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Lord Braga |
| Written by c bryan | |
| Wednesday, 06 February 2008 | |
For a hundred years or more they had stalked these halls, their imperial boots stamping along the corridors of power, bringing justice and government to the people. Now though, the halls were empty. Chairs and tables lay in pieces, scattered as they had been brushed aside by history. No longer did the people look to these old halls for governance or guidance. The revolution had seen an end to that. Two days after the revolution had reached its climax, the streets were still filled with the debris of the old regime. The bodies of those who fought for and against change stared with unblinking eyes at the dawn of a new age, while compassionate citizens made their way through the city giving a proper burial to those that they found. Some of the less fortunate members of the new society picked through the bodies to ensure that the belongings of the dead did not go with them to the grave or trouble the loved ones that they had left behind. On the opposite side of the Imperial Square from the palace sat two men in a café, who surveyed the scene absent-mindedly through a smashed front window. They each drank a thick sugary drink popular with the locals and shared a plate of toasted bread. “I have the pieces you wanted,” the first said. “They are very beautiful. I can see why you would desire them so much. Although I must say I don’t recognise their function” “Do you have them with you?” His companion asked. He hunched further over the table and drew his hooded cloak close to his face. “I have them nearby, but the risks I took in getting them were considerably greater than expected.” He replied. “I’m not interested in that!” Hissed the hooded figure. His companion was not disturbed by the show of anger and leant back in his chair, his hands behind his head. “It’s a brave new world, comrade, and I for one intend to make my mark.” Beneath the hood, dark eyes darkened further. “What do you mean Ciro? You want more money?” “Yes,” was the instant reply. “That can be arranged, once the items have been received of course.” “No, no,” Ciro said, breaking into a smile. “Cash first, then you get your treasure.” His companion eyed Ciro silently for a few moments before responding. “Ok.” Each syllable was pronounced with almost painful care and precision. “But you must permit me to at least see the treasure before I part with the funds. If they are as I wish then I can offer you another 20% on top of what we already agreed.” “20%!” Ciro said. “…35%” “30% Ciro, and there is no further discussion.” “30%... it’s a deal. Braga, you are going to be one happy human when you see what I have for you.” “I doubt that very much,” Braga said. “Oh ye of little faith.” Ciro stood, smiling and inviting Braga to join him. Braga raised his hunched frame slowly and shuffled around the table. He tossed a few coins to the owner of the café without looking at him once and began his trek across the empty open space that had seen the worse of the fighting only days before. “Do you think it will be better now that the Imperials have been over-thrown?” Ciro asked. “I have little interest in the politics of this world Ciro, I am only interested in what you retrieved for me.” Birds scattered from the corpses as they picked their way through to the far eastern side of the square. Ciro led the way down a narrow alley and into a courtyard beyond. As the two men passed through an old wooden door at the far side of the courtyard two giant cloaked figures entered the alley from the square. “Ok, Braga, how are you going to pay?” Ciro asked, stopping in the middle of a room filled with dusty boxes. “Usual way Ciro, bank credit.” “No, no, no Braga, not anymore.” Ciro waved his hands. “With things as they are I don’t know if any banks will be open or honour any debts.” He crossed his arms. “Cash.” “Ok, cash” Braga agreed reluctantly. Content, Ciro patted the box nearest him. “Ok Braga, here’s the first of these things you asked for.” He leant down and pulled off the crates lid, straining momentarily against the nails that held it down. Inside was a long blade, covered in markings that seemed to writhe and twist as he tried to read them. Braga lifted the blade carefully and inspected it closely. “This was in the lower chambers of the government building?” “Yes, just where you said it would be. Would’ve been a devil to find it if you hadn’t been so precise with your instructions.” Ciro said. “They are so bold, so fearless… they mock us Ciro, they think they are secure here, far from his eternal gaze.” “What are you talking about Braga?” Ciro asked. In the courtyard the two figures came to a halt on the other side of the old wooden door. Braga lifted his head towards where they stood, as if he could see them through the thick oak. “I’m talking about infection Ciro. I’m talking about heretics walking with impunity through the Emperors streets.” Braga said placing the item back in the crate. “I never took you for an Emperor-lover Braga,” Ciro said, backing away with narrowing eyes. With barely a glance in his direction Braga pulled a pistol from under his cloak and fired a shot between Ciro’s eyes. He walked swiftly to the wooden doors and opened them more forcefully than his small, hunched body would suggest possible. “Soldier” “Yes my lord.” The giant figures answered together. “The Emperor requires you and your brothers to purge this place of its foul disease.” “Yes Inquisitor.” “It can be assumed that no one is free of the taint of the foul teachings in this city.” “Understood, my lord. They will all burn.” Copyright 2008 c bryan |
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