone Fraulein Van Gelders, it isn’t safe for a lady to wander…” he began. A large coach with a four horse team rattled down the cobblestone street, coming to rest in front of the group. Footman in livery stepped down and opened the door, folding down a cunningly made ladder. Emmaline realized with a sinking feeling that the coat of arms emblazoned on the side of the coach was very similar to the one on the case the clerk was still carrying.

 

“Ah, splendid,” the clerk said, clearly assuming the coach had come to pick up ‘Margarite’. A youngish man with a pointed patrician nose and expensively tailored velvet suit stepped down.

 

“Good morning Sier Van Gelders, I was just concluding our business with your sister,” the clerk simpered. The cold gaze of the aristocrat swiveled to Emmaline. Of all the cursed luck. Emmaline stepped forward and hugged Van Gelders, who stiffened in shock.

 

“Hello Brother mine,” she said brightly, then snatched the case from the clerks hands at the same instant she drove her knee into Van Gelders’ crotch. The nobleman let out a shriek of agony and doubled over. Emmaline snatched the case from the clerk and brought it round in a wide arc, connecting solidly with the point of the noble's chin. He snapped back upright, cracked his head against the coach and pitched forward into the gutter. Emmaline leaped into the open coach door and flung the purse she had pulled from Van Gelder’s double into the face of the nearest guard. He reeled back in a shower of gold and silver as coins rained down on the pavement with a musical rattle. Bright light sparked behind the horses and as one they screamed and bolted. The carriage lurched down the street, bouncing high into the air as the horses, panicked by Emmaline’s magic sting, ran pell mell down the street, shattering the ladder in spray of splinters. The coachman was hauling on his reins trying desperately to halt the now out of control horses, screaming at the few townsfolk on the street to get out of the way. They struck a sausage vendor's cart with a glancing blow, flinging bratwurst and hot oil in all directions. The proprietor, a mustached man with a stained leather apron, chased after the coach, waving a fist in the air and howling obscenities.  Emmaline bounced around the inside of the coach like a pea in a whistle, desperately clinging to her case. A glance behind her showed one guard helping Van Gelders to his feet while the other, accompanied by a Golden Kettle thug, were sprinting down the street after the runaway coach.

 

Emmaline gripped the plush seat and spoke another word. The metal fittings attaching the team to the coach exploded in showers of rust and the horses broke in all directions away from the now out of control carriage. They bumped up over a small rise and began to race down the other side towards the fish market. The district spread out before them, a long curve of the Reik built up with piers that were crammed with fishmongers, pie vendors, and cheap eateries where dock workers could get fried fish and ale from stalls of brightly colored canvas. The road ended fifty feet short of the river bank, protected by bollards of stacked river stone and ancient rope so rotten it wouldn’t have stopped an ambitious child. The driver, not paid enough to die at his post, leaped clear, hitting the paving stones and rolling to a stop against the side of a chandlers shop. The coach was jouncing violently on the uneven paving stones, racing downhill into the pall of smoke from dozens of shallow pots where fish and sliced potatoes were being fried. Shouts of alarm were already sounding in the street below.

 

“Ranald’s bloody balls,” Emmaline gasped as the coach picked up speed. She stood up, bracing herself with both feet and one arm, and ripped the plush cushions from the seats. Before she could stop herself she stepped across to the far door. Gathering the cushions around her body she timed her opening, took a deep breath, kicked the door open, and leaped, sailing out of the coach and into an alley mouth as it flashed past. The forward momentum of the coach smashed her into the side of the fullers shop, driving the air from her chest even with the cushions to break her fall. She fell on her back in the alley, the stolen case still clutched to her chest. The screams from below grew in volume and then there was a tremendous crash of splintering wood and tearing fabric from down the road.

 

A vagrant was sitting against the side of the alley, a mangy dog at his heels, his face was frozen in a mask of shock, a stick of grilled meat halfway to his lips, as the blonde woman picked herself up and brushed dirt from her dress. She cast aside the plush cushions and checked to make sure nothing was broken.

 

“Are you ok miss,” he asked, clearly at a loss for what else to say when a pretty blond in a fine dress flew into his alley.

 

“Yes of course, why do you ask?” Emmaline replied, risking a peak out of the mouth of the alley. The coach had plowed directly into the fish market, a bollard having smashed its front axle on the way across. The rear wheels were elevated and spinning, its front end half submerged in silvery fish that had been released from shattered barrels. Amazed looking citizens stood around, doing alot of pointing and gawping. Emmaline looked back up the road to see the two guards who had been in pursuit cresting the rise. She ducked back before they could spot her and pressed herself flat to the alley wall as they raced past, brandishing cudgels and shouting down into the fish market.

 

“No reason,” the vagrant replied. Emmaline plucked the second purse she had swiped from Van Gelders from a pouch, hefted it once, then tossed it to the man.

 

“Ranald’s blessing on you friend,” she told him and hurried down the alley, intent on putting some distance between her and the bedlam she had just created. Whatever was in this case had better be worth it.