(I'd like to thank the people who read this story and offered their time and talent in editing, particularly snooper and Intriguess. This story is very carefully told from the point of view of only one person. If you are wondering what the other characters are thinking or feeling then I invite you to use your imagination. If you are so inclined, please feel free to tell this story from the perspective of any of the other characters. I'd love to see your work if you do.)
The streets of Williamport were narrow, poorly maintained, and crowded, even several hours after sunset. Donovan hardly stood out from the swirl of torchlit colors in his scarlet coat and white wig, but he towered over the mainly Oriental population. He very much disliked Williamport, but it was a haven for rogues and scoundrels of all stripes and, thus, a good place to obtain information.
The girl appeared out of nowhere, thrust into his path by the market crowd, and there was nothing he could do. He ran her down, then he stopped and turned, casually elbowing a couple of people aside to clear some space so that he could reach her. He scanned the crowd around him before bending over to offer her his left hand.
"No harm done, lass?" he asked.
She shook her head silently and looked at him with fearful eyes before hesitantly accepting his hand and pulling herself to her feet. She was perhaps ten years old and thin as a rail, an obvious street waif.
"Do you know where you can get a meal with ten pennies?" he asked quietly.
She nodded warily and he dropped ten pennies into her hand.
"Then get yourself some food," he told her, "and say a prayer for the soul of Donovan Simms for so long as the money lasts."
Her hand closed in a death grip on the small coins and she darted glances about her before smiling once at him and then vanishing into the crowd. Donovan watched her go and then dismissed the incident with a sigh and set out, again, for his destination.
Away from the market the crowds thinned out considerably and the streets became darker. He was aware of someone following him and, for once, unsure how to deal with the problem. His pursuer was either very inexpert, or was making no effort to conceal himself. He looked around for a place where he might work unobserved and noticed a patch of darkness where there shouldn't be one. His hand, hooked into his belt, came out holding a death blossom even as the shadows started to move. The small torsion powered weapon in his right hand threw a cluster of darts at the first attacker as he turned his body to bring a second weapon in his left hand to bear on a second attacker. He discharged the weapon into the face of the second attacker and dropped to a knee as a third attacker tried to grapple his upper body. He used the spent weapon in his right hand to hook behind the knee of the third attacker and drove the palm of his left hand hard into the attacker's left hip. The man fell to the ground and Donovan drove for his throat, smashing it with his forearm. He rolled off and away, scrambling to his feet when he felt a wall he could keep at his back. He scanned the street for the fourth attacker, the one he had spotted following him, and saw him standing where he had last seem him. The rest of the street was rapidly emptying as passersby sought to rapidly be far away.
The figure shrugged helplessly, revealing a woman's profile, and struggled for words. She settled for, "Looking for a good time?"
Donovan laughed as he realized she was just a whore looking for a trick to turn.
"Not the blade I was intending to slip you, lass. Another time, perhaps?"
The piercing sound of whistles told him that a better citizen than most had encountered a watch patrol and cut off his laughter, which had threatened to become a semi-hysterical vent for the energy coursing through him.
"Hell!" Donovan swore. He had no desire to spend the next several hours or days answering questions and trying to bribe his way out of gaol. He turned towards the far end of the street and heard another whistle coming from that direction. A quick look down the alley showed it to be a dead end, blocked by a warehouse. He looked for a window, but found none not shuttered from the inside.
"Where are you going?" the woman asked him.
Donovan looked at her in surprise.
"Hire me," she said. "I'll send them the wrong way."
Donovan took another glance around the street before deciding.
"The harbor," he said.
"Into the alley then," she replied.
He ran into the alley and dropped into a pile of garbage, pulling it over him as best he could. From the street he could hear the pounding of feet and the insistent whistles.
"That way!" the woman cried. "Towards the square! In a black coat and wig!"
The feet pounded away and Donovan felt the desire to move, to burst from concealment, and quashed it as he had learned to do. He remained as still as possible, eyes closed and face down to the ground, willing his ears to see for him. He heard the slow crunch of footsteps in the alley and tried to relax his muscles to forestall the shaking he knew was about to set in.
"They're not gone yet," the woman said quietly. "Someone is interested in this. You're important to them."
Donovan was impressed, both by the fact that she knew enough to talk in a low tone without whispering and by her composure.
"You had the look of an officer. Are you from a ship?"
"Yes."
"Can you get me aboard?"
"No."
The silence stretched for a minute, broken only by faint sounds from the street.
"I need to leave this town. Tonight," she insisted.
"I agreed to pay you for a night, nothing else," he said to the street beneath his face.
"I'm saving your life, sir. I could as easily end it," she pointed out.
"You'll not live to collect any reward, lady," he promised.
"You'd kill me quick, sir. If I don't get out of town tonight then Ngia will take me and I'll die slowly. I've no wish to fall that far. Keep the money, but only get me away from here," she pleaded quietly.
"A night with you will not pay your passage," he countered.
"You're a cool one, sir," she said, "to bargain in such straits."
She paused.
"Very well, I'll work my passage."
"With what skills?"
"What do you think?" she replied scornfully. "I'll warm your bed, and no other, for the length of the voyage. I pick my destination and I'll depart when arrive."
"Is this why you were following me?" he demanded. "You were looking for a chance to get away on a ship?"
