Impulse

[DoS Archive]

From: devongoral@aol.com (DevonGoral)
Date: 18 Oct 1999 00:05:48 EDT

Footsteps echo through the darkened hall. Boots on stone, scraping slightly against the thin layer of dust that coats the floor like a fine satin sheet.

Passing by a burning torch, the figure casts a long shadow. A long shadow. But the shadow fades as he moves away from the lone torch's influence.


The young boy looks up as he hears the footfalls approach. He raises his mop slightly, perhaps subconsciously in a defensive action. Water drips down into the bucket, echoing oddly about the stone walls. The feet take a step. Then another step. Each step after another, coming down the stairs. The boy pulls his mop closer, gulping slowly.

Finally, a leg comes into view. Then another. Then another one. No, it's the first one again, coming down another step. The shadows are playing tricks again. Pesky shadows.

The figure steps down onto the ground floor, head rotating slightly from side to side. Clothed in post-modern attire, he hardly seems to match the arena's atmosphere. Small, narrowed eyes take in the surroundings, surveying everything in sight.

Only after he seems satisfied that nothing has escaped his vision does the tall man rest his gaze on the boy. A cool, piercing gaze. The boy shivers. His hands squeeze around the mop's handle.

"Can I 'elp you, sir?" he squeaks.


The Protector tilted his head, regarding the young boy before him. He seemed young. No younger, probably, than anyone else who had worked there. What was that one's name? Edward. Edwin. Edmund. Something like that. The memory can be so fleeting.

"It's only eleven o'clock. Where is everyone?"

"Sorra?"

"Do they hold the duels here?" It seemed like a stupid question. The chamber was full of rings. It was arranged differently from the old Inn basement, but it was obviously a place of combat. And no amount of mopping was about to erase the red stain that permeated the stone floor.

"Yessir."

"Then why is no one here tonight?"

"Uh, it's Sunday."

"Yes, I am aware of that."

"Duelin' is from Thursday to Saturday, guv'ner."

"Saturday? You're joking?"

The boy wasn't joking. He was shivering. And mopping. Well, more shivering than mopping.

"But it's a weekend. How can you not have dueling on weekends?"

"I just started 'ere, sir. I 'ave no idea. Maybe you oughta take it up with the--"

The Protector held up a dismissive hand. The boy stopped short.

"The place will be open again next Thursday?"

"Sure will, sir."

The tall man pursed his lips thoughtfully. A hand brushed down to his side, closing over a bulge under his longcoat. The boy's eyes widened slightly, as he probably realized that there was a sword beneath.

"Thank you, lad." The protector slipped a hand into the coat's side pocket, drew out a single silver coin, and flipped it to the boy. The boy didn't move an inch, and the coin bounced off his chest and dropped with a sploosh into the bucket.

After another moment's glance about the hall, the tall man turned on a heal and started back up the stairs. Next Thursday. Maybe. If he remembered, and had time. He probably wouldn't. Ah well. So much for being impulsive.

"Um, are you a... I mean, do you fight? Err, duel?"

The protector stopped, paused a moment, and half-turned his torso. Eyes regarded the young boy, who was now almost white.

"Do you duel, guv'ner?"

"I do not duel."

"Oh."

"Not any more. Not in years."

"Years?"

"Probably before you were born," he said, lips curling into a wry half-smile.

"Oh." The boy looked very thoughtful. Gears turned.

"Good night, then."

"G'night, sir."


The tall man turned away, continuing up the stairs. Soon, he was out of view, although his footfalls could still be heard, vanishing into the distance.

"Before I was born, eh?" the boy said quietly. "This place 'asn't been around 'ere that long. What uh freak."

He then reached into the bucket's soapy water, fishing around for the silver. It would be a good supper tonight.