To Trap a Thief

The bar was filled with noise. Glasses clinked as men and women raised them in toasts, laughter echoed through the enclosed space as friends told jokes, and murmurs flowed under the louder noises as news was exchanged and business was discussed. There was even the occasional *thud* of darts striking a target on the far side of the room.

All of the noises bled together and passed over the woman who sat at the bar. Perched atop one of the tall bar-stools, her long leather coat hung nearly to where her boots rested against the stool's crossbar. Dyed a deep red, the coat looked rather expensive although in need of some serious care after extensive traveling. The same could be said of the woman who wore it; her medium length hair was haphazardly kept in place with a few clips and the shirt and breeches she wore beneath the coat looked to have seen better days. Even so, the glint of golden buttons and the elegant stitch-work of the material hinted at wealth in days past.

Perhaps it was the implication of wealth that caused the burly, greasy looking man to slide into the stool next to her, or perhaps it was the way she hunched down over her drink, a drink she'd been nursing for an hour or more. Whatever the reason, as the man sat and swiveled his own stool such that he could view her better, she merely stared into her cup, not even acknowledging his presence.

Britany had more important things on her mind after all.

This didn't stop the uninvited guest as he leaned across the bar to grab a handful of nuts left in a bowl on the bar-top His hand came within inches of her, but Britany remained motionless, staring deeply into the gently rippling amber liquid in her glass. Although silent, her mind whirred with thoughts, planning and considering her next course of action and the events that had preceded her current situation.

The man sitting next to her leaned causally on one elbow, as if trying to stare past the wall of jet black hair that framed Britany's face and kept her expression from sight. He cleared his throat loudly, popping several of the nuts into his mouth and chewing loudly.

“Here we go again.” Britany thought to herself.

“And what is a fine looking lass like yourself doing in such a place hmm lovely?” the man said, his voice a deep rumble.

Britany chose not to respond, simply lifting her glass up and taking a sip before setting it down again. She glanced at the man once; he was exactly what she had expected from the glimpses of him she'd gotten in her peripheral vision. Tall, burly and unbathed, he wore a mixture of studded leather armor pieces and a few scraps of stained decorative cloth likely meant to mimic the latest court styles. On his belt was a rusty sword, its hilt battered and stained. He was likely a thief or street thug who made his way in the world by intimidating others and taking whatever he could get his dirty hands on.

After a moment of silence, the man leaned closer, his breath reeking, “Lady LaFevre, this would be a lot easier if you paid attention hmmm?”

Instantly Britany's cold blue eyes affixed on his, her charade of silence shattered by the simple sentence. She looked the man over more carefully, paying close attention to the bulges in his armor where other weapons might be concealed. After a moment she sneered at him, her voice low, “What do you want?”

A chuckle escaped him as he leaned back on his stool and popped another handful of nuts in his mouth. While chewing he replied, crumbs spilling down into the stubble of a beard he sported, “You know what I want Lady LaFevre; the dowry chest. Lord Rochefort has not been pleased by its absence, and the time has come to pay up as it were.”

Britany looked away from the man, staring back into her cup, “It's not his to have and it's not here regardless. Go back to your master like the sniveling dog you are and tell him that he'll not lay a finger on it.”

Her response caused the thug to sit upright in his chair, a frown over his face, “Your husband has the right to the dowry Lady La-”

His words were cut off as Britany turned and glared at him, “That man is NOT my husband. I don't care what you say on the matter or what ill-gotten documents he has procured to say otherwise. It is not HIS property and belonged to my father, therefore it is mine. Remove yourself from my presence. I am done speaking of this.”

The man blinked in surprise as the woman spoke, his expression changing into an angry glare as she turned her head away to stare back into her cup. He leaned forward, grabbing her wrist and squeezing it tightly enough to hurt, his voice a threatening murmur, “I don't think you understand the situation Lady LaFevre. I WILL have that chest, and you will tell me where it is. In fact, I have a feeling Lord Rochefort would be quite pleased to see you again, so you and I are going to take a little trip.”

He released his grip on Britany's arm, leaning back and smirking at her. She remained motionless for a moment, not bothering to rub her aching arm or look back at him. She simply raised her drink to her lips, draining the rest of it and setting her glass down. Without turning towards him, her voice came back even and emotionless, “This will end in violence.”

The thug grinned, his hand reaching for his sword. His face took on a look of surprise as Britany leaned over and quickly grabbed his arm, her tone chiding now, “Have some sense of decorum if you would. People have paid money for their meals and shelter for the evening. Let us conclude our...business...outside.”

With that she rose from her stool, reaching to her belt and taking out a singular gold coin. It was worth far more than the drink she'd had but she let it fall to the bar-top. The barkeeper looked at her, seemingly uncomfortable with what he'd overheard but she merely shook her head slightly and turned towards the door. The thug rose to follow her, and out of the corner of her eye Britany observed others rising in time with her uninvited companion.

“Three of them in here with me. Likely another waiting outside. Not so good odds, but that is the hand that fate deals you.”

She walked casually towards the door, ignoring the other two men who joined the first thug. As she pushed through the doors, they followed her out, grins spreading across their faces. Britany ignored them, walking around the side of the building to a little alley where there would be less attention paid to their business.

“Now then, we have a disagreement. You wish to have the information, and I wish you to be gone,” she said calmly. “Are you sure you wish to pursue this matter? It will not end well for you.”

As she spoke, Britany pushed her coat aside and drew a long-blade from its sheath on her hip. The sword was a masterpiece, perfectly designed for dueling and lightweight for her comfort. Her other hand drew an equally impressive dagger from a brace of daggers strapped to her left hip.

The leader of the little group grinned, drawing his rusty sword and elbowing his companions who also drew blades. Together they had a mixture of short swords and daggers that would not be worth the value of a good night's meal, let alone weapons that would be distributed to soldiers. Britany almost sighed as she watched them prepare.

“The question is if YOU are sure Lady LaFevre,” the thug said with a smirk. “We outnumber you a bit, so maybe you should reconsider coming along more quietly. We'll be gentle. Maybe.”

His two friends began to chuckle from the joke. Britany shrugged her shoulders once, flipped her dagger up into the air so she was holding it by the blade and in one smooth motion threw it at one of the men. It twirled through the air, abruptly lodging in the shoulder of one of the men who dropped his own sword and howled in agony, clutching his wounded arm as blood began to seep out.

“One down,” Britany said cheerfully.

The leader of the group snarled, pointing his blade at her, “You nobles are all alike, trying to pretend you've got honor. You're no better than one of that lot back in the bar.”

Britany smiled, drawing another dagger from her hip, “Oh I engage in honorable duels. In fact, I was trained by some of the best instructors my father could afford to ensure I would WIN those duels. This isn't a duel though is it? Those are reserved for foes who have a little...how would you say it...class?”

It was enough to enrage the two unwounded thugs. Both of them howled and charged at her, their boots pounding on the cobblestones. Britany's smile faded and a look of pure cunning took its place. She brought her weapons up in a fighting pose and then simply disappeared, using the shadows to go from 'here' to 'there' in a moment's notice. It was a little trick she'd picked up from her training.

The thugs slid to a halt as she disappeared, only to hurriedly attempt to parry her blows as she struck at them from behind. One of the men brought his sword up only to find Britany's dagger sticking between the bones of his wrist, the strike lightning fast. She left the dagger in him, whirling as her original antagonist's sword came down where she had been standing. He snarled, slashing at her again and pushing his now wounded companion out of the way with his free hand, trying to strike at her as she moved acrobatically out of the range of his sword.

Britany twirled on her feet, turning to face the man again as he clumsily charged at her. She jumped into the air, her sword raised above her head and her dagger trailing up from behind. The man brought his sword up to impale her and she shifted in mid-air, the shadows taking her from 'there' to 'here', well below the angle of his sword. She lashed out, her dagger biting deep into the leather armor that protected the man's chest, the blow staggering him and drawing blood. Her sword came up, slashing at the man's knuckles and causing him to lose his grip on his weapon as he reeled back, yelling obscenities. The dropped weapon clattered to the ground as both of the wounded men staggered away from her.

Britany smiled as one of them fell over, the blood loss making him feel weak. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the adrenaline a rush that she loved so much. It was why she had learned the art of dueling in the first place; the men couldn't know how entertaining their little assault was. She flicked her sword blade, watching the blood splatter the cobblestones with horrific patterns of red as she cleaned her weapon.

“Well, I guess you've learned a valuable lesson tonight,” she said happily. Even as she spoke, a loud bang interrupted her. She whirled, her weapons coming up defensively as she saw a fourth figure in the alley. Dressed like the others, this one was actually armed with a pistol. He'd fired a warning shot up into the air, and smoke curled from the barrel of the weapon as he held it upright. A smirk crossed his face as he watched the noblewoman.

“That'll be enough of that lass. Drop the weapons. Now.”

Britany hesitated for a moment and the thug shrugged, dropping his pistol and pulling his own long black coat open to reveal a half dozen additional pistols, some single shot like the one he'd just used and others more advanced models. He clearly meant business and Britany sighed, letting her blade and dagger clatter on the cobblestones.

“That's a good girl. You've got more of 'em on you though don't you?” the newcomer said. “The coat. Take it off and let me see that you're not armed.”

Britany stared at the man, her gaze unbroken as her hands moved down her hips. She slid them along the leather breeches she wore, pushing her coat out to reveal her dagger and sword sheaths. With a smile, she pushed the coat out further, letting it reveal more of her upper body, and the pistols holstered there.

For a moment there was a tense silence in the alley, broken only by the sounds of the moaning thugs Britany had already wounded. The gunslinger studied her carefully, not moving a muscle, his hand resting on one of his pistols but not grasping it. For her part, Britany remained equally motionless, her hands on her hips and her coat hanging open, the butts of her own pistols showing in the dim light.

“Your move honey,” Britany said in a flat tone. “You can walk away.”

Her words were met with silence, the man staring her down. She returned his gaze, waiting at the other end of the alley. She watched a bead of sweat trickle down his face, even in the cold of winter. It was a sign that it wasn't going to end well.

In a heartbeat, the man reached to grasp his pistol and bring it up. Even as he moved he saw Britany's hands dart into her coat, her movements impossibly fast. He brought his barrel up, but it was slow, oh so slow as she pulled her own pistols out. She had special harnesses for them, it was the only way she could possibly have drawn them so inhumanly fast. Even as he thought this, the barrel of his pistol came in line with her feet, while he was staring down the length of her two well-maintained weapons.

The alley was filled with two loud *pops* as her pistols went off, and the man was hurled backwards as a projectile hit him in the shoulder and right wrist. His own weapon clattered to the ground as he fell, crumpled in a heap. In a haze of pain and blood, he looked up to see the noblewoman standing over him, smoke curling from the end of her two pistols as she looked down at him.

“You weren't worth the time,” Britany said chidingly. She holstered her pistols and turned, bending down to retrieve her sword and dagger. With a vicious yank she pulled her other dagger from the wrist of one of the downed thugs, his howl of pain silenced when she pressed the tip to his throat. After he became quiet Britany nodded, as if this was all well and proper, before turning and stepping over her fallen enemies.

The last the four saw of her was from the ground, her stylish boots walking casually away before mingling with the traffic on a nearby street, lost to the crowd.