nothing_to_fear | d'enanigans: is calling it "the climax" too on point?

d'enanigans: is calling it "the climax" too on point?

This house has a very pleasant room for receiving honored guests.

In the fashion of House Shahrizai, the walls are richly tapestried (though not in identifying colors) and the couches are soft, finely upholstered. He has ordered the servants to stand ready with wine and light refreshment, and readier still to act should negotiations sour.

Jonathan sent a man to wait for Brix; he himself went upstairs to check on Matthieu. Finding him asleep, but well enough and in no danger, he returned to this room to wait.

He is reading a book of plants and their uses as they come in to light the torches.

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". . . Will you grant me one request?" she asks, her tone heavy with hopelessness.

Interesting.

"What is it?"

"Don't send Matthieu away until tomorrow night," quietly.

"I cannot -- I cannot make this choice for him with a clear conscience, you understand. Not as a fellow Servant of Naamah. I would like to speak with him tomorrow, make him understand. And I would like time to make my peace with Naamah and Elua -- with Matthieu beside me, if he -- if he will still speak to me, after -- after."

Jonathan's lips press into a thin line.

"That time, my lady, is not mine to grant. But he should be waking soon; you may confer with him then, if you must."

(Actually, Matthieu should be awake either now or imminently, but Jonathan doesn't expect Brix would much enjoy speaking with him until he's had some time to get reacquainted with consciousness.)

"My lord, please." She moves forward, perched on the edge of the couch, clasping her hands in her skirts. "Please. Speak to your employers. I ask for only a day -- by this time tomorrow both of us will be yours to dispose of as you've been ordered."

"Regrettably, all I can offer you is tonight."

It just takes too long to ride to Kusheth.

"But as I say, Matthieu will wake soon. You may have whatever you require to--"

Jonathan does not quite hear a sound himself.

But there's something in the expression of the man by the door that gives him pause.

Brix's head comes up a fraction of an inch, though her gaze stays on Grue de Agen. (She can see the guard by the door out of the corner of her eye.)

She exhales silently, listening.

Outside the door, Havelock raises an eyebrow at Edan and his latest captive.

The guard shrugs an apology, and ties off the final knot.

Then he and Gaspard advance on the door, but pause on Havelock's raised hand.

Wait...

Jonathan's gaze flicks sharply to Brix for a moment.

Then he gestures to the man at his elbow, who begins to circle cautiously towards the door.

"My lord?"

"Please, be quiet," he murmurs coolly.

From the other side of the door there is utter, innocent silence.

His men are flanking the door now, standing cautiously back from it and attentive to any sound.

The silence stretches on.

Then, politely, Jonathan says, "Yes?"

Brix lifts her chin again, straightening, and wraps one arm around herself so that her hand rests on the concealed flechette.

"I hope," she says, each word distinct, "all three of you are being paid enough to make this worthwhile."

The door flies open into the room with potentially very painful force to reveal two very large, very armed and determined-looking men, who each have a crossbow loaded and pointed inwards with a certain degree of... intent.

"Everyone stay still!" calls one, still taking in the scene. "My lady, step back, if you would."

Oh, wonderful.

Well, the leverage left to him is before him; Jonathan scrambles to his feet and lunges for Brix, reaching into his tunic for the knife concealed there.

Brix is on her feet as soon as Jonathan moves, but her blade is not quite so easily accessed. By the time she has it free, Grue de Agen is on her.

He has absolutely no sense for scuffles, but one does one's best.

Currently, he's scrabbling to get his knife to her throat.

He succeeds.

But not before Brix manages to twist her hand in the front of his tunic and press the edge of her flechette to the pulse-point under his jaw.

The guards are well-trained, and even when Jonathan and Brix move they don't take their weapons off the two servants as they step into the room and each to one side to clear Havelock's line of sight.

(Davien has tactically retreated with Matthieu to an empty room nearby, because getting into a fight while encumbered with someone half-conscious is just stupid.

Also, Havelock nó Mandrake's expression has just gone so utterly blank that he's quite glad to remove himself.)

"You are outmatched, Grue de Agen," the courtesan says coolly. He has a sword in one hand, but it's the other he half-raises - holding the coils of a worn but functional-looking whip as if it an extension of his arm.

Jonathan tries to stand steady, breathe steady, and keeps his knife leveled at Brix's throat.

Their standoff may be ridiculous, but it's the best he has.

His gaze flicks to the interloper, whom he recognizes-- trap, it was a trick. Hoarsely, Jonathan laughs.

"Am I?"

Brix laughs, too, harsh and humorless.

"If you think a blade to my throat is a threat, messire, you don't know me well enough at all."

"Have you found Matthieu?"

This seems to be directed at Havelock, though Jonathan's not letting Brix out of his sight.

"I doubt he feels very sociable right now."

"If either he or Brix suffer lasting harm, you will die screaming," Havelock informs him with polite and glacial calm.

Neither of the guards twitch, but keep Jonathan's servants covered.

The Sharizai servants are watching the proceedings carefully, warily; they keep an eye on the Mandrake guards, but their attention is on Jonathan.

"If I die screaming," he murmurs, "I won't be able to help him."

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