Not dead yet

Ira regained consciousness and immediately regretted doing so.
His body, realising his brain was once again open for business, rushed to deliver urgent injury reports. He groaned in dismay as the wave of pain washed over him, convinced that his entire body must be one giant discoloured bruise. Reluctantly he opened his eyes to assess the extent of the damage.

After a moment he opened a closed them a few more times.

His vision remained stubbornly black and he felt his heart rate spike as panic touched him. How much damage had the jezail blast had caused him? He tried to bring his hands up to touch his face and failed. He felt restraints around his wrists holding his arms tightly to the small of his back.  Slowly he flexed and strained testing the strength of his bonds and found them to be unyielding steel cuffs.

With this new information in mind his brain reassessed his situation and reluctantly conceded that it was just possible that there may be fabric against his face. On further consideration it could well be his his blindness may have less to do his being horribly disfigured by Aetheric fire and more to do with a tight hood having been drawn over his head while he was unconscious.

Ira permitted himself a small sigh of relief and calmed his racing pulse with an effort of will. And began evaluating his predicament.

The situation was less than ideal but decidedly more manageable with face and eye balls intact. He smiled a crooked smile in the privacy of his hood as he took pride in his crisis management skills. Only conscious for half a minute and already his position was markedly improved.  Why if he continued on at this pace he could well have in a seat on the council by morning.

His confidence restored he took stock of his surroundings. Beaten, blinded, bound and… in bouncing? Yes He could feel a vibration in his stomach as the floor beneath him juddered and bounced. He was in the back of a wagon then. Rattling along the cities cobbled streets to destinations unknown at who knows what hour of the night. His abductors were a bold bunch to traipse through the streets so conspicuously with the curfew in place after the flashy show they had put on at the taproom.

His aches and pains washing over him a new as he briefly relived the fight and felt the consequences. It was the first time he had encountered a Jezil and he fervently hoped it would be the last. He felt an titch between his shoulder blades as he imagined that weapon still trained on him as he lay immobile. Had the gun man accompanied him? It seemed unlikely that he would entrust Ira to his thugs after their disappointing performance in the brawl. But still he had to be sure.

Mr Ira yawned in exaggerated fashion and stretched, as best as he was able given his restraints, as though rousing himself from a pleasant nap. He turned his head back and forth as though taking in his surroundings in spite of the hood.

“Well this is an unfortunate turn of events” he said in a bass grumble “either I have fallen prey to villains most foul or I finally gathered enough nerve to request one of the special services that madam Cassandra offers her clients.”

Immediately a sharp kick was delivered to his ribs knocking the wind from him for a moment. “Ah” He continues with a note of strain in his voice “well that clarifies things nicely. Cassandra I’d know your delicate touch anywhere. Be a dear and unfasten these will you? I fear I have another appointment to which a must attend”

“Sshut up you bashtart” a shrill voice screamed in his ear

Ira grinned in the confines of his hood. He recognised the voice of the pigeon man though it seems that he had developed something of a lisp since they had last conversed.

“Don’t be jealous my dove. You know you’re the only one for me. At least when I can afford you.”

Another kick buried itself in his ribs and another and another. He began to regret this course of action.

“Enough.”

It was only one word but it was sufficient. The beating ended instantly and Ira knows he’s there. That air of authority certainly did not belong to the bearded man or the cringer. He quieted himself and waited patiently. Nothing to be done with a weapon trained on his back. The wagon rumbled on.

After an interminable wait they come to a halt and he heard the back of the wagon swing open with a clatter. Rough hands grabbed him under the arms and hauled him out and on to his feet. He waited patiently hanging forward just a little letting his captors take up his weight. Why stand when you can be carried after all.

An urgent whisper came from his right “I don’t like this. Dealing with them isn’t right. Won’t have taken the job if I’d known…”

“But you did take the job. And now the work is done. Whether you accept the payment or not is irrelevant to me but you will not insult the client so still that wagging tongue of yours. Take the hood off they will doubtless be wanting proof of purchase and believe me you would rather not make them ask for it.”

The covering was yanked roughly from Ira’s head and he screwed his eyes shut as the light assaulted his senses. He blinked the tears from bleary eyes and focused on his surroundings. The bearded thug supported him on the right looking decidedly fidgety. Pigeon man stood on his left scowling at him, his lips drawn back in a snarl to reveal several teeth missing from their recent bout and behind them Ira fancied he saw the flicker of a slightly shorter tongue. Ira gave him a nasty grin in return showing off his own perfect dental work. Of the cringer there was no sign at all. Idly he wondered if his third assailant had even survived the blast. The gunman stood to the fore waiting to greet his guests.

The loading doors on the side of large brick building slide ponderously open and two hulking figures emerged. Ira felt his stomach sink at the sight of them. The pair advanced clad in in heavy slick leather aprons which extended past their knees almost concealing their rubber boots with squeaked and squealed with their every ponderous step. Their arms were encased in thick rubber gloves to the elbow and each had one hand locked around the handle of a weighty case they carried between them. Most unsettling each man bore a band of bright cloth tied tightly about his left bicep bearing the crude glyph of the intemerata.

They came to a halt just short of the gunman and ignored him completely their attention entirely focused on Ira studying his face. A long moment of silence hung in the air as the ogres eyes roamed over Ira and his captors. He could feel the breaded thug begin to tremble under the weight of their scrutiny. His free hand came up to his chest to cover his heart fingers spread in a gesture of warding as he averted his eyes. Ira gave a derisive snort at such childish behaviour.

“Well boys?” He asked causing his guards to jump slightly as he broke the silence “Are you just going to stand there staring at me all night or is one of you going to work up the nerve to ask me to dance? Don’t be shy now.”

With a grunt they swung the case and sent it thumping to the ground at the gunmans feet.

“All to order then gentlemen? Quite satisfied?” he asked in an oddly lilting sing song voice. He reached out with the toe on his boot and lifted the lid of the case. Ira caught the shine of copper as the light played across the surface the thick bars within.

The gunman smiled sweetly at the pair “Well then this all seems to be in order. I won’t insult you by weighing it. I trust you” Ira noted that as he spoke one hand remained beneath his coat doubtless with a firm grip upon the weapon he barely concealed there. Evidently what trust he felt extended only so far. With his free hand he beckoned to his cohorts. Ira felt himself pulled forward on his left while his right side remained firmly rooted to the ground. The pigeon man and he both turned their attention to the bearded thug whose round eyes remained fixed on his employers.

“Come on man” the pigeon man hissed at him but he could only weakly shake his head before shoving Ira away from him and toward his new owners and backing away. His companion, surprised managed half a shove himself and Ira found himself stumbling forward only to be seized in the vice like grip of intemeratas. Without a word the pair turned and began dragging him up the ramp into the building. As he passed the gunman he stared daggers at him drinking in his features. The neatly trimmed goatee, the thin pinched features and the cold impartial eyes. The growl rose up in Ira’s throat before he even realised it was there.

The gunman regarded him with a note of distaste before removing his delicate glasses and busying himself wiping them with a handkerchief. “Now don’t like that old boy. It’s nothing personal. It’s just business you know.” He turned away to oversee the loading of his payment into the wagon and Ira eyes caught the coat of arms drawn upon its side. The ornate shield and watchful eye of the guard. Ira found himself decidedly curious as to exactly what manner of business that was but before he could ask he had reached the top of the ramp and the heavy door rolled shut behind him a might boom of finality.