presents...
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Competition
Just for the record: 'Miss O'Shea,' still a graduate student in Sextus 1668, is definitely an alternate-world version of 'Dr. O'Shea,' who was investigating fuego mages in Castille in Sextus 1668 in Steve's game.
The cardinal was definitely right about one thing -
the atmosphere at court could get stifling after a
while. Even Salvador's most light-hearted, airy jokes
got read for hidden meanings or innuendo. The
constant use of veiled references and allusions got
wearing.
Sometimes, a guy just had to go downtown to the bar
and have a drink.
He found himself in the student quarter, amid
Charouse's many colleges. The great granite gateway of
the University of Charouse, the city's premiere
school, were visible through the bar's door, in fact.
He liked the atmosphere around here - it reminded him
of his time in Altamira. Young faces, arguing
passionately about this or that, ringed every table.
Almost every table. In the back, closer to the bar,
a freckle-faced blonde sat alone with a nearly-empty
glass of wine and a notebook. Her hair was knotted up
carelessly, secured by one pen. Another was in her
hand, tapping the table. She appeared to be taking
notes on her notes - flipping back a few pages, then
forward, then flopping the whole thing over and, after
dipping the pen in an inkwell, scratching something on
a blank page.
Salvador stopped by the bar and asked for a bottle of the good wine. When the bartender handed him the bottle that was right there, Salvador looked at it, returned it and asks for the good wine. The bartender got a bottle of good wine, and Salvadore paid and got his own glass. He headed over to the table with the blonde.
"You mind if I sit down? I'll share my wine if you'll share the table. It's a bit crowded in here today." Salvadore sat down as she was looking up at this distraction. "What are you so intently studying there?"
"Trade records of the Numan Republic," she replied
absently, attention drawn to the label on the bottle
he was waving. Her Montaigne was accented, something
like Ellen's Vodacce sounded. "Oh aye, have a seat."
She shifted the notebook as he sat himself down,
pulling it over the edge of the table and propping it
up in her lap. "Ye a friend of Luciano's?"
"Luciano? Don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting him. Although if he is friends with you, I am sure he is a fine man. Are you from Avalon? You sound similar to a friend of mine."
"Monsieur!" It came from up at the bar. A young
Montaigne with a Castillian guitarra slung over his
back was staring at them in feigned shock and horror.
Salvador seemed to recall that he'd been arguing with
the barkeep over playing in exchange for free drinks;
the entire exchange over the "good wine" had taken
place with this youth nattering on, apparently totally
ignored by the barkeeper. "Monsieur, how could you
possibly mistake that lovely Innish brogue for an
Avalonian accent? Why, those are practically fighting
words."
Salvador turned to the lady, "I apologize. I am not from Montaigne either, and listening for accents in a foreign language can be difficult at times. I hope that I have not offended you."
"Nay, ye're Vodacce," and that was apparently a good
thing, from the way she said it. "It's - "
He turned back to the minstrel, "Sir, If I have offended the lady, I shall make amends with her. Perhaps you shall make a song out of it someday, but I fail to see where your interference is needed or when you were addressed."
The Montaigne strolled over. In Vodacce, the
appropriate movement would have been more of a
swagger, but the fellow didn't appear to have his back
up. "Then I shall make the matter clear to your
sight. I am, you see, off-duty. It is my fond and
keen wish to remain off-duty, to get something to
drink, and to play some songs. I have seen the
madamoiselle offended, monsieur, and the resulting...
how do you say it?"
She had craned her neck back to look at him.
"Donneybrook," she supplied helpfully.
"Oui, the donneybrook would quickly recall me to duty.
So you see, my rapid interference was absolutely
necessary."
"Do I look to ye to be in a fightin' mood, then?" she
asked him, smiling.
"What, hard at work then interrupted and accused of
being Avalonian? Dare I risk it that you weren't?"
"He brought a bottle," she nodded in its general
direction. "A good bottle. 'S the great
peace-maker."
"Plying you with drink!" he exclaimed with mock
scandal. She gave him a playful - but firm - shove.
"Now I'm afraid I'll have to keep an eye on this."
"Ye might've just asked fer a seat, Solomon.
Monsieur Vodacce Man, Corporal Solomon D'Aventant,"
she made the half-introduction. "Miss Corker O'Shea."
She indicated herself.
"Pleased to meet you. I am Salvador Do - er, just Salvador. I can see that you are acquainted. Had I known, I would have invited you to join us, corporal. Assuming that Miss O'Shea had no problems with it. The more the merrier." Salvador put on his best smile at the intrusion, but he was just out for fun anyway, so it was a mostly real smile even.
He poured for all three. "Would the lady enjoy some music? If you are willing, signore?"
"A man o' mystery," Miss O'Shea winked at the bobble
over his last name.
Getting Solomon to play was harder than might have
been expected, given his earlier statement. He was a
fair player in the intricate Castillian style, but the
finger-picking required his full attention - so no
singing, and certainly no talking. And he kept trying
to rejoin the conversation.
As it fell out, the two were acquainted - but just
barely. Solomon was recently transferred to this
quarter, and had indeed witnessed a donneybrook
involving the Inish, but that was largely it. The
easy, bantering manner was just in both their natures,
and Salvador was rapidly accomodated into it as well.
"Ye're goin' to get yer donneybrook, corporal," Miss
O'Shea said, a little exasperated, the fourth time
Solomon stopped to interject something. "It's nae
right to quit a song in the middle!"
"You're... listening?"
"Aye, Solomon, I have this trick o' talkin' and
listenin' a' the same time. It's a woman thing. Now
I like yer playin', so keep it up."
He offered a mock salute and went back to it. She
shook her head, chuckling. "I'm sorry, signore... eh,
mi scuso?" She squinted. "Is tha' right? I'm tryin'
to learn Vodacce, fer when I go to the islands - fer
my research. Nae sure which one, yet, but likely
Falisci or Lucani."
Salvadore listened to the music a moment, then in time with the music said, "That is indeed correct. I could be persuaded to help you with your Vodacce while I am here. Although, I am only here a short while. The islands are nice. I was just visiting them. Part of where I gave up my family name - although that is a long and boring story that wouldn't interest you I am sure. What would be the focus of your research?"
She raised both eyebrows skeptically at 'long and
boring.' "So ye'll be makin' me tell the long an'
borin' story, then? Be it on yer own head, then..."
She asked a few preliminary questions about what he
already knew about the Arete culture, which wasn't too
much. Of course he'd studied the Numan Republic in
Altamira, and the later Empire, too, and the Arete
people who'd lived on the Vodacce islands were an
early conquest. Their higher culture and more complex
religion were absorbed into and enlivened native Numan
beliefs. But the details of that culture of religion?
Aside from some sketchy details written down by the
Numan historians, little was known.
Miss O'Shea was firmly of the opinion that, by digging
in the ground in the right place, she could learn a
great deal more about the Arete. This was
'archaeology,' a technique mostly used by the
Explorers' Society (Solomon glanced up but kept
playing) to try to understand the Syrneth. Dr.
Alvarez, her advisor and mentor, had used similar
methods to study the early Acragan people of Castille
- another native group the Numans had overrrun. He
was hampered somewhat by the bad reputation
archaeology had in most academic circles; the
Explorers, after all, were rather -
"Oh, 'The Steel of Aldana'!" She interrupted herself
to stare at the guardsman with the guitarra. "Tha's a
wonderful one, listen!"
Solomon had been working up to "Steel of Aldana." He
was more than sufficiently romantic enough to believe
in the power of music, but that belief also entailed a
requirement for the performer to play from the heart.
Getting cut out of the conversation - damnably
effectively, too - was irritating enough that
recentering on his playing was difficult. Miss
O'Shea's monologue helped greatly; Solomon was not
especially a student of history.
"Steel of Aldana" was frightfully difficult. The
rapid-fire treble notes came on like a lightining
flurry of Castillian sword-thrusts, but the bass went
on as evenly as a marching army. But it was the
interplay between the two parts that entranced the
ear. Bending over the instrument, fingers working
maniacally, he played it as well as he ever had. The
final run came crashing to an end; he paused to catch
his breath as the last chord rang out. Santa Maria,
he was sweating! Well, it was late Sextus in a
crowded bar. He looked up to see Miss O'Shea beaming
at him and clapping. He smiled back. "Glad you liked
it."
He was dressed like an off-duty guard; she was dressed
like a student. Which is to say, they were both
wearing dark colors which made it difficult to see the
wear and mending done to their clothes. But he didn't
especially act like an off-duty guard. For one
thing, damn few guards could afford an imported
Castillian guitarra, and fewer could afford the time
to learn "The Steel of Aldana" on it. Salvador was
much more used to guards who acted like Cristoforo.
This one was much more like, well, himself.
"That was really very lovely. Where is it that you learned to play like that? I have not heard many who play better. And Miss O'Shea, where exactly is it that you think you should dig in Vodacce? There is an awful lot of ground to cover there. I have heard that sometimes the older tales of Vodacce regions can be helpful if you would need some assistance in that area."
"You haven't been to Castille, either, eh?" Solomon
joked good-naturedly. "I'm told the ten-year old boys
there play better than I do. No, I knew a Torres man
growing up, a cook. I'm from Paroisse, originally,
and Torres is just across the... the river..." He got
a little distracted, setting his fingers back onto the
strings. "Turned out music's one of the few things
I'm good at. I think I have one more in me, but
that last one just wore me out. Let me check the
tuning, here..."
Miss O'Shea was awfully reticent all of a sudden -
something in her _expression closed at the words "where
exactly." "Well, I figure on Lucani or Falisci
Island, as I said. Even tha's a lot o' land, o'
course. I'm hopin' to find some clues in these trade
records that'll shed some light... but now, tha's
well and truly borin'. Numbers o' Numan army sandals
shipped an' all."
"There we are! I used to speak a little Avalonian,
so I hopefully won't mangle the lyrics too badly..."
Solomon struck the strings experimentally in a
chorded style that was much simpler than the classical
Castillian. He could manage lyrics with this. He
just prayed that the sheet music he'd found, which
purported to be a traditional Inish tune, actually
was, or else he was going to feel rather foolish in
a moment.
Miss O'Shea's face lit up again at the intro and first few
chords. "'The Highland Drover!' I have nae heard it
in..." But when Solomon actually launched into song,
her expression sort of froze in consternation. Her
eyebrows drew together and her head tilted until she
was looking at him entirely sideways - and then she
burst out laughing.
A chord drew itself out and hung in the air. Solomon
closed his mouth. "Er..."
"Sorry, sorry," Miss O'Shea tried to apologize between
gasps for air. "Ye didna speak Avalonian all that
well, did ye?"
"Er... no."
Salvador added in Castillian "If you are going to sing to a lady in a tongue not you own, it is probably best to make sure you know the language well or make sure that she knows it not at all. And I did do University in Castille and I still say that you play well." Then switching back. "My lady, what a lovely laugh. If only I could have elicited such a wonderous reaction. Let me try with a tale from my own childhood..."
"When I was just a young lad, I didn't always get my way. I had older brothers and had to be mindful of the rules. But one nice summer day, I did get to go fishing out on the river. Now it was the first time that I had actually been taken fishing with the family. It was very exciting for me and I actually got to fish myself. I even caught a fish. Now seeing how it was the first fish I ever caught and being proud of it, I asked if we could keep it in one of the barrels that we brought. They humored me since I was young and it was thought that it would simply be the final fish that we ate of the ones we caught. No problem keeping it alive for a short time longer. Well, every day, I went out and stroked my fish. I talked to it and obsessed over it you might even say - as kids sometimes do. So when it became time to eat my fish, I begged and pleaded and was allowed to keep my first pet. I would come everyday and see it. I would even take it out of the water to talk to it. I started keeping it out of the water longer and longer periods of time as I spent more time obsessed with my fish. First it was just 10 minutes or so, but eventually it became an hour, then two that I would keep my pet out. I made sure that as it went back in it was OK and it seemed to be doing great. Then one night, while I was playing with him, I was called to dinner. Not wanting to make anyone wait, I hurried back inside and forgot to put the fish back in the water. I was a touch rambunctious at dinner and so got sent straight to bed. The next morning as soon as I awoke, I realized I had forgotten to put my fish back. So I raced down to where I had left him and put him back in the water and he was OK. Well, from then on, I slept with that fish in my bed. At first, I had to sneak him in, but eventually, it was just decided that it was too much to put up with to try and keep me from him.
"Eventually, the fish could spend all day out of the water and then up to a week and even several weeks. Soon, the fish really only needed to go into the water once in a blue moon and then just to get a little wet.
"I had heard of fish that could walk - not sure if I believed it or not, but I thought I would try and teach mine to walk. Flip-flop. It took a lot of work, but I was able to succeed in doing so. The fish then went everywhere with us. To church on Soldi (it waited nicely outside with the carriages), to the river to play - although my fish normally just stayed on the shore - , and just wherever I went, there was my fish. Eventually, I met a girl. She wanted some alone time with me and so I met her in town. But my fish followed me. She didn't want anything to do with that fish and sent me away. I convinved her that we should meet again. I tricked the fish into my room and took off. It worked for a little while, but evenutally, that fish found me and the girl sent me off again with a warning that if I couldn't keep the fish away, I would never see her again.
It took lots of work, but I managed to finagle a third meeting with this beautiful girl. She agreed to meet me outside of town in a patch of woods where we sometimes played. As I was leaving my house, I tied the fish up. About halfway to the meeting, I heard the fish following me flip/flop. I looked back and there it was. I thought perhaps I can lose it if I hurry. So I took off running. After a few moments, I looked back and the fish was still there. So I took a short cut, I ran down into a gulley, ran across the bridge in the middle, just clearing the hole in it and up the other side. I then stopped, hid and listened to see if the fish was following. I didn't hear anything. I waited for a moment and still didn't hear anything. I chanced a peak and didn't see anything either. I was slightly worried, so decided to run back just a little and see if he was there. Back down the gully I ran, across the bridge, over the hole - and as I was leaping over that hole, I looked down. There was my fish, dead. He had drowned.
"I was in such a state that I couldn't make it to my meeting with the lovely girl I was supposed to meet. She was rather upset at being stood up for a fish and never spoke to me again. Although your laugh reminded me of her and so I thank you."
"Yer pet fish... drowned." She was able to keep a
straight face, but her eyes were laughing. "I'm so
terribly sorry for yer loss. Although I'm afraid I
have to take the part of yer lassie." She finally
cracked a smile. "I didna know they had 'blarney' in
Vodacce."
"You went to school in Castille?" the lady asked.
"Hablo castellano," she added, as if that weren't
clear from her having understood what he said. "Which
one?"
Before Salvador could answer, he got an interruption -
but not from the expected source. "Weeeell... what's
this, then?" A bunch of young men had detatched
themselves from the general crowd to cluster around
the table. "I thought I heard some of that Castillian
merde being played." With a slightly resigned look
and a sigh, Solomon unhooked the guitarra's strap from
his neck and carefully set the instrument aside.
Miss O'Shea had slipped her notebook back up onto the
table and was corking the inkwell. "Leave off. 'S
good music."
Salvador leans back to adjust his sword. "That was some good playing. The lady and I were enjoying it." He pauses and looks at one of the men, "Don't I recognize you from Countess Odessa's party?" Of course he didn't really, just playing one of them a little - and name dropping to see if it would help.
The man addressed looked a little confused. "What,
no. Uh... wait... Um..." He understood that there
were some dangerous implications to the statement,
although - wits dulled significantly from drink - he
was a bit slow to work through them. He was, however,
backing up.
Solomon favored Salvador with a significantly elevated
eyebrow - impressed or skeptical, hard to say.
Stupid was still stammering his way through answering
Salvador's question as Loudmouth kept on. "Figured
she would. What're you, Castillian too?"
Miss O'Shea got up. "You're clearly new here. Leave
off, last chance."
Solomon nodded at Salvador. "Monsieur, I beg you,
please - leave the sword alone. Here: take the wine
bottle instead," he said quietly, nudging the
near-empty vessel across the table. "I believe I
shall have a chair."
"Not that new," Loudmouth retorted. "Heard the word
around the department that you got the Castillian
doctor wrapped around your finger. Well, maybe not
your fin-"
He never did get to finish implying which body part
would be more appropriate. Miss O'Shea hit him quite
solidly in the jaw.
"Donneybrook," Solomon said simply, getting up.
Salvador leapt up to defend Miss O'Shea with the wine bottle. Although, it was a pity to use such an excellent vintage for fighting. He thought perhaps he should have gotten the cheaper wine after all. "Curse you silly Montaigne and your lack of chivalry. To insult the lady is shameful. Luckily two strong men are here to defend her honor. If I was at home, I should have to challenge you to a duel for that besmirchment."
"You and what Swordsman?" Ugly jibed, just before
taking a bottle upside the head.
"S'all right," Miss O'Shea called, ducking a punch
from Loudmouth. "I got to do this, oh, two or three
times a semester to break in the new students." She
twisted, pivoting on her front foot to hook a fist
into Loudmouth's torso. He bent over, grunted - and
came up surprisingly fast with an uppercut. She took
it on the chin, fell back a step. "Tha' all ye got?"
she demanded of him, before charging back in.
Solomon, good to his word, had hoisted a chair to beat
on Stumpy and Stinky. Stinky went reeling back
against the wall, but Stumpy tore the chair loose and
shoved the off-duty guard backwards against the table.
Stupid was gone; Ugly was dazed but game for some
more.
Salvador took a second swing at Ugly. Ugly reeled back to avoid the blow and knocked over a table, spilling several of the drinks that the drunk students had not yet liberated. One of the students jumped on Ugly's back while the others came for Salvador. Sensing the impending beating, Salvador did what any good Vodacce does, he charged, swinging his bottle to crack a couple of heads. When the bottle broke, Salvador tossed it away (no need or desire to cut anyone) and picked up a mug of ale, taking a drink, then bashing the nearest student. Salvador tried, and mostly succeeded in staying near to Miss O'Shea to guard her back, but realized that she handles herself just fine.
Once the original instigators were taken care of, Salvador picked out a spot and after several more bashings of heads, found himself mostly in clear space and being avoided. No need to bash random heads unless they deserved it.
No need, certainly. But it was apparently high fun
for Miss O'Shea, who kept at it long after Salvador
and Solomon had excused themselves.
Solomon, for his part, had found Stumpy to be a hard,
knotty sort of fellow. He was much more a swordsman
himself than a brawler, and it hurt to hit Stumpy.
Stumpy suffered no such problems hitting Solomon,
though. Happily, while picking himself up off the
floor for the second time, Solomon found himself
nose-to-handle with a pewter pitcher. He brought it
widely around as he came up, and it made a most
satisfactory, hollow ringing sound against the side of
Stumpy's thick head. Stumpy sat down all of a sudden,
eyes crossing, and Solomon backed over to the wall to
keep Salvador company.
"Interesting sort of party you go to," he said idly,
by way of making conversation, as a candlestick
whizzed by.
"They don't all turn out like this. Sometimes I actually get the girl. You know the blowhards or were they just looking to get beat up? You know - next time, don't lead with your chin. - Duck!" Salvador and Solomon ducked under the chair that came across the room. "I think I'll need a drink when this settles down - hitting people can be thirsty work."
"I think it's my turn to buy the round. I haven't
seen them before, but," he shrugged, "there is a war
going on. I expect that if I weren't in uniform here,
I'd be at the front myself. I hear they've started
impressing men... Oh, poor girl, how are you?" He
stooped to pick up his instrument. "Got through
another one, thank Theus." He slung it over his back
and then leaned against the wall, sheltering it with
his body. "I should just stop playing in bars. I get
into enough trouble as it is, and someday, someone's
going to put a foot through her."
He scanned the bar, tilting his head to try and see
between knots of combatants. "What shall we have
next? Although," he glanced back, giving Salvador a
once-over, "I'm not sure this place really serves
anything up to your lordship's standards. It is
'your lordship,' isn't it? I beg pardon, but the
whole 'merchant prince' thing really doesn't make much
sense to us here. Makes estimating a foreign
gentleman's station rather more difficult."
"WHUT? I DIDNAE HEAR YE!"
Miss O'Shea, meanwhile, had found her initial dance
partner, Loudmouth, as the fight was thinning out,
and she had pinned him to the floor. He spluttered
and flailed a bit, but finally said, in a carrying
voice, "No... no truth at all to the gossip, miss. My
mistake."
"Damn straight!" She got up, pulling him with her,
and propelling him toward the door with a shove. "An'
dinna ye forget it!" Loudmouth stumbled out, and Miss
O'Shea stood triumphant for a moment, hands on her
hips, grinning broadly.
Salvador applauded the lovely Miss O'Shea's work. "That was remarkbly well done. Would you care to have another drink here or shall we move watering holes? Solomon has stated it's his turn to buy."
Salvador turned to Solomon and said quietly, "I may be a viscount back in Vodacce, but since we've just been through a fight and I'm in Montaigne, those niceties are not that important. And believe me when I say I have had worse than this establishment serves."
"Well, thank 'ee," Miss O'Shea bounced over, tucking
her hair - the pen-secured bun was long gone - back
behind her ears. One eye was purpling nicely and she
was flushed but she seemed to be in excellent spirits.
"An' thank 'ee, corporal, in advance for the next
round. Hum! Well... I'm inclined to throw some more
money Augustin's way, seein' as how the place'll need
a little work to clean it up. Nothin' ruder than
havin' a good brawl and then leavin'."
"I'll get us something then, if you two will kindly
roll a table upright," Solomon nodded and headed to
the bar.
A Vodacce viscount. Seemed like a decent enough
fellow, for all that, but... well, he supposed a lot
of people went to Countess Odessa Blanchard's parties.
Probably shouldn't make judgements on account of
that. And Miss O'Shea had just demonstrated her
more than adequate ability to handle herself.
Still.
He noticed, sadly, from the bar that she did seem
quite taken with the fellow. And Solomon never quite
had it in him to deny pretty girls what they wanted.
And, rather more selfishly, he'd be here after the
viscount was back in Vodacce, and if he didn't annoy
her now he stood a decent chance of being friends
later.
Still.
He hit upon a plan. He'd probably get in trouble with
the sergeant, but that was all right.
Salvador, meanwhile, was starting to think that he
might get the girl after all. A good fight had gotten
her blood up, made for instant camraderie, and made
her much more physically demonstrative. On the down
side, her playful punches to the shoulder still felt
like getting mashed with a brick. "Nice work wi' the
bottle! Did ye finish it before ye started in? NO!"
Arm punch. "Ye got to finish first, lad! 'S first
rule o' fightin' wi' bottles."
"Yeah, I suppose I should finish first, but when their swinging... I can always replace a bottle, may not be able to replace this lovely face." Salvador smiled and outlines his face with his hands very amusingly. "You have quite a knack for putting these fellows in their face. I can't believe that you have to repeat it regularly." He made small chatter until Solomon returned.
When Solomon returned, Salvador turned to him. "Solomon, I'm curious about something - with you growing up so close to Castille and now living here - are you Vaticine? It is quite a trip out to attend services here in Montaigne."
The guardsman pulled up short, slightly stunned and
maybe a little alarmed, but he smoothed it over
quickly. "That's... a very bold question, monsieur,
with a slippery answer. I've been given to understand
that none of Montaigne's sons are Vaticine anymore -
we are all under interdict. Excommunicated." He
enunciated it very crisply - almost with an edge to
it.
"Whaaa wha' did ye get, eh?" Miss O'Shea, who'd also
gotten a little wide-eyed at the question, jumped in
to take hold of the wine. "Hey, no' bad! I'll pour."
She did, keeping up a line of patter about the wine,
its color and its scent, the whole while. "We should
have a victory toast! Make a toast, somebody."
Solomon tipped his head just slightly in Salvador's
direction, raising his eyebrows and gesturing toward
him. There was something in the _expression - in the
eyes - that was very near to challenging.
Religion and politics were sensitive subjects in Charouse.
Salvador raised his glass. "To the beautiful scholar who packs quite a punch. May the road rise to meet you. May the wind always be at your back, and may a strong arm always guard it too. Here's to new friends and defeated foes."
Solomon smiled. "Here, here."
Miss O'Shea blushed. "To new friends and defeated
foes. Here, here." Glasses clinked.
And then, abruptly, it seemed the match was conceded.
Solomon continued to hang around, making pleasant
conversation and flirting just a bit, but there were
no further attempts to seriously upstage Salvador or
undermine his efforts. Not that it looked as if
especial efforts were going to be necessary, as Miss
O'Shea seemed inclined to meet him halfway.
The only wrinkle was the lady's concern for her
reputation, particularly considering the reason for
the fight earlier. Solomon gallantly offered a
solution. It was well-known that he, on-duty or off,
was in the habit of escorting single women to their
homes after dark. He'd escort Miss O'Shea home,
dropping her off at her tenament door, then return to
show Salvador the way there.
If Salvador had his doubts about the arrangement, they
were unfounded. Twenty minutes after the pair had
left, Solomon returned to fetch him to the ramshackle
neighborhood that the students here called home. He
dutifully delivered a warning about the landlady - it
would be best to leave before dawn. They came to a
three-story building, and Solomon indicated a room on
the second floor with a candle burning in the window.
"I am content that she is happy," he said to explain
himself. He tipped the brim of his hat back. "But...
when did you say you were leaving town?"
Back to Game 21a log.
Offscreen: Solomon's "plan" consisted only of loitering about Miss O'Shea's tenament for the next several hours, in case the viscount turned out to be one of those Dastardly Vodacce Villains that feature in so many of the current plays and operas.
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