Chapter I

-CHAPTER I-

Come forth, for thou art the young and the brave

Bright eyed gazes of lust and glory they come

Off to war these fine heroes march

The storm is brewing and there is nowhere to hide

Oceans of tears will flood the blistering earth

Great and cowardly, the strong and weak

Before the mighty purge, all brought low

For anarchy is coming, and the world will kneel.

Unknown.

It was a dark and cloudless night; he couldn't even discern the outline of where the window was located in his room. All he could see somewhere near the ceiling of the room was a minute, dim crack of light. A reflection off a mirror from some candle burning beyond the door he presumed. It was a pleasantly comfortable room, and sometime during the night, he had kicked off his duvet and lain comfortably on his back. The only negative to the room was the somewhat scratchy mattress.

He found his eyes drawn back to the light, thinking it quite large. It seemed almost to be immediately before him. No, that wasn’t it, it was simply a byproduct of the drowsiness he still felt.With that contented thought, he fell back to sleep, dreaming blissfully.

It was only that some hours later when he awoke again to find the light unchanged, he reached out one arm towards it, and found with no little surprise he could touch the crack, for crack is what it was, and it was a lot closer even than he had realised.

A moment of doubt, fractional in its entirety crossed his mind. Passed. He called out, 'Winston! Where the devil am I?'

A muffled response from without.

Tavion felt around him, and quickly found that wherever he was, it was certainly not an inn room in the normal sense. He groped for the walls and realised he was in a small square box of sorts, with what appeared, or rather, felt to be a large amount of straw. Groaning, he pushed upwards, heaving mightily at the top, battering at his cage of imprisonment, and the lid of the crate opened with a series of loud creaks, banging to the floor beside it.

Intense light streamed in, highlighting the dust in the air, blinding him momentarily, and causing him to wince and cover his eyes with the back of a well manicured hand. The dust made him start to sneeze and cough, but eventually, it subsided, and he regarded his surroundings for the first time.

He found himself confronted by a most odd vision. He was in some type of packing crate in what appeared to be an underground storage facility, although, bizarrely, the floor was moving.

In front of him, seated on some thick wound ropes was a small, slender man in a striped suit, with a bowler hat and a cup of tea of all things.

'Good morning sir.' The man uttered. Both men stared at each other, unblinking. The one in the box narrowed his eyes, then widened them.

‘Winston, we're in the hold of a ship.’ he exclaimed, ‘How long have I been asleep in here? If the ship sank, I could have drowned!' he called in a disturbingly shaky voice. Well, disturbing to him anyway.He frowned, then added with what he hoped sounded more firm 'And why the devil am I in a box!' The small man continued to stare at him, then reached under his chair to a crisp newspaper and showed him the headline.

'Ah'

In a large black and white drawing dominating the front page was a face, his own face, grinning evilly back at him, wielding a knife, and the words ‘Aristocrat murders local Embassy officer.’

'Yes sir, ah indeed. Does that answer your first question?' replied Winston. 'As to the latter, you will remember talking to the captain of the Seafalcon in the bar?

You seemed convinced that they should build a bridge and escort you across in a carriage. It was when you started complaining about you fear of water for the fourth or fifth time that they started to get a little bit less amused. I do however believe it was when you were asserting that the Captain looked more like a smuggler than a captain that his first mate hit you on the back of the head with a bottle. I must say, it made negotiations somewhat easier. Unfortunately, the captain decided that it would be amusing to put you in a box.' All said with not the merest hint of a smile, and finished with a twitch which was probably meant to be a shrug. He would have to ask one day.

'Why didn't you stop him!' he replied.

'Well, sir, as to that, it did, well, reduce the price of travel some..'

'How much?'

'A copper.'

'What? You saved us a copper?'

'Yes'

'Good'

He stared further at Winston with a scowl.

'You're enjoying this!' accused the man in the box. 'and why is it so cold?'

'I must assure you sir, I am not in the least amused.'

'I don't believe you.'

More staring.

The man in the box coughed, looked down at the box, back up at Winston, frowned, looked down again.

'Why am I naked?'

He glowered hard at Winston, searching for a flicker, a twitch, a sign of the amusement he knew was there.

'Well, you did say the captain's daughter had terrible teeth.'

He looked down again, and frowned harder.

'and why am I hairless? I had a very manly matt of hair on my chest just yesterday I am sure of it.'

This time was the tiniest of tiniest of flickers at the corner of Winston's mouth, he was sure of it. At least he had the good grace to look embarrassed.

'Yes, well, they did get a little bit carried away.

'Carried away? Carried away! You're an awful butler. Whatever I pay you, half it.'

'You gave up paying me a long time ago, sir.'

'Oh, well, good. Just give me the copper penny then.'

'Yes sir.'

'And find me some clothes.'

'yes sir.'

Winston put his tea down, got up, straightened his jacket, and wandered off, limping slightly. The man in the box watched after him, gawking at his back. It was definitely a fake limp. He lay down and went back to sleep.

At some point, Winston came back and draped something over him. He mumbled something about water and went back to sleep.

~

Back at the dock, a man was confused. He had men watching every ship that came and went, all through the days and nights, but no one had seen the man they were looking for. The man was very dangerous.Sergeant Dowforth sighed. He had been so careful to make certain than Tavion didn't know he was being followed.

Someone must have talked. Tavion was certainly a genius, his actions proved that, and he had already evaded them for weeks, but they were closing the net. Even though he had somehow evaded them here, he would be caught in the end. He was not going to let this man get away. Not after Tavion killed his brother.

~

In the shadows of a nearby building, another man watched on silently. He had a very loose gait, swaying gently, as if just another of the cities drunks. The man took a long draw on his tobacco and then put it out under his boot. He straightened up like an uncoiling snake, and suddenly he was perfectly still, tense as a whip. He almost crackled with mortality.

From under his cloak, he withdrew a long barrelled flint-lock pistol in one smooth motion, cocked the trigger and aimed carefully.

The movement was so fast that the assassin didn't have time to register it as the dagger snaked in under his shoulder blade. There was a muffled bang as the pistol fired off wildly at nothing, but before the sound had even faded, the body had been drawn back into the alley.

~

Dowforth paused in his conversation with the dock worker at a sound from behind him, but when he looked, there was nothing to be seen. A frown crossed his features, but the dock worker again drew his attention. The worker seemed almost imperceptably to gesture at someone or something behind him, but it must have been his imagination. This was certainly not his day.He sighed, mentally rebuked himself for his carelessness, then went back to his job. For if Dowforth was anything, he was an extremely competent and just officer of the British embassy in India.

~

Back in the shadows, Malachi dragged the dead assassin back further into the shadows to search him, appalled at how close the man had come to shooting the Sergeant before he'd taken him out.Christ he had been quick. If I hadn't moved as soon as I saw him reaching for the pistol, Sergeant Dowforth would be just as dead as his brother.He paused in the darkness until Wendon's nod to signifyy that the Sergeant hadn't noticed the shot over the deafening dock noise, then he slumped heavily with relief. The risk was high, even in a place as loud and filled with strange noises as the dock. He was getting far too old for this. With iron grey hair and a strong, slightly wizened face, he didn't quite look the seven and fifty years that he counted behind him.

With the end of the alley a few yards away, he dropped the corpse onto its back, and whistled.

'What've we got 'ere then Chi?' whispered a rasping voice in his ear. His knife was already going towards the man’s sternum before he stopped himself,

'Christ,' he swore, and punched the lithe black man in the gut. He folded like a tent in a sandstorm. From the ground, he lay clenching his stomach 'what...the...f**k was...that...for?'

'How many times must I say it? You don't sneak up on me, you disgusting little man.' he snarled, with a kick at the winded man for good measure, though he wasn't really angry. Only a year or two ago, Archon would have never got that close without him hearing him there. He could feel the years grinding by and that troubled him. He turned back to the corpse, and worried. The man was obviously an assassin, the third such they had encountered while following Tavion since the incident back in Quilon.

A note they'd found on one of the bodies was the only clue they had. Written simply on a small scrap of parchment had been a short, beguiling message, but a terrifying one- 'anarchy is coming,' whatever that meant.

Somewhere in that, this aristocrat Tavion was important. Malachi knew that these people were following Tavion, but so far, they'd done nothing untoward. He knew this wasn't because of him. He knew they were aware of him, and that they seemed to disregard his presence. This worried him even more. He was not a man used to being so casually dismissed, probably why he had so rashly killed this man. He wanted a reaction.

Malachi was born a soldier, and had campaigned for close on thirty years with the army rising steadily up the ranks before being noticed by an extremely potent and successful general of the name Julius Rexforth Mathew Asterhill, and he was Tavion's father. Tavion was actually Octaviannus Rexforth William Asterhill. He snorted at the arrogance of a father and son both being named after two of Rome’s most powerful and feared men in its roughly millennia long history.

Tavion stood to be accused of murder in the highest degree on the night of March 12, 1867 of Corporal David Dowforth, Sergeant James Dowforth's brother. The situation was hideaously delicate, and it hurt his mind to even think about the ramifications of hanging the son of his benefactor. There were far too many coincidences here, and Malachi was worried. He was almost certainly missing something. A riches to rags member of the aristocracy, a murdered British officer, and assassins from some terrifying unknown order out for god knows whose blood.

He stood staring intently down at the body at his feet, as if it could speak to him, and explain what was going on in this ridiculously hot frontier of the British Empire. Whatever it was, it was stewing. Southern India was a dangerous place to be these days. Hell, all of India was getting to be dangerous these days.

'You ok Chi?'

He started, realised what he was doing and wondered how long he'd been standing there looking at the dead man. Wendon and Archon were standing around him, concern standing out in the eyes of one, raw hatred and ambission the other.

'Well,' he snarled, 'why isn't this body off the street you lazy b******s. Get to work. We've got a ship to catch.' and with that, Malachi turned away, and walked swiftly back up the alley to stand and stare out across the dock, to a dark purple, angry sunset, and the retreating back of the Sergeant some distance away. He shivered, but was not cold physically. It was some time before the warmth came seeping back to him, and by then, he was settled deep in a swaying hammock on a leaking Carrock, chasing down a man who could simply be an innocent, drawn into a maelstrom. Or perhaps he was the orchestrator behind something huge, deadly, and insidious. What was the story of this Octaviannus he pondered, and did he kill Dowforth's brother?

Ahead of him, some leagues further north on the Indian coastline, a merchant ship sailed on, with a man curled up asleep in a crate, and a manservant billowing out on a huge double bed in the Captain's quarter, dreaming peacefully, blissfully unaware of what was coming their way. Somewhere else on the ship, on the foredeck, an assassin's knife was being sharpened carefully on a small oil stone with a stormy black sky above.

~

Dowforth was just settling down to sleep in the hard, narrow bed in the inn when there was a hard pounding at the door. His hand went straight to the small pistol by the bedside, and he had it pointed to the door as he yelled out,

‘Come!’ Though he had a fair idea of who to expect. The handle on the door turned, and was pushed tentatively open. There was a loud bump as the broom that had leant against it fell to the cold wooden, floor followed closely by another bump as whoever was behind the door jumped. It was primitive, but as a safety measure against midnight intruders, it had saved him on more than one occasion.

A plain looking man pushed his way into the room rubbing his head where he’d obviously hit it after jumping in surprise.

‘Sergeant, I think we’ve found Tavion.’

It was enough, but instantly Dowforth was scrabbling out of bed and back into uniform.

‘Where private? Where?’

‘One of our informants said he saw a man fitting the description sergeant. In an inn. The man- he gets himself knocked out by one of them Indian merchant Captains, and gets dragged off to the back room. Since then, the ship owned by the captain left early on the morning tide two days past. Serge, I looked at the passenger and storage tally. They left with an extra crate being loaded just before they disembarked.’

Dowforth paused in his frantic dressing, ‘You think that Tavion was boarding a ship, hidden in a storage container? I must admit, that sounds pretty unlikely, but then, it could all have been an act to mislead any watchers, namely us. It fits with what we know of him.’ Could Tavion have planned that? He trusted the man’s information. Private Sandon was young, but very sharp. He’d go far in the service if he kept his head about him, maybe even diplomat. ‘Where is the ship heading?’

‘North Sergeant, though, that’s all we know. But, there are no more ships heading out before the week’s end, I checked. How are we going to follow him?’

‘We ride private.’ It was just about whether to trust his instincts then, and run with this, or to wait a few more days, but by then, Tavion could be anywhere. He had to risk it. ‘Get the horses ready, I mean to be riding north before the dawn. With some luck, the wind will be against him, and we can pick up a ship at the next port north. We are not going to let him get away.’

~

Tavion was a tall and graceful man, slender, but with broad shoulders, and long blonde hair with cold blue eyes like his father’s. As the sun rose over the land to the East, he stood, in what he could only believe was an heroic posture, arm draped over the railing on the aft deck of the ship, alone but for the wind and gulls, hair billowing out behind him, and a British flag wrapped around his waist to cover himself. Goosebumps pebbled his skin, and he felt the morning chill, where before his arms and chest had been coated with fine golden hair. He didn’t lament the loss of course, it would grow back, but he still ought find a way to repay the sailors for their injustice unto his precious person. Looking down, he also wondered at whether it would count as a form of treason to wrap the flag around his genitals. Surely not, if there were nothing else for him to wear. The crew was investigating a small fire that had sprung up in one of the fore holds near where Tavion had been sleeping soundly under his flag. A most unfortunate wake up, but once roused, he felt some fresh air was needed given the thick acrid smoke slowly suffocating him in his crate.

His mind kept returning to the vast yawning stretch of water between him and the blessed land near a league away. While it wasn’t true that water terrified him, it did very much disagree with him. So, once over the first shock, yes, shock, it hadn’t been terror of course, he felt not at ease, but at least, better about the whole situation.

After spending the last few weeks running away from God only knew what, he was able to think on the events that had occurred.

He had been sitting comfortably with a glass of fine brandy in one of the taverns with Winston away fetching him a cigar or caviar, or some other such impossibility that Tavion enjoyed sending him on to keep him on his toes, when a man had appeared at his table beside him. Swathed in black, Tavion could make little out of his new companion.

Before he could ask who the fellow was, he had put his mouth to Tavion’s ear and whispered words that he could not soon forget ‘Anarchy is coming Tavion. Where will you stand? We have need of one such as you. This era of famine and corruption is failing. Your vast Empire. It is nothing but a vast house of twigs and straw, and we will burn it. We will burn it all. As it comes crashing down, a new order will arise from the ashes.

Join us in our glorious revolution, for I promise you, no one will be spared what we shall bring, and you shall rise to greatness with us.’ and with those words, he was gone. Just a flutter of a cloak, and he had disappeared out the door, leaving Tavion shaken to his core, though slightly bemused by the man’s melodrama.

It was only after some hours, at dinner that he realised that his knife engraved with the crest of his family was missing from its sheath. He was still wondering what was going on when Winston came limping up to his table with neither cigar, nor caviar. ‘Sir, it would seem that your knife has accidentally found its way into the breast of a Lieutenant outside. I am not entirely sure how, but it might be a good time for us to be somewhere else rather quickly.’

Not one to miss the point, Tavion quickly followed his butler to the exit when a large, red-faced man came crashing in shouting. After a moment, the red-faced man’s eyes became used to the light and he grinned evilly, while raising his meaty hand, pointing at Tavion right before him. Opening his mouth wide, he bellowed out over the noise of the common room, ‘A murder has been committed! Arrest that-’ but he got no further, as Winston sent a punch to his face that spun the man full around before he collapsed bonelessly to the floor. Without time to wonder how on earth Winston did that, Tavion was dragged into the dark shadows of the night. They had been running just ahead of the law ever since, with not even the slightest sign of a comfortable bed nor any other luxuries for even the merest of moments.

A quiet, but very clear, and strangely strained voice brought him out of his reverie. He recognised it immediately as it rasped, ‘Have you thought about our offer Octaviannus?’

Tavion whipped around, to find himself confronted by the cloaked man from the bar. Against all the odds, here he was before Tavion now, still all in black, with just his eyes showing. One was milky white and blind, but the other burned black with zeal. A fanatic. Tavion struggled not to roll his eyes. The man had posed himself carefully crouched on the guard rail, cloak obviously deliberately flapping in the wind. Such histrionics! Who poses like that?

‘Why did you kill that officer?’ Tavion replied, avoiding the question, knowing full well in the pit of stomach what the response would be.

‘We can’t have you talking to the enforcement about our little conversation, can we now? Call it our insurance policy.’

Tavion stared with affected obliviousness at the man, who stared malevolently back. Moments passed. More. The man eventually blinked, uncertain, growled ‘Well?’

Tavion smiled unpleasantly and moved forwards, ‘Tell me more.’

There was a flash of triumph in the man’s eyes, ‘My master-‘ and Tavion pushed him over the side. Seconds passed, followed by a loud splash.

There was a noise behind him, and he whirled again, grabbing without looking the nearest object to hand.

‘Good morning sir, I am sorry I couldn’t find more appropriate clothes in such a short ti… What on earth are you doing with that sponge? Do you mean to work with the crew? How very humble of you.’

After the initial bewilderment, Tavion relaxed at seeing Winston before him, and then looked askance down at his lethal weapon of choice.

‘Don’t be ridiculous Winston. Of course not. I was just admiring it.’ He ignored the amused sparkle in his butler’s eyes. ‘Anyway, I have decided,’ he thought quickly, ‘yes, I want you to make this flag into a pair of trousers for me. I can’t be going around just holding a flag.’ With that, he unwrapped his soul garment, threw it to the bewildered man, and sauntered off naked, hairless as the moment he came into the world.

~

Left holding the garishly bright British flag, Winston stood,staring after his master, struggling against laughter. He turned back to the aft rail and looked out over the water to see if he could spot the dark garbed man that Tavion had been talking to.

He still couldn’t believe Tavion had thrown him overboard with such little effort of thought, but then, his master was a very unusual man. From behind him, he could hear the shocked laughter of the crew as Tavion walked naked amongst them. Winston shook his head good humouredly, then, making sure Tavion was nowhere in sight, walked straight and tall, limping not at all back to his cabin to begin sewing the British ensign into something that would likely be a ridiculous mockery of trousers at his master’s behest.

Reviews

[Craig2591]

A lot of information in this chapter. Almost, but not quite, overwhelming. It's early yet, but the characters seem likable, and that's important in a story. I like the touch of humor scattered throughout. It lightens an otherwise dark tale.

[C. L. Aemon]

I did worry that it was over-encumbered, but I hoped it could be followed. I could plausibly split it into two chapters and extend the detail if you think that would add value to it? Thank you for reading though, and taking the time to comment.