Fracture
'Twas only once he was before her, with her eyes laid upon him, that he realized that he had nothing of import to say. Nothing whatsoever.
He had been so focused on reaching her side that he'd not given the matter any thought. There had been a struggle, a mad scramble, to get through the crowd; he'd excused himself, quite hastily, at least a dozen times as he pushed or pulled his way around or through a knot of locals. They were, he thought, entirely like a herd at graze: content where they stood, not inclined toward movement, and stubborn about it to the utmost. Not that he'd had any first-hand experience with such things. No, herds were but one more subject from his scholarship.
She was, at least, not difficult to track. Once he'd caught the sound of her voice, there was no mistaking it, not even in this cacophonous rabble. Hers had strength behind it, and there was a cadence to it which was distinctly Dalmascan in ways which no transplant could ever hope to imitate. She spoke with the whole, the totality, of her breath: from the diaphragm. He'd read that such people made for talented singers. He nearly tripped at the thought of her carrying a tune. He kept his ears trained on her, put to good use his musculature – his room at Lidenbok Books featured a crossbeam which had proven sturdy enough for exercise – and pressed forward until, at last, he burst through the last tangle of gathered onlookers who were still waiting for the foreign dignitary's arrival.
Hakan's first thought was that she was lost. She moved in stutter steps, which suggested hesitation. Her eyes scanned the crowd as she rose to the tips of her toes now and again, which suggested she was looking for someone. Her hand rose here and there, as if to wave for attention, but the way she drew it back down suggested that she'd been mistaken.
She was dressed in much the same attire as when she'd visited Deiter's shop. Oh, the dress was different, as was her scarf, but they looked as plain as the last set. He found this charming. Had he been asked, he might have said that it was because she was as destitute as he was, or that she had the coin to afford better but cared not enough to bother.
He'd just taken in her attire when her eyes found his, and time seemed to freeze. This was fortuitous, because that was when his realization struck him. He was afforded precious moments in which to find his footing… both physically and mentally.
"Miss Janeth…! Are you quite alright?"
He fought to keep a wince off his face; how had that been the best he could manage? Shameful. He noticed, though, that – while she did glance to either side first – she smiled and stepped toward him.
"Mister… Hakan, wasn't it? From the book shop?"
He tried for a smile of his own, and found himself hoping that it did not look as forced as it felt. "Yes, yes, that's right."
One of her hands reached up and tucked one of those curls behind one ear. Then she adjusted the knot on her scarf to pull it tighter. "I'm fine, thank you… no need to concern yourself, I'm just…."
'Lost' would have been a mistake for him to voice; it implied a lack of competence. 'Concerned' would have been reading too much into it. He set out on a different path. "In need of another pair of eyes? Perhaps a good set of ears?"
She looked a little startled at that. He let his smile grow into a grin and he flicked one of his ears, just the once; she saw this and laughed, half from shock and half from sheer delight, or so it sounded to him. "I'm… I'm so sorry, that was rude of me… yes, please, if you wouldn't mind, just a little ways. I was accompanying my employer, you understand; she and I got separated. Betti is her name, she's a little portly old woman, bless her, but she can move like the wind when she wants to."
They walked together from there, as she gave him a more detailed description of her lady. Miriam Janeth did not, to her credit, give the task of locating the old woman wholly over to her chaperone. She continued to peer over the heads and shoulders of others and wave for attention. No one responded in the affirmative, no answering call or wave from Old Betti, and so they pressed onward up the street.
"I had hoped that we had found a new regular in you," Hakan said as they continued their search. "Mister Lidenbok tells me that our shop is like a bottle of Leá Monde: once you've had a taste, it's common to crave another."
"Are you calling me common, Mister Hakan?" she said, a wry little smile supplanting the look of frustration on her face from their ongoing search.
He laughed. "No, I am calling our books delicious. I sometimes purchase one myself, for a little nibble here and there." He was pleased to raise her spirits so. "How fared the cuisine?"
She stumbled as they squeezed through a a small gathering of Seeq. He held out a hand, and she caught it for support. The touch was electrifying; as soon as she was steady on her feet again, they each let go of the other. She was shaking her head.
"I'd forgotten all about that. No wonder as to why: nothing came out quite to our guest's liking! Put it right out of my head, can't even remember what I made, except that Betti liked the sweets."
He nodded, but before he could press further, cries from the crowd overtook them. "He's coming," and "they'll be up here soon," and "Give me a boost," and all manner of like conversation. It made it rather difficult for him to try and pick out Betti's voice, which Miriam had described for him, from the crowd. He told her as much.
"Then let us find a tall step with space for you and I," she said, "and we'll be able to see better from there. If I know my lady at all, she'll be doing the same."
They set out at once, and it was not a handful of minutes later which saw them standing together at the top of some steps which led up into a public bath. Their timing was at once fortuitous and poor: whatever good the vantage point afforded them was at once dashed by the procession coming up the way, a procession of soldiers and draft animals and wagons and a very ornate, ceremonial-looking carriage. Jolted by the sight of strange colors and armor, he asked, "Did anyone happen to say who this is or where they're from? I hadn't heard specifics."
"An emissary from Bozja," she said. She had to yell to make herself heard over the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd, or she would have had to for a fellow Hume, even though they stood shoulder to shoulder; the Viera's ears struggled not at all to pick out her words. "Some nobleman come to discuss common interests and propose some manner of treaty."
He nodded, distracted somewhat by the sheer size of the soldiers. There were Humes among them, but most of them were some manner of race he'd not yet met; they resembled Miqo'te, which he had met indeed, and he figured these must be Hrothgar. He opened his mouth to ask if she could describe Betti for him again, but he was interrupted in short order.
Said interruption came in the form of plumes of smoke which suddenly burst up and down the square. The procession was entirely engulfed by them, and he could hear cries of panic from the crowd, could hear one of the soldiers barking orders, could feel the rising surge and tide of fear as it shot through the assembled Dalmascans. Cries turned into screams as people turned to flee.
Hakan and Miriam had a better view than most; he thrust an arm in front of her and drew her back behind him, interposing himself between her and any danger. His ears picked out the shift of mail and plate armor as the soldiers encircled the carriage, and his eyes caught, however dimly through the smokescreen, the faint silhouette of a man or woman emerge onto the top of the carriage itself. His breathing hitched as he noted the outline of a blade… and the head turning towards him.
A cry from one of the soldiers, which only a Viera could have made out at this distance: "His Grace! His Grace is wounded! He's… he's not…!"
The silhouette vanished, Miriam asked, "Hakan, what–? What's happening–?!" and he replied, with all the dull tone of a man shocked to find himself in the middle of history in the making, "Assassination."
A moment later, his hand found her shoulder, and he turned her about. "Run… run!"
They ran into the public bath as smoke continued to billow outward from the square, to seep into the surrounding structures, reaching for their heels as though it were a sluggish starving beast.
His peace was fractured that sun.
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