Part 5 _____________________ <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CNate%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CNate%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CNate%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><style>  </style> “Blast it, wake up, man!” Lois started slightly as he woke up, and he raised an eyebrow in question to the speaker. “Are you done yet?” he mumbled. “Done?!?” the raccoon healer yelled indignantly. “With you sitting like that, if I even started you’d probably pull the stitching before I finished closing the wound!” The healer was absolutely outraged, and it showed in the sporadic twitching of his whiskers. Lois sighed and settled into a better position so that the doctor could tend to his wound. He was now sitting in the infirmary, waiting for Coe to finish his work. They had simply bandaged his wound for transport since it wasn’t life threatening, and Lois had been able to walk under his own power all the way there. He hadn’t been asleep because the walk had exhausted him; rather, he had fallen asleep while trying to shut out the doctor’s livid ramblings about how many times he had to tell stupid warriors not to spar with sharp blades. Lois had heard similar lectures before, and he wasn’t about the listen to another one. Unfortunately, his skills at shutting out those ramblings were just a bit too well-tuned, and so he had managed to fall asleep despite the doctor talking loudly behind him. The raccoon had apparently realized that his patient wasn’t interested in his ramblings, as he now worked with only the occasional word to himself. Lois could feel the needle being worked through his skin dully; the area had been numbed carefully by the doctor, so it left only a feeling of pressure as the needle worked in and out. Sometimes he felt more pressure than others. “Good grief, man!” Coe grunted. “Your skin is like leather!” Lois snorted humorlessly. “When you’ve faced the lash as many times as I have, you’re lucky if you live long enough to hear someone say that,” he commented. Lashings were not entirely at fault for the calluses, of course, but enough of the wounds had been caused by them that the doctor continued on without showing any suspicion. “There’s a lifetime’s worth of scarring back here, and you still have a good bit of life in front of you if appearances mean anything,” Coe commented. “As a doctor, my personal suggestion would be for you to avoid anyone with a whip in the future.” The humor of the statement wasn’t lost on Lois, but he didn’t laugh at it. He simply sat quietly while the doctor struggled to sew the wound without bending his needle. “There,” Coe announced after working for fifteen minutes. “I’ve closed the wound now. I would appreciate it if you would do your utmost not to tear out the stitching, though. No sparring for at least another week. Also, running at full speed would have the potential to tear the stitching as well. Mostly, just take it easy for about the next week.” “In a week, I’ll be Cursed,” Lois noted. “Hmm, you’re right,” the healer pondered. “Are you planning on staying through the Curse, or were you thinking of leaving before it takes you?” “I’ll be taking the Curse,” Lois responded. Those were words he really hadn’t pondered until now, but he considered them for a moment now. In a week, he could be like the man that stood before him, equal parts man and beast. He might also be given the form of a child, or even perhaps be changed into a woman. Whatever the fate that met him, one thing was for sure. He would never be the same again. “Come back in four days,” the healer said finally. “I’ll check on the wound then. With luck, it will be healed to the point where it can hold together without aid.” “I’m interested to know what would happen if I was Cursed with the stitches still in,” Lois said. Coe just shrugged. “The Curse has the noted effect of healing most wounds,” he said. “Likely, the wound beneath the stitches would be completely healed. If patterns held, it would likely lack even a scar to show its prior presence. As for the stitches themselves, I do not believe I have had to deal with that question before. I imagine several possibilities, though. Likely, if you changed size much one way or the other, the stitching would come undone on its own. If not, it might either be sealed under a new layer of skin, at which point it would be best just to leave it alone, or the Curse might somehow get rid of the stitching for you. Regardless, I don’t suppose they will be a health hazard at all.” “Comforting,” Lois said tersely. Then he looked up at the raccoon and smiled. “Thank you for your help, doctor. I will try to keep from having to make these visits too often, but it is hard to make any promises when you fight for a living.” Coe muttered something under his breath. Lois couldn’t be completely cure, but he thought it started with the phrase, “If I had a garret for every patient who told me that…” Alex had taken it upon himself to wait until his opponent had been tended to by the healer in the main lobby of the infirmary. He stood as Lois emerged, still pulling his coat around his shoulders. “Well, how do you feel?” Alex asked. “Remarkable,” Lois responded with a slight bite of sarcasm. “Your blade didn’t strike anything I needed too terribly much, thankfully.” The lynx chuckled quietly, but quickly turned more serious. “I’m sorry about the accident, by the way. You’re right; it takes more skill to know how to miss in that situation than it does to strike.” Lois waved Alex off. “I don’t need sympathy, just rest,” he commented. “Besides, I had set you up for a fall by getting in so close to you. I could not have done much better in quarters that tight.” Alex snorted as he followed Lois from the healer’s. He caught a brief glimpse of the ripped and stained shirt where his blade had struck and shook his head. “Regardless of whether you could have done better than I did in those tight quarters, I should have been more careful simply because we were so close.” “False,” Lois responded tersely, looking back at the lynx with a grim smile. “A sparring match is a simulation of battle. If you are careful in close quarters during a sparring match, you may hesitate on the battlefield, and that is the fastest way to end up in the mortuary.” Alex nodded, but said nothing more until Lois stopped at a junction of hallways. “Well,” Lois said, “I could use a rest, but I have not really eaten anything yet today, so I think that should take precedence. Care to join me?” Alex laughed humorlessly. “If I was in your shoes, I’d think I would want to avoid the man who had just nearly killed me,” he commented. “Nonsense, you’re a remarkably interesting opponent, and your skills do you credit. I will not hold one slip of the blade against you if you won’t hold the results of our first match against me.” Alex smiled. “Very well, then. Do you have any ideas of where you want to eat? As a patrolman I can use the Keep’s kitchens for the price of my services to Metamor, but I sense no taint of the Curse on you, so I don’t believe you have similar privileges.” “Mage?” Lois queried without answering Alex’s question. “Hardly,” Alex laughed. “Being able to use the Sight is a handy skill to have when battling Nasoj, though. Anyway, what will it be?” Alex could see that Lois was slightly off ease, so he tried to look as unthreatening as possible. He figured it was unlikely that him image intimidated the other man, but he wasn’t going to take a chance of having him walk off rather than keep his company. “I believe the Mule’s kitchens will serve me just fine for the time being,” Lois commented. “I could use something good to drink as well, and I haven’t had the time to stock up on anything yet.” Alex nodded. “The Mule it is, then. I believe I’ll be paying for this meal, on account of your injury.” Lois gave him a half-serious glare. “I thought we had agreed that we were both going to forget our respective moments of humiliation. That precludes any favors one way or the other. You pay for your meal, and I shall pay for mine.” The arrangement sufficiently pleased both of them, and they were soon enjoying a bowl of stew and a drink over a quiet conversation. Lois asked Alex about his role in the Keep’s patrols, and Alex asked a little bit about Lois’ background. The latter gave some vague ideas of where he had come from, but made it quite obvious that he didn’t want very much prying into the subject. Alex, however, was far more inclined to give information about his own life, and so they spent most of their time talking over the various adventures that the lynx had gone through over his years of service. As soon as the meal was over, Lois dismissed himself so he could go rest his injury. In reality, although he wouldn’t admit it, he was also physically exhausted by the morning. It disturbed him; before he had left his assassin’s trade for the life of a glorified security guard, he had been able to keep chases going with the local authorities for days without ever being found. He had been a master of sneaking winks of sleep in between chases, true, but it was never because he was absolutely exhausted. He had done it to avoid exhaustion during extended escapes, but never had he actually reached that point. It almost scared him to think what it could mean. He had so far managed to avoid the pains of getting older as time went by. Even now, while approaching forty years of age, the only pains he felt generally came from pulling muscles or breaking bones. He had apparently not been able to keep as fit as he would have liked, though. At least, he hoped that was the reason… * * * * November 28, 707 CR After his run-in with Alex’s blade, Lois decided to take it slow for a few days while his wound healed. He had planned to wait until he could go back to see the Healer about his injury. This plan pretty well held out, aside from a few calm visits to the Mule for a meal. Occasionally someone decided to take it upon themselves to try to make conversation with him, but he turned them away. At the moment, he wasn’t entirely sure of his skills with Keepers. He was used to being able to read facial expressions to tell what the other person was thinking, but nothing that the animal-morphed Keepers did even looked like anything he was used to. In the afternoon of his third day of rest, however, Lois’ rest was interrupted by a knock on the door of his room. He opened the door to see a young man standing outside, eyes bright and body bursting with visible energy. He looked like some sort of dog, and Lois had enough experience in the field to recognize the pattern and appearance of a coyote. The boy was remarkably well controlled, even though his constant energy showed, and he flicked a scroll case out from within his cloak with a flourish, not even minding the scarred face and icy stare of the man in front of him. “You’ve been sent a summons, sir!” the coyote said, looking up with a dutiful smile as he held out the scroll case. When the lad didn’t immediately take off when he was handed the scroll case, Lois returned his smile. “I can read, lad,” he said as he opened the case and let the scroll slide down into his hand. He was careful not the bend the parchment as he slid it out, and he noted the seal on the scroll with an upward twitch of his eyebrow. It was the Stallion seal of the Duke of Metamor. “Indeed, sir,” the coyote said, bouncing on his tip toes. “However, I am under orders to stay here until you respond to the summons, and carry the response back to the Duke.” “Written?” Lois asked. He was carefully prying the wax of the seal off of one side of the paper. A few rifts appeared on the back side of the wax, but the front stayed mostly intact when the seal came loose from the paper and allowed Lois to read its contents. “Not necessary, I can take whatever response you have by memory.” The coyote’s delivery was fast, yet at the same time entirely intelligible. No wonder he had been assigned to post of messenger, Lois mused. The note itself looked like it had been copied down from a standard message for the same purpose, with only his name written at a different size and in different lettering than the rest of the message. Its statement was still clear enough, though. The Duke wished to see him at the earliest opportunity. The suggested time was later that evening, after regular audience hours if Lois wasn’t mistaken. Regardless, he couldn’t think of anything that would prevent him from going to the audience at that time, so he nodded and looked back down at the coyote. “Tell the Duke that I will be able to meet him in audience at the requested time,” Lois announced. He rolled the scroll up offhandedly and held it out towards the coyote. “Will you need this back?” The coyote shook his head. “Hardly, sir, I only need to case it came in for my later messages.” Lois nodded and handed the decorative case back to the boy, who nodded and took it. “Thank you very much,” he said, and took off at a run across the balcony that led down to the main room of the inn. Lois returned to his room, thinking quietly. He finished peeling the seal from the scroll carefully and quickly inspected the imprinted surface for any significant cracks. A few insignificant fishers went through the symbol, but the imprint marks were undisturbed. They would do fine if he ever needed the symbol later. He walked over to the chest that he kept in one corner of his room. Instead of opening the top, however, he flipped it over. He made a careful count and then pressed the third rivets on each side of the bottom of the box. Rather than stay put as they should, however, the rivets slipped into the box with a click. Lois released the buttons and reached carefully for what seemed to be part of a decorative carved pattern in the bottom of the chest. Hardly visible was a raised section with a small hole hollowed out of the center. Lois carefully placed fingers on either side of the hole and pushed the raised section in. At the same time, two things happened. The bottom of the chest suddenly popped open and bounced for a little bit, half opened already by the quantity of stuff contained in the secret compartment. The second thing that happened was that a small blade, about the width of a pin, came out through the hole in the center of the button. If anyone pressed the button without knowing that the blade was there, he would have been given a significant dose of a paralytic that would have left them unable to leave for several hours. In that time, the likelihood was that Lois would come back and find the would-be intruder incapacitated. As it was Lois’ chest, however, he had long since learned to avoid that little trap while opening his chest’s secret compartment. Inside the small compartment that had just opened was a heap of black material. Lois carefully took it out and set it aside. He had not used that set of clothing in years, and it would be a good bit longer until he did again if he had anything to say about it. He wasn’t after his clothing, however. Instead, he reached in and pulled out a small wooden case. It had no markings on the outside, and was no larger than Lois’ hand from pinky to thumb. It was also short and stood only about two inches off of its resting place. Lois slid his hand across the top until his hand found the knick that was placed there just so he could grip it. He held onto it and pulled back, sliding the lid out of the grooves that secured it to the rest of the container. Inside was a circular patch of red wax, with a symbol pressed into it. The assassin stepped towards the table that sat beside his chest, pulling the old wax seal out and poking a hole in it with a finger as he went. He draped it over a candle that sat on the desk, allowing the wick to poke through. “I won’t need this anymore,” he mumbled, and lit the wick of the candle. He watched it until he could see that the symbol had melted off of the seal and returned to his chest. He placed the Stallion seal into the wooden box carefully and slid the lid back into the grooves, covering the seal so that it would not suffer any damage while it was being stored. He had paid a good bit to have the box charmed so that it wouldn’t let heat in, so he didn’t have to worry about whether or not the seal would melt while in storage. Lois carefully placed the box upside-down in the secret compartment and replaced the clothing he had set to the side a moment before. He then pressed the bottom of the chest back down until he heard it click, and the button popped back up to cover the blade, while both false rivets resumed their positions in the middle of their real counterparts, nothing showing what they really were. After flipping the chest back into its proper position, Lois dusted off his hands and checked on the progress of the melting seal. It had melted to his satisfaction; it was hardly even distinguishable between the half-solid rivulets of wax that coated the candle’s surface. With this done, Lois decided he would go have something to eat. He had a few hours before he had to attend his audience with the Duke, and he wanted to make sure that he did so with a full stomach. !DSPAM:4c5a3982273661804284693!