018 -- Isaac Holliday

"Rahm's sake, are they interviewing Reynolds again?"

Zeke slid into the squeaky leather armchair facing Isaac's desk before continuing. "I mean, he's a decent enough pilot, but I didn't know we were hiring a press officer."

"Someone's got to do it, right?" replied Isaac after a short pause, without removing his eyes from the report he was halfway through reading.

"It looks like they brought a sketch artist, too. Are they really going to put his face in paper?"

"Mmm. Probably. What's that new column?"

" 'Faces of Our Heroes' or something like that. What bullshit. Total propagandist bullshit. You'd think we were at war, with the rate they've been putting pretty-boy faces on posters lately." Zeke leaned forward to see through the office window. "Although you should take a look at the artist. She's cute. Maybe I can convince her to come draw me for the paper instead. How's this for a profile?" Zeke turned sideways, straightening up and splashing an outrageous smile on his face.

"That's lovely, Zeke." replied Isaac without looking up. "How will she ever resist you?"

"Spoil sport. You're not even trying."

"I'm not trying to seduce a young artist?"

"What, you don't think she's cute?"

"What I think is that the more time they spend talking to Lieutenant Reynolds, the less of my time gets wasted. And HE actually enjoys the attention -- sounds like a win-win situation."

"Ha. Since when did you become such a grumpy old man?"

Isaac looked up from the report he had been working on to direct a mock glare at his executive officer. "I'm the grumpy old man? Aren't you two weeks older than me?"

"Bah, two weeks is nothing compared to a certain . . . youthfulness of heart. Isn't that right, Corporal?"

A blank-faced young soldier had just entered Isaac's office carrying a large stack of brown envelopes. Unlike the two older officers, he was actually wearing his uniform jacket and was pressed and polished with impeccable precision from head to toe. "I wouldn't know anything about that, sir." he replied, looking carefully at the floor. "Your dispatches, Major Holliday."

"Thank you, Corporal Attley. Dismissed."

The young corporal turned and left quickly, orders safely deposited on Isaac's desk. Zeke watched him leave. "Break another one, eh, Holliday?"

"Actually, no, as a matter of fact." Isaac spoke slowly as he sorted through the day's dispatches. "I haven't done a thing to him. He's been that way ever since he was transferred. His old CO said that the -- "

"Slate? Wasn't Slate his CO?"

"Yeah . . . he asked to be transferred here after receiving a field commendation. Passed up command school to come do clerical work. He hasn't said a word to me in three months. Ah, here's the intelligence brief, let's see who's stirring up trouble this month." Isaac tore open a fat envelope that was marked SECRET in blue ink.

"More trouble in Thyrene . . . some unrest in the occupied territories . . . strife in the Escobar confederation . . . nothing much new here . . ."

Zeke was sorting through the rest of the mail. "Hey now, what's this?" He pulled out a white envelope, sealed with red wax. Printed on the front was CONFIDENTIAL: MAJ. ISAAC HOLLIDAY.

"Huh. I don't know." Isaac accepted the envelope from Zeke. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the envelope and tore open the waxed paper that encased the packet inside. "This is how they usually send official orders, but I don't know what they'd have for us right now . . . I haven't heard of any projects in the works . . ."

"Maybe they found something? Another piece of crap cavalry mount captured in the peninsula campaign for us to test?"

Isaac started reading, his eyes widening after the first couple sentences.

"What? What is it?"

"I'm . . . I've been transferred!"

"What? Where? Why? I don't believe it!"

"Look for yourself!" Isaac handed the thick official paper to Zeke.

". . . are instructed to proceed to the island of St. Marcos -- that's occupied, right? What's in St. Marcos?"

"Keep reading." Isaac stood and walked over to a small cambric hot plate to pour himself another cup of coffee.

". . . rendezvous with someone named Dr. Lukas and his team . . . Reynolds, Smith, and Albans are going with you . . . there's a company of infantry, too -- their CO is Captain Grassland, looks like you'll be running the show . . . Holliday, I don't get it. Who is this Dr. Lukas? And why does he suddenly need a company of infantry and four cavalry jockeys to protect him?"

"Doctor Lukas is a scientist, Zeke -- a very well-known, well-respected scientist. We could be chasing nearly anything. She's an archeologist, a physicist, an expert in cambric metal --"

"Dr. Lukas is a she?"

Isaac took another sip of coffee. "Yep."

Signs of recognition began to spread slowly across Zeke's face. "Waaaaitttt . . . Aderyn Lukas? Didn't you once . . . years ago . . . ?"

"We've worked together before." Isaac sat back down heavily behind his desk. "You were there, remember? The Shropshire assignment . . . I had just made lieutenant."

Zeke's face broke out into a grin. "Now I do. She's beautiful, isn't she?" Isaac didn't reply. "But . . . difficult to work with . . ."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it. Difficult."

"I wonder if that's how you got transferred . . . do you think she requested you?"

"I very much doubt that. But keep reading, Zeke, there's more." Isaac turned his attention back to his coffee.

Zeke continued scanning the page. "You're leaving today?!?"

Isaac nodded. "I have a train to catch in --" he glanced at the clock hanging from the wall "-- three hours. Reynolds, Smith and Albans leave tomorrow, along with our equipment and maintenance teams. You've been appointed acting CO in my place, so I guess I'm coming back eventually."

Zeke, flabbergasted, finished reading the page and handed it back to Isaac. "They're even sending someone to your place to grab your clothes."

"The squadron should be fine without me for a couple weeks, Zeke. I know you won't have any trouble keeping the 303rd in line."

"I'll go tell the other three right now. Where are you off to?"

"I have a couple things to do before I catch the train. Take care of yourself, Zeke." Isaac had donned his uniform jacket and was buttoning it down the front. "I'm going to go see Colonel Agincourt."

---

"Did you find something unclear in your orders, Major Holliday?"

It had been a short walk from the 303rd's hangar to Defense Headquarters. A quick nod to the sentry and he had passed unmolested under the stone eagles guarding the gate. Luckily Colonel Agincourt had been in, and after only a few minutes he'd been ushered into a spacious, wood-paneled office.

"No, sir, nothing was unclear."

Colonel Agincourt was a fit, active man in his mid fifties. He was clean-shaven, which was odd for a senior military officer, and was mostly bald with neatly trimmed gray hair at his temples. When working at his desk, he usually wore thin wire-frame glasses; they were folded neatly and sitting next to a small vase at the moment.

"Everything has been provided for? You will have no trouble making the train, I trust?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why are you here, Major?"

"Sir, it's just that . . . these orders are highly irregular. Normally my team and I have a pretty good idea of what is coming down through the system to us. This assignment is totally out of nowhere."

The Colonel returned his gaze steadily without replying. Isaac continued after a short pause.

"And I don't understand why my unit has been given this assignment. We're test pilots in the 303rd, and my men are some of the best, but if this is a combat situation I don't see how one squad of steam cavalry are going to make much of a difference. If this isn't a combat situation, then I'm sure that there are engineering units that have equipment and training better suited to assisting Dr. Lukas."

"Major Holliday, surely you understand the need for operational security. Your orders contain only the information that command has deemed necessary for the completion of your mission."

Isaac pursed his lips before replying. "Yes, sir, I do. But should the situation change, I am not confident that I have enough information to act appropriately. I'm working in the dark here, Colonel, at least give me something."

The colonel took another long look at Holliday before standing up from his desk. Isaac watched him absentmindedly gaze at the bookshelves lining the office; he knew from long association with Colonel Agincourt that they contained mostly translations of classics, discussions of military theory, and the odd book of poetry. Isaac himself, while able to acknowledge that someone might actually enjoy reading, found the desire to actually spend money on books puzzling.

"Dr. Aderyn Lukas. You've worked with her before?" began the Colonel finally, still facing the bookshelves.

"Yes, briefly. It was several years ago."

"How long were you assigned to her project?"

"A few months."

The Colonel nodded to himself, and then turned back to Isaac. "We believe that Dr. Lukas may be a threat to the security of this nation."

"Lukas? Impossible!"

"Why do you say that, Major?"

"She's . . . well, from working with her . . . she has no reason to--"

"Surely you're aware of her background, Major Holliday?"

"Of course . . . but her family has been here for generations, right?"

"It is the actions of her family that have put her under suspicion -- more than that I cannot say. I assigned you to this mission because I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on her."

"But -- the idea of Lukas as a spy is ludicrous! It's silly, there's --"

"Major Holliday," Colonel Agincourt cut in sharply. "Do you have personal feelings that will interfere with your successful completion of this mission?"

"No, of course not. No, sir."

"Good." He paused again. "Holliday, I need you to keep close to the doctor. Above all else, keep her safe. Remember that."

"Yes, sir."

"You have a train to catch, Major. Dismissed."

---

"All aboard!"

Isaac caught the footplate of the carriage right as the train began to move. It had been a near thing -- only with a cross-platform sprint had he managed to make the train. Isaac presented his ticket to the exasperated conductor and was pointed back several cars to the coach seating.

He had just squeezed his way past a mother shepherding two small children down the narrow aisle when Isaac heard a familiar voice. It was coming from a nearby compartment with it's door slightly ajar; Isaac stopped to listen. The woman's voice, low yet crystal-clear, was speaking in quick, carefully measured tones.

". . . while in reality, the scientific basis for racial superiority has very little basis in fact. Almost all of the experiments you just cited are significantly flawed in terms of objectivity. They were all conducted by Cimbrian scientists, and in most cases the attributes measured were acquired, not inherent. Thus, even if the experiments had been scientifically valid, the only point they would have proven would have been the superiority of the Cimbrian educational system in producing pupils knowledgeable in the various fields valued by Cimbrian culture as a whole, which is of course a foregone conclusion."

"Why, you . . . are you calling the whole of the Cimbrian scientific community biased?!?"

"All scientific inquiry undertaken by humans has the potential for bias. Perfect rationality is the only defense we have, and humans are not perfect. The Cimbrian scientific community is especially vulnerable to bias, due to the widespread involvement of governmental and military agencies funding this community. When it is in the state's best interest to acquire a certain result, there will always be scientists willing to produce that result for a reasonable price."

A short, angry bearded man stormed out of the compartment. "I will not sit here and be lectured to by some silly housewife -- out of my way!" he added as he pushed past Isaac. Isaac graciously stepped aside before entering the compartment himself.

Sitting alone was a tall woman with long brown hair. She certainly could be called beautiful, but she could also easily be called harsh or severe with her narrow lips and sharp, thin eyebrows. Large blue eyes blazed against her fair skin, and a scientist's notepad lay open on the seat next to her.

"Ironically, even his last assumption is incorrect, a fact that he could have easily have verified if he had taken the time to check my hands for a wedding band. They were both plainly visible through more than half the conversation. What are you doing here, Major Holliday?"

"It's good to see you too, Dr. Lukas. How did you know about my promotion?"

Lukas gave him a puzzled stare. "You're wearing your uniform. Military uniforms exist to inform others of the wearer's status . . . your insignia is clearly that of a Major. There is the remote possibility that you are wearing the incorrect insignia, but given the severity of the penalties--"

"No, you're right. It's Major Holliday now."

"Oh. My congratulations. You haven't answered my question yet." Lukas leaned over to reach her handbag and began rummaging around inside of it for something.

"I received a transfer order just this morning from headquarters . . . they're sending me to Moorehead to catch a ship. I've been assigned to a certain scientist's project on St. Marcos."

"Assigned to --" Lukas looked up from her handbag, right arm still inside of it up to the elbow. "You're my military liaison?!?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" Isaac sat, sinking into the deeply upholstered cushions.

"No, no . . . no problem, I'm just surprised." Lukas' arm emerged, holding a worn and chipped wooden pipe, along with a small leather bag and a pack of matches.

"I'll take it that means you didn't request me personally."

"I saw no reason to. Should I have? Your file doesn't list any special expertise in the area I'm headed to." Dr. Lukas was packing the pipe quickly and delicately with tobacco from the bag.

"No, I was just curious."

"Is the rest of your squad with you? How many pilots have been assigned?"

"They leave tomorrow -- three more pilots and our support staff. Zeke's staying with the 303rd as acting CO, while I've been sent ahead to work with the ship's captain. Transporting steam cavalry can be tricky business."

"We'll need to secure my equipment first; it is extremely delicate and is vital to the success of my project. I will need to make sure it is in the most protected portion of the ship."

"Of course, doctor." He leaned back into the thick upholstery. "So, how have you been, Lukas?"

The tall woman paused with the pipe in her teeth and a match ready to strike against the matchbook. "Why are you engaging me in small talk, Major Holliday?"

"I worked with you for six months, Lukas. You're my friend, I want to know how you've been. This is what friends do, remember?"

Lukas extinguished her match and took a few experimental puffs before replying to Isaac. "You always found it boring when I talked about my work."

"Consider it professional development, then. Establishing a personal relationship is one of the keys to a frictionless work environment."

Lukas smiled. "Your grasp of psychology is . . . suspect at best. And I remember several instances where you actually told me to shut up."

Isaac adopted a comically wounded expression. "What? Me? No, I couldn't have--"

"Does 'Lukas, a bar is really not the place to discuss thermal transfer coefficients!' ring a bell? Or perhaps 'Lukas, I don't care what the acceleration curves look like!' Or--"

"Alright, alright, let's not talk about work. Have you done any traveling lately?"

"Well, I spent a few years doing field work for the academy -- after awarding my PhD, the anthropology department hired for an expedition. We studied several developing cultures on the East side of the Greyspikes. Two years wasn't enough time to finish the project, so I spent my sabbatical continuing my studies of the Daki, a hunter-gather tribe that lives--"

"One thing's for sure -- you still work too hard, Lukas."

Lukas frowned, caught in mid sentence. "That's an opinion, Holliday, not an observation."

"Lukas, look . . . you spend two years in the jungle, working, and you finally get some time off. How do you spend it? Doing more work!"

"I fail to see your point."

"Most people try to relax when they get some time off. Have you ever tried that? Relaxing?"

"I found the study of living beings quite refreshing after a decade of work in geology and archaeology. Anthropology was a welcome change."

"When I think about relaxing, I think about spending a few weeks on the beach, with a little cabin all to myself. Take a quick dip in the morning, sit out in the sun during the day, maybe head down to the bar in the evening . . . most people would find that more relaxing than spending three years in a grass hut eating roots and berries."

"I am not 'most people,' Isaac. I thought you knew that." Lukas blew a perfect blue smoke ring as if to accentuate her point.

"Mmm." Isaac looked out the window for a moment as the train began to gather speed. "So how did you get hired by the military? I thought you just said that one of the biggest threats to impartiality in science was government funding."

"It is. But . . . I made an exception in this case. Their proposal was particularly compelling."

"Why?"

Lukas hesitated. "Subject matter. We're studying cambric."

"And you couldn't resist?"

"It is a complicated project. We could learn an enormous amount, and I'm the only one qualified to lead it . . . if anyone else tried, they would most likely fail."

"But you won't?"

Lukas looked up, surprised at the question. "Of course not. I'm the best."

Isaac laughed again. "You know, Lukas, if anyone else said that, it would sound egotistical."

"Why not me?"

"Because when you say it, it's a statement of fact." Isaac stood. "I should probably be heading to my seat, Doctor Lukas. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow." She had already resumed studying her notes, a haze of blue smoke beginning to fill the compartment. Isaac slipped out, and the door slid shut. He stood for a moment, thinking about the Colonel's warning, before continuing to his seat.

017 -- The Blue Parrot

" . . . and something from the South, too."

Hakan thought for a minute. "And a bowl of the Escobar Blue, please."

The slightly bewildered serving girl nodded before sliding away back into the semi-darkness. Hakan and Alexis had just finished ordering at the Blue Parrot, one of the most highly-respected teahouses and smoking establishments in the city. Alexis, of course, had ordered a dizzying array of tobaccos and teas in a quantity far beyond her ability to consume, a pattern that had become familiar to Hakan over the past week. He sympathized with the skinny brown-skinned girl who had taken their order . . . luckily for her Alexis would have a hard time noticing any slip ups, as Hakan had picked most of their selections.

"So how did you know what to order? There was no menu."

"Did you see the two rods outside?"

The stoic exterior of the Blue Parrot had only two decorations -- a small mosaic of a blue bird and pair of long rods that ran the length of the building. Hanging from these rods were several hundred small metal figures; people, animals, plants, stars, ships, geometric shapes, and a few letters from different languages. Each represented a type of tea or tobacco that the house had in stock that day, and the elites of Asfar were expected to know them by heart. Most servants, however, had not had the luxury of such an education, and so a circle of young women could be seen around each tea house early in the morning as the shapes went up, armed with small notebooks furiously deciphering and recording the day's offerings should their masters decide to dine out unexpectedly.

". . . My tutor used to teach me a couple figures each day. He would tell the stories that went with a particular shape . . . most of the shapes have some sort of story behind them, especially the older ones. Haskel says that if you combined them all, it would form a nearly complete history of Asfar and the five houses. I don't know if that's true, but the stories make them a lot easier to --"

But Alexis had stopped paying attention. "Who's that?" she said, breaking in on Hakan's explanation and pointing at a few large men grouped in a corner.

"Hmm?" Hakan squinted in the semi-darkness. He was glad that it was difficult to see in the tea house, as it covered up Alexis' frequent and often jarring directness. "Them? I'm not sure. They're probably smugglers."

Alexis looked up quickly. "Smugglers? How can you tell?"

Hakan laughed. "Supposedly, smugglers use tea-houses for their meetings, because they're so dark. When the guards come in, it's too dark for them to see until their eyes adjust, and that gives them a chance to get away. I don't know if that's actually true, though."

"Oh." Alexis looked disappointed. Her disappointment lasted only for a moment, though, because soon a stream of serving girls arrived carrying several ornate pipes and clay teapots.

Hakan watched, amused, as a circle of small pots and smoke materialized around Alexis. He accepted his own tea with the appropriate nod and sipped it gently. It was relaxing to sit for a moment after spending the morning trying to keep up with Alexis.

They'd met shortly after breakfast that morning, a few streets from the Tarif estate at a fountain that had served as a rendezvous all week. Alexis had promptly informed him that they were going to spend the day visiting the high market, although after a few questions Hakan quickly realized that she had no idea where it was. The high market was sandwiched between a pair of elevated thoroughfares that ran from the outer wall to the temple of Rahm. Expensive shops lined the avenues on either side, second story storefronts open to the elevated street and decorated with opulent mosaics.

Their lower levels, however, opened into the market itself, which catered to a much broader range of tastes. There was no road access, patrons either had to pick their way carefully down a narrow staircase cut into the avenue's embankment or negotiate one of many winding tunnels that emerged into the open air from other, quieter parts of the city. The open space between the roadways was filled with tents, vendors, flags in a dizzying array of colors, incense burners, small brick ovens, and even temporary pens filled with animals. From mid-morning until after nightfall the market swarmed with people of all ages, colors, and backgrounds, all milling about among the smells of sweat, roasted meat, straw, perfume, fried dough, animal dung, and a thousand other things.

It was through this labyrinth that Hakan had been following Alexis. The young woman had plunged into sampling as many things as she could get her hands on, picking, partially consuming and discarding food nearly as fast as Hakan could pay for it. He didn't mind indulging Alexis' whims, as every night for the past week a strangely taciturn and unapologetic old servant had stopped by the Tarif estate with a purse of gold, making up for Alexis' numerous purchases. Finally, though, she had declared herself tired, and declared that they would stop at the Blue Parrot.

"Why did you pick the Blue Parrot?"

"Hmm?" Alexis' eyes shown out from the haze of blue smoke encircling her head.

"The Blue Parrot? How do you know of it?"

"My father mentioned it, he said I should be sure to visit."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, but I didn't know it would be so . . . dark!"

Hakan laughed. It was quite dark inside the tea house. Other than a few bright shafts of light stabbing down from the skylights that also served as chimneys, the room was totally unlit. Every once in a while one of the serving girls, dressed in slinky, semi-transparent fabrics that had copper and silver pieces woven into them, would pass under a skylight and shine like a mirror. Even then the thick haze of tobacco smoke meant that the far corners of the room remained totally unlit.

"That's how you know it's a good tea house, if you can't see when you first come in . . ." but Hakan trailed off. Someone had just blundered in from the vestibule carrying a long object wrapped in cloth in one hand and feeling his way along the wall with the other. He saw one of the serving girls head the person off, and they had a short, frenzied conversation before she began leading him through the room. As they approached Alexis and his cushions, Hakan recognized the young man as his servant, Simge.

"Simge, what are you doing here?"

"Master, thank goodness you're alright!" Hakan's clumsy servant had clearly rushed in without giving his eyes time to adjust, and was staring into space. "I had to come right away, but I can't see. Where are you?"

Hakan got to his feet. "Over here, Simge. What's going on?"

Simge groped in the dark before finally finding Hakan's hand with obvious relief. "Someone left a message at the estate just a half hour ago, saying that you were at the Blue Parrot and were in extreme danger!"

"Danger? What kind of danger?" Alexis was on her feet now as well.

"It's because of Mistress Temrin, Master Tarif. There are men outside waiting to kidnap her. Many men, with weapons!"

"Kidnappers? Excellent!" The young woman sounded excited. "Oooh, Hakan, what will we do?"

Hakan frowned at her, about to reply, but was cut off by Simge.

"I grabbed these, Master, and came as quick as I could." He unrolled the cloth to show a sabre and a pistol. The serving girl gave an alarmed cry, and started to say something, but Hakan ignored her.

"Simge! Excellent work. Does my father know about this?"

Simge shrugged. "I sent a message to your father and his bodyguards, but they're away at a meeting and I don't know when they will get it."

"Alright." Hakan thought for a moment, shedding his outer coat and buckling the swordbelt around his waist. After making sure it was snug, he thrust the pistol into the back of the belt. The serving girl was still saying something about how weapons were prohibited indoors, but Hakan grabbed her hand. "Do you have a back door?"

She nodded.

"Take us to it."

Wordlessly she turned, leading the three of them through the maze of cushions and patrons. No one was looking at them, but Hakan smiled at the assortment of weapons that had unobtrusively appeared among the men seated around him. The girl pulled him through a cunningly hidden doorway into a brightly lit room and let go of his hand.

Squinting at the sudden change, Hakan stopped. "Simge, where are we? I can't see."

"We're in the kitchen. She's pointing down a stairwell."

"Can you lead me?"

"Yes, take my hand . . . you too, Mistress Temrin."

Simge led them carefully down the stairs. As his vision began to adjust, Hakan could see that they were in a cellar, about halfway full of wooden crates and hanging bundles of tobacco. A large freight door took up most of the opposite wall, held shut with a large iron latch.

"Alright, Simge, here's the plan. I'm going to take the minister's daughter out that door, and we'll run for it. If we make it, I'll see you at the estate. If not, wait here for an hour and then go find dad. Got it?"

Simge gulped, pale-faced, before nodding.

Hakan turned to Alexis, who was beaming with excitement. "When I count to -- what are you so happy about?"

"Kidnappers! Isn't this fun?"

He stared at her. "No, not . . . really. Do you actually understand what's going on?"

"Oh, of course! My father has lots of enemies, I'm surprised this doesn't happen more often."

"Alexis . . . they're not going to be very nice to you if they catch you. I don't know what things are like in Khardror, but here in Asfar . . . well, we invented torture."

"Oh, you're right! I should be scared, shouldn't I?" Alexis quickly adopted a scared face. "Is this better?"

Hakan shook his head. "Ok, sure. Whatever. Listen, just grab my hand. When I count to three, I'm going to open this door. Then we run. Follow me and don't let go, okay?"

Alexis giggled for a moment before readopting her scared face. "Okay."

"Alright." Hakan unlatched the door and braced his shoulder against it. "One . . . Two . . . Three!"

The door swung open easily. Hakan and Alexis ran out into the alley . . .

. . . and found themselves surrounded by a semi-circle of armed men in masks.

"Dammit! They were waiting for us!" Hakan pulled Alexis behind him and faced the men.

They were relaxed, but had their weapons drawn. One of the kidnappers chuckled as Hakan looked desperately for a way to escape. There was no way out of the alley . . . except for the way they had come . . .

"You can try running back in, but if you think that we're not watching the front door, you're a fool."

An old, scarred man with an eyepatch had stepped out from the shadows at the end of the alley. His voiced grated like a rusty shovel. "Only one bodyguard? And he's just a boy. I thought this would be harder."

"You can't take her!"

At this several of the kidnappers started laughing, including the old ringleader. "Come on now, kid. Just give us the girl. We might even let you live! How does that sound?"

Hakan pulled the pistol from his belt, and the kidnappers immediately stopped laughing. A few of their weapons came up. "Stay back! Stay back or I'll shoot!"

The old man laughed alone this time. "Not going to take me up on my offer? I guess you're right, I wasn't going to let you live. So you're going to shoot one of us. Then what? You only have one shot."

"I guess I'll shoot you then." Hakan pointed the pistol at the old man, and before anyone could react, pulled the trigger.

*Click*

The sound of the empty firing mechanism rang out in the crowded alley.

"A word of advice, kid -- it helps if you load it first. Take them, kill the boy." the ringleader added, gesturing to his men. They surged forward as one. Hakan threw down the pistol and drew his sabre with a wordless yell.

The first kidnapper came at him with a makeshift cudgel, raised high above his head in a sloppy attack. Hakan slid inside his attack easily, ramming his shoulder into the man's chest as he came forward. He rammed upwards under the chin with the hilt of his sword, snapping the man's head back with a sharp click as his teeth came together.

The man with the cudgel fell backwards, knocking two of the other kidnappers off balance. This gave Hakan time to slide to his left, catching the sword of another attacker on his own blade before it could split his ribs. He ducked a machete that came towards his head from the other direction, and as the kidnapper's uncontrolled attack took him off balance Hakan slashed at his exposed bicep with his own sword. The man yelled and dropped his weapon, holding one bleeding arm with the other.

Another attacker came at him, also with a sword, and Hakan parried this with his blade as well. Pushing forward, Hakan stepped past the man's leg and simultaneously smashed his elbow into the man's face. Overbalancing, the man tumbled to the ground, dropping his sword and clutching his nose.

A thick club crashed into Hakan's back, nearly knocking him breathless. Falling to his knees, he managed to twist and catch the next attack on his pommel. The sword bit into the wooden club, and with a wrench he disarmed the man, flinging the club into another kidnapper's shins. Seeing a sword glint from above as it swung towards him, Hakan rolled to his left and slashed blindly upwards. He caught on something, and as his assailant toppled on to him Hakan struggled to free himself. He removed himself from the man's grip just in time to parry a knife thrust from the man who had used the cudgel earlier, and another blow from the flat of his sword left the man crumpled on the ground.

The two remaining assailants paused for a second before attacking him simultaneously. He drifted to his left, ducking under one kidnapper's wild swing and letting the man's sword catch the other attacker in the throat. The unintended victim dropped his weapon, grasping at his neck wide-eyed and falling to the ground gurgling. Surprised, the first kidnapper paused for a second until Hakan kicked him in the knee, breaking the man's leg and dropping him to the ground as well. He turned back down the alley to find the old man --

-- and found himself staring into the barrel of the ringleader's pistol. "Nicely done, kid. Too bad mine's loaded."

There was no way to reach him in time. Hakan winced, expecting the blast of gunpowder . . . but instead, he heard a soft "phssssssss-THWACK" followed shortly by the sound of a body falling to the ground.

After a moment he tenatively opened one eye. The old man had dropped the pistol and fallen backwards, a black arrow sticking straight up into the air from his left eye socket like a flagpole. At the same time, another newcomer had appeared at the end of the alley. He gave a short whistle and made a circular gesture above his head, but before Hakan could say anything Alexis rushed past him.

"What? Who's -- Alexis, what's going on here?" But Alexis had been swept up in the arms of the man at the end of the alley, who was smiling and swinging her through the air like a little girl. At the same time, two more men, this time dressed in black from head to toe, appeared on the roof overlooking the alley. They swung a rope over the side and climbed down to the street with impressive speed and agility. Hakan noticed that one of them was carrying a bow slung over his shoulder.

"Hakan, come here! I want to introduce you!"

Hakan sheathed his sword and turned back to Alexis. She was holding the stranger's hand, who on closer inspection turned out to be a massive dark-skinned man. He stood more than a head taller than Hakan, and layers of muscle rippled across his bare chest. Hakan stared up at the black giant. "Wow."

"Hakan, meet Mastiff. He's been my bodyguard since I was born."

"I see." Mastiff gazed back at Hakan with an impenetrable expression. "Talkative guy, huh?"

Alexis laughed. "Of course not, silly! He's a mute, Daddy had his tongue cut out when he bought him!"

"Oh. I . . . see." Horrified, Hakan paused. "Not to be rude, but you could've shown up a minute or two earlier."

"Oh, don't worry, they were watching the whole time. And what a lovely present!"

Hakan turned sharply to Alexis. "Present?!? What do you mean, present?"

"Every year, my father gets me something for my birthday. My birthday was last week, but this year was different. I didn't get anything except a letter, and in it he said that I should be sure to visit the Blue Parrot. I didn't know what he meant, until now!"

Hakan felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. "And what did he mean, exactly?"

"He set up everything, Hakan! Daddy hired the kidnappers while in disguise to steal me away, and then sent Mastiff to rescue me! It was a brilliant present; what fun it is to be kidnapped!" And she hugged Mastiff again.

"Well, I hope I didn't get in the way of your present, Alexis." Bitterness tinged Hakan's voice, but Alexis didn't notice.

"Oh!" she cried, seemingly realizing something for the first time. "Oh, no, of course not! You were brilliant, Hakan! So brave of you to fight those nasty kidnappers for me!" Stepping away from Mastiff, she suddenly kissed him on the cheek. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine, but some of them might not be. I think I --" Hakan turned back to the bruised at battered thugs lying on the ground, but stopped in mid sentence. The two men in black had just finished quietly slicing the last kidnapper's throat, and pools of red blood were starting to soak into the street.

"Ha- Hakan?" A shaky voice came from inside the tea shop. "Are you okay? What happened out there?" Simge's head peeked around the door, wide-eyed and scared.

Hakan looked back at Alexis. She hadn't waited to hear his answer, and was being swung through the air by Mastiff again. "It's okay, Simge, you can come out."

Hakan's timid servant emerged from the basement, stepping carefully around the dead bodies. "Master Tarif, what happened here?"

"A birthday present, apparently."

"A birthday present? I don't understand."

"For Miss Temrin. From her father."

"Ooh. I still don't . . ." He trailed off. The two other bodyguards were now quickly loading the bodies into a low cart that was hidden off to one side of the alley.

"Come on, Simge, let's head home. I think she'll be safe enough with Mastiff for now."

"Yes, Master Tarif."

As the two young men left, Alexis was still in the arms of her massive bodyguard, laughing and humming snatches of a song. Ten minutes later, there was no sign of a disturbance at all.