From: "Colin J. Wynne"  <WYNNE.C@fs.sciences.WLU.EDU>
Subject:      The Revenge of Victor Manwaring, part 2
X-Gated-By: The Black Marble Wombat@morticia.cnns.unt.edu
X-Gated-From: torg mailing list
Organization: University of North Texas
X-Gatemail-Version: 1.0b
Date: Sat, 15 Aug 1992 18:52:58 GMT

Second installment!  This brings us up to the end of Act I (it was
only a two act adventure, 'cause we needed to get it done in one day).

Enjoy!

CJW
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               -- The Revenge of Victor Manwaring --



Saturday, 4 July, 1992 (cont.):
     St. George Street, London -- 5:44 pm
     Brenden was still whistling the "Star Spangled Banner" as he
walked towards Shadoe's ground floor flat.  He had had to rent a
tux, since his own clothes were still stuck behind the investiga-
tion line at the BOQ, but it fit nicely, he looked good, and he was
happy.
     He came to the correct door, and rapped lightly with his
knuckles.  There came no response, so he knocked again, louder.
Could they have stepped out?  They knew what time he was supposed
to pick them up, and, even if he was five minutes early, they
should be here.
     Brenden began to worry.  They he became aware of an odour --
the smell of blood was in the air.
     The CIA training took over; Brenden's Beretta was in his hand,
and his back was against the wall.  A quick hit with his foot, but
the door did not give.  One quick round through the lock, however,
did the trick.  He dove and rolled as soon as the door started to
swing.
     As he came to a crouch, he gasped.  Lying in front of him, un-
moving and bleeding, was Alice's body.  Half the room was thrown
into darkness, and, just rising to her feet from within the
darkness, was Shadoe.
     Llewelyn's eyes scanned the room just long enough to be sure
that whoever had done this was not still around.  His hands then
moved quickly to tear strips from the hem of Alice's torn and
stained dressing gown, and began to bandage her wounds.
     Shadoe had made it to her knees, and rubbed her hands over her
face, as if to make sure that it was more or less as she remembered
it.  "How is she?" she grunted.
     Brenden tied off a bandage.  "Not too bad.  How are you?  What
the Hell happened here, anyway?"
     Shadoe shook her head, trying to clear bad memories.  "The
shadows, they attacked us.  It was...like Valentine described.  But
worse."
     Alice was beginning to stir.  Brenden had rested her head on
his lap while he worked.  He held his hands to her cheeks as she
struggled for consciousness.
     "Worse?  How?"
     Shadoe resheathed her sword and looked about her damaged
living room.  "I was practicing, and then -- it had to be; there's
no other explanation, really -- my own shadow, somehow distorted
and alive, attacked me with fangs and claws.
     "While I was out here, the same thing happened to Alice.  She
tried to run, but the both of them got her.
     "I- I tried to do something.  But I was just frozen.  And
then, this demon, as tall as the ceiling, all twisted and grotesque
and of shadow itself, laughed at me and struck me down."
     Brenden's face grew very hard and set.
     Alice had heard part of Shadoe's recount, and made her way to
a sitting position, saying, "She's right.  Oh, Brenden, it was just
terrible!  I tried to change, to fight, but I was so scared, all I
could do was run away!"
     Brenden gave her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
     "Brenden," insisted Alice, "there is a Horror in London, and
I think it is after us.  First Valentine, now here..."
     Brenden nodded.  "This may seem inappropriate, but I think
right now the best thing we can do is to go to Lord Mountbatten's.
There will be plenty of light, and lots of people.  Alice, will you
go?"
     Alice was on her feet now.  "Yes, I think so.  Let me change.
Dear, can you wait for twenty minutes?"
     Brenden pondered briefly how, when she was in perfect health
and buoyant spirits, it took her all day to get ready; but bat-
tered, bruised and frightened, it took only twenty minutes.  Who
was to understand?
     "Yes, dear.  I'll wait out here."



     Mountbatten Estate, near London -- 7:36 pm
     Brenden could have told everyone to make it to Lord Mount-
batten's on their own, but he felt it wiser if they stayed to-
gether, and also if he could keep on eye on some of them.  Some of
them meaning Bubba, Valentine, and to a lesser degree John and
Alain.
     Bubba stood at seven and two-thirds feet, and was about half
that in width.  It was almost amusing to watch him try to behave
himself, except for the fact that Brenden and Alice would be the
ones to be embarrassed by him.  Valentine had been at Bubba's for
a good portion of the afternoon helping him with his tie.
     The giant had come originally with Uthorion's forces, but,
after the revelation of Uthorion's deception under the guise of
Lady Ardinay, he, and many others, had left their armies in
disgust.  Since then, the name "Bubba" had just stuck with him.
Though not a great conversationalist, he had once allowed that he
was ashamed of his old name, because, to him, it was part of the
time he had spent working for the Dark.  So, now he was Bubba, with
a new name to mark his new beginnings.
     And Valentine...  Val was wearing her leather jacket with
chains, a leather micro-skirt, fishnets (one black, the other red),
and combat boots.  She was smoking those stupid little French
cigarettes, of course.  Brenden idly wondered if her hair was in
danger of catching fire.
     Shadoe had been a little miffed when they asked her to check
her sword at the door, but she had done so.  Dressed in a beaut-
ifully printed silk kimono, she attracted quite a few pairs of
eyes, and a fair amount of conversation.
     John Kickingbird was about the only one in the whole manour
that didn't realise just how out of place he was.  Wearing leather
skins, feathers, beads, and whathaveyou, he made his rounds, tying
up any available ears.  Several of the older nobles found him quite
amusing, so he was not wanting for company during the evening.
     Dame Anna looked quite fetching.  Brenden was used to seeing
her dressed in khakis and a beaten up leather jacket.  Tonight she
wore a shimmering gown of royal blue, and a string of pearls.  Her
hair was pulled up on one side, fastened back by a silver comb,
allowing one of her small silver earrings to sparkle under the
chandelier overhead.
     However, the person in command of the most attention during
the night -- and quite oblivious to the fact, mind you -- was Alain
Mirandor.  Slim and graceful as only an elven maid can be, her
buxom form was wrapped in a sheen of spider silk as white as her
flowing hair.  Her ink black skin showed through the gorgeous
meshwork, and only those spots which needed to be were covered by
small patches of opacity.  Small pieces of jewelry adorned her neck
and one of her ankles, but none for her ears, as that most
certainly would have detracted from the fine, curving lines of
those ears themselves, the points of which barely showed above the
falling tresses.
     Valentine elbowed Bubba as the elf strode past, and told him
to keep his jaw closed.  Alice was absolutely flabbergasted at such
an obscene display.  Valentine said, "Wow!  I want one!"
     Lord and Lady Mountbatten met the group as they entered.
Brenden held out a strong hand, and tried to act refined -- as he
had recently been learning to do.
     "Lord Mountbatten, we are honoured to be your guests tonight."
     Geoffrey shook the offered hand, saying, "Not at all.  Indeed,
I'm glad you could all make it.  Count Llewelyn, Mrs. Hargraves,
may I present my wife, Eleanor?"
     Eleanor curtsied slightly, a sincere smile on her face, then
Brenden brought her gloved hand to his lips, while Alice returned
the curtsey with a few kind words.  Anna was very cordial, Alain
and Shadoe were both formal in their own particular way, and the
others...
     The greetings went well enough, and the group decided to go
their separate ways and mingle.  Bubba stood near the buffet table,
and Valentine volunteered to keep him out of trouble.
     An hour or so into the evening, Brenden was circulating on his
own.  He had expected Alice to disappear into a crowd of her own,
and, indeed, she and Lady Eleanor had taken to each other quite
famously.
     From behind him, Brenden heard, "Count Llewelyn, I say."
     Brenden turned, and saw behind him a handsome man of about
thirty.  The approaching figure sported straight, thinning light
brown hair, and his six-four frame seemed to be that of an athlete.
Brenden met the handshake.
     "Count Llewelyn, I have been looking for you.  Somebody
mentioned-  Ah, but do you remember me even?  We've met, but only
briefly."
     Brenden took in the strong jaw, the aquiline nose, the dark
green eyes.  The picture was familiar, and they probably had met,
but Brenden could bring no name to his lips.  He said as much.
     "Forgive me for being so forward.  Arthur Dalming.  I'm fairly
certain we bumped into one another at Earl Bainbridge's last month,
not so?"
     That sounded right to Brenden, and he mentally tagged a title
onto Dalming's name.  He chanced it.  "I believe so, Lord Dalming."
     "Oh, do call me Arthur."
     Brenden nodded, and returned the familiarity.
     "What was it you were saying?  You had been looking for me?"
     Arthur smiled, and said, "Yes, I have.  Somebody else tonight
mentioned to me that you are in the process of restoring an estate
in Wales.  I hope they weren't mistaken."
     "Not at all.  I am, in fact."
     "Ah.  That is what interested me.  I am doing the same at the
moment.  Well, in York I am; not in Wales.  Do you mind chatting
for a while?"
     Brenden felt uneasy, for some reason, but he dismissed the
feeling, and said, "Certainly."  He waved a glass between them, and
said, "Let me first just get a refill."
     Moments later, that accomplished, Dalming queried, "Please
don't think me rude, but it is somewhat, well, obvious, that you
are not British.  How did you come to possess a title and lands?"
     There was nothing haughty in the Lord's voice, as Brenden had
heard from others of his breed, so he didn't mind answering.
     "Actually, that is an interesting story, if you don't mind
hearing it."
     "By all means..."
     Brenden sipped at his port, and began.  "Some of my friends
and I had the fortune to do quite a good turn for Her Majesty's
government.  Her Majesty sought fit to bestow Knighthoods on those
of us involved -- I daresay, all of my companions tonight have such
a title, but only Anna uses it at all, and then only while in
England -- and, in further generosity, appointed John Kickingbird
and I life Peers.
     "I had done a little research, and found that the family and
estate to which I could trace lineage were in Wales.  However, the
previous title holder had been found guilty of treason in aiding
the forces of the Dark.  He was hanged, and the lands lay un-
claimed.
     "Other circumstances had forced me to renounce my American
citizenship," -- Brenden tried his best not to sound bitter as he
said that -- "so as a citizen of Great Britain, I decided to follow
a particular course.  And I was successful.  Though I was only
eighty-sixth in line for the title, Her Majesty's government saw
fit to remove the life Peerage, and, instead, to grant me the
hereditary title."
     Arthur held a hand to his chin.  "Quite a story.  Would I be
correct in assuming that you have brought a new name to the
manour?"
     Brenden sipped, and agreed, "Yes, it seemed right, considering
how the turnover came about."
     "And what do you call the place now?"
     Brenden grinned wryly.  "The Puzzle Palace."
     "Quite a curious name.  'Puzzle Palace'."
     "And what," asked Brenden, "of your own restoration?"
     Arthur smiled wanly.  "Not as exciting a story as yours, I
should think.  But there are some similarities.
     "My family had, for generations, owned a place in the Purfleet
district outside of London.  Ringwood, it was called."
     Anna had drifted nearby, and was listening to the conver-
sation.  Arthur noted her out of the corner of his eye.
     "When the invasions first began, we all shipped off to Germany
to stay with relations there.  And quite a good choice it was!  We
found out later, that when the Ayslish reality invaded, and the
brave chaps up at Oxford deflected the brunt of the invasion, that
the dark forces marched down to London -- and razed most of
Purfleet along the way.  Our house was ruined.
     "I was adamant in my correspondence (I suppose correspondence
implies more of a back and forth exchange, and I assure you, that
of which I speak was decidedly one-sided!) that my family should
receive some sort of compensation for our terrible loss.
     Arthur showed a devilish grin.  "It seems I stirred the proper
cages, for something finally happened.  There was an estate, in
North Riding, that had been abandoned, like my own home.  But, even
after the Cumberland zone was returned to the control of the forces
of the Light, the owners refused to come back.  The government took
control of the lands.
     "It seems the government was looking for a way to show off
their efforts at rebuilding our fair country.  They granted the
land to my family.  However, my parents no longer wished to return,
either, as Germany seemed a relatively safe place to be.  Maybe I
am simply more stubborn.  Anyway, I came back to take control of
the lands and title."
     Out of the corner of his eye, Brenden noticed as Bubba picked
up a whole tray of hor d'oeuvres, and swept them into his mouth
with the other arm.  Brenden grimaced.
     "Brenden, would you do me the honour of introducing me to all
of your comrades?"  Arthur was looking unabashedly at Anna, who
blushed slightly.
     "Certainly.  I guess we'll start here.  Lord Arthur Dalming,
may I present Dame Anna Schaeffer."
     Arthur took her hand to his lips, and told her, "I am
honoured."
     Anna felt a little uneasy.  This was not the sort of thing she
was used to.  "Lord Dalming, I'm charmed."  She curtsied, and
withdraw her hand.
     Anna excused herself to the powder room, and Brenden took
Arthur around to meet everyone.  "How do you do," he said somewhat
stiffly to Valentine, as he held her hand momentarily.  Val, of
course, performed the most exaggerated curtsey ever seen in public,
then giggled.
     Bubba wiped his mouth on the back of his left hand, then held
out his right.  "Hi!"
     Arthur winced at the handshake.
     "Ah, so this is your lovely fiance!" lavished Arthur upon
meeting Alice.  "Have we, by chance, met before?  You seem familiar
to me."
     "I don't think so, sir."
     Dalming allowed himself second and third glances at Alain.
     As the night's events drew to a close, and Brenden and Alice
collected all of their friends in order to depart, Lord Dalming
came up to them near the door.
     "Brenden, I would like to thank you and your friends for
allowing me a splendid evening.  You are all such fascinating
people."  Arthur looked significantly at Anna as he said this.  He
had manage to hover near her most of the evening, and they had
talked about all sorts of things.
     A small voice inside Anna, somewhere near her heart, started
to remind her about some of the things that had been lacking in her
life since the Wars started.
     "Would you all do me the favour of joining me for lunch
tomorrow?  I would be most delighted if you could."
     Brenden said, "I can only speak for myself, of course, but I'd
be happy to."  The others quickly acquiesced.
     Arthur provided a name and an address.  "It is a simply
wonderful little cafe.  If that meets with your approval, I shall
see you at one, then?"
     Lord Dalming bowed politely, and departed.
     On the way home, Alice remarked to Anna, "Wasn't that Lord
Dalming such a terribly charming man?"
     Anna looked nonchalant.  "Oh, I suppose so."



Sunday, 5 July, 1992:
     The Underground, London -- 12:24 pm
     Brenden flipped through a newspaper as the group rode towards
Hyde Park.  Alice seemed a little upset about something, but
Brenden had no idea what, so he hadn't said anything yet.
     Presently, Alice produced a small envelope, and handed it to
Brenden.  He noticed that her hand was shaking slightly, so, as he
took it, he held her hand for just a moment.  "What is it, dear?"
     "This must have come in the post yesterday," she said, in a
quiet voice.  "It was there this morning."
     He opened the envelope, and removed its contents.  There was
a small card of good paper, with a thin red border.  hand callig-
raphed on the card was:

          "We will be delighted to attend your wedding.
                                        "- V.M."

     "Ah, good," said Brenden.
     Alice's face looked as though Brenden had just recited the
Lord's prayer backwards.  Confused himself, he explained, "I ran
into Sir Miles at the party last night.  Vincent wanted to know if
you had gotten the response, because he couldn't find it, and
didn't know whether it had been mailed or lost."
     Alice practically slouched as she sighed.  Brenden raised an
eyebrow, and said, "Why did you show me?  Is something wrong?"
     "No, not at all."
     Brenden shook his head, and returned to the paper.  Moments
later, Alice heard from him a low whistle.  She asked, "What's in
the paper, Brenden?"
     "Something a little frightening.  It says a wolf escaped from
Regent's Park zoo yesterday, and killed about four people before
they were able to put it down."
     "How ghastly!" she agreed.



     Brompton, London -- 1:14 pm
     "I'm sorry we're late," apologised Brenden as the group
finally arrived, "but there was an awful crowd near Hyde Park.  We
took the tube up to there, and were planning on walking down be-
cause it's such a nice day."
     "No bother.  I took the liberty of ordering appetisers."
Arthur signalled the waiter over, and said, "Would any of you like
a drink?"
     As they made their orders, Arthur finished off a Bloody Mary,
and spread some foie gras on a cracker.  "I want beer," said Bubba.
Valentine, ever aware of the fact that this went to the Lord's
wallet, said helpfully, "Better bring him a keg.  And I need an
ashtray."
     Brenden's own belly was growling, and he helped himself to the
appetisers.  Arthur thanked them all for showing, and said,
"Brenden, how much of what's going on in the world have you seen
recently?"
     Swallowing a bite of salad, he sighed.  "Too much, every-
where."
     "What do you mean?  Forgive me, but I have seen quite a bit of
England, and it doesn't seem that bad."
     Brenden frowned, and said, "Well, Aysle is a friendly cosm.
That cannot be said of the rest."
     "Is there such a thing?  They are still invaders.  Alain, my
apologies; I hope I shall not offend you, but I fear I might.
     "Brenden, how long have you lived in Britain?  Certainly not
all your life, and therefore you cannot fully appreciate the
effects that Lady Ardinay -- and I have every respect for her -- is
having on Britain's government.
     "If Lady Ardinay were truly an invader, then the British
government would simply mobilise against her, and maintain its
power.  But, as it is, with two governments trying to rule two
different realms which occupy the same space -- not the sane
island, but the same space -- both are hurt, and the British
government, I fear, moreso.
     "Even for all their good intentions, it is my understanding
(and correct me if I am mistaken) that it is the number of
believers in one of these realities, and not their intentions,
which grants the invaders their strength?"
     Brenden had to nod at that.  "It seems so.  But, surely, it
cannot be as bad as you indicate?"
     Arthur laid his fork on the table.  "Do you know that there
was a shipwreck off the coast near my estate two months ago?  And
it has yet to be disposed of, because, even if the PM had the
manpower to send up there, we can't operate up there with our
equipment because it is a foreign reality?  Things do not work!  I,
myself, have to be most careful, although I have had a far sight
more luck using my equipment than most of the locals.  But anyway,
that is why I frequent London."  He smiled at Anna.  "But, I am
always finding new reasons to do so anyway."
     The subject moved away from Reality and Invasion, to more
appropriate luncheon topics.  Arthur lavished a great deal of his
attention upon Anna.  Anna, in turn, showed very little, as emo-
tional displays were not her wont.  But, she was moved nonetheless.
She really thought she liked him.
     They were just finishing their entrees, when Valentine noticed
a dark shadow pass across the street outside the big picture win-
dow.  Alain stood, and walked over to it.  She looked up, and saw
a huge cloud hovering barely fifty feet overhead.  Alain was just
a little puzzled as she went back to her seat.  She couldn't help
but think of a cloud of bats.
     An icy chill began to creep into the room.  Anna and Alice
wrapped their arms about themselves to try and stay warm.  It
didn't help.  The room got colder, and colder, except it didn't
seem to be the room.  It felt as though their very hearts were
freezing solid.
     Brenden tried to stand up, but his eyes rolled back into his
head, and, with a soft mew of pain, he fell to the floor.  The
others could feel shards of ice skewering their souls, and the pain
became unbearable.
     Just as the cold began to recede, and they thought they might
breathe again, Bubba lurched forward.  He had been struck hard
across the back.
     He turned and faced -- his own shadow.  Fear filled the room,
and every one of them felt with sick certainty that one of them
would die, or even more.
     Bubba opened his mouth to growl at this foul apparition, but
the fear oozed down his throat, grabbing his voice and preventing
sound from emerging.
     The shadow raked its claws at Bubba, staggering him.  Alain
dove for Brenden's still form.  Magical light glowed around her
hands, and, as she touched them to Brenden, he began to stir.  No
physical damage appeared to have been done to him -- or any of
them, for that matter -- yet something had almost killed him.
Alain had felt it, like her soul was being nailed into a coffin by
spikes of coldest ice.
     Valentine had already pulled her chain off of her jacket, and
swung it with a ferocious cry.  Her skin crawled as the chain
passed through the thing -- but she could feel some kind of
resistance, as though she were attacking syrup.
     John grabbed a spoon off the table, and flipped it into the
air as he recited his magic.  The bolt of metal shot into the
shadow creature and stuck there, hanging in the middle of that
translucent beast.
     The fear, the anxiety, the ferocity coursed through Alice's
veins.  Her limbs shifted and reformed, the hair grew out, her face
distended.  She howled, and leapt for Bubba's shadow.
     The rest of the group thought for a moment -- but only for a
moment -- that they could turn the tide now, with the wolf in the
fray.  Then they noticed the black, translucent wolf-shape where
Alice had been standing.  It's fangs and claws looked truly
menacing.
     Alain screamed as her own shadow stood up from the floor and
sliced across her back.  Blood splattered, and Alain felt the hand
of death reaching for her.  Shadoe drew her sword and attacked.
     The lightning fast blade flashed through Alain's shadow once,
twice.  Shadoe's eyes bulged as she saw a thick, black, see-through
goo drip off of the blade.
     A voice rang out from the kitchen, stammering in impotent
fear.  "Just find out what the bloody Hell is going on out there!"
The kitchen door swung open, and a sixteen year old busboy found
himself standing in the middle of Hell.
     Brenden, back up on his feet, pulled a flashlight from his
jacket, and turned it on Alain's shadow.  The creature winced
slightly, but then Brenden noticed that, shadow as it was, it
stopped the light from passing through it.  That fact made it
abundantly clear to Brenden just how strange and powerful were the
forces with which they were dealing.  He stood helplessly as the
thing batted the light from his hands.  His fear was infectious,
too, and everybody in the room realised just how bad things were.
     Arthur swung his fist at the elven shadow, but missed as it
danced out of the way.  The were-wolf turned at growled at the
wolf-shadow, then swung her claws.  Gobs of shadow dripped from her
claws.
     Bubba picked up a chair and swung it at his shadow.  The chair
bent and buckled, falling to the ground.  Valentine's chain swung
again, with no better results.  Alain's shadow turned and faced the
annoying little ninja.  A backhand of sharp claws sent Shadoe
crashing to the ground.
     The busboy scuttled back into the kitchen.  The two wolves
rolled across the floor, a ball of grey fur and black ooze, and
Alice's growling and yelping sounded over all.  Alain pulled a
clump of shredded metal from a bag she had brought.  Her enchant-
ment sent the shards hurtling into Bubba's shadow.  It flinched and
turned to face her, the shards hanging clustered inside its black
head.
     John imitated that, and fired off another spell.  The shadow
thing screamed, then melted onto the floor at Bubba's feet, while
pieces of metal clanged to the ground.  Almost immediately, the
elven shadow swung round on the sorceress, but broke apart in the
middle of its attack.  The globules of shadow coagulated like thick
blood onto the floor.
     Kickingbird noticed something outside, and his heart threat-
ened to burst in his chest.  Lumbering towards him was a figure,
seven feet tall, and hunchbacked.  Open sores and flayed skin hung
loose from rotting bone.  Two arms fell to its knees, and the
dagger like nails on its distended, broken fingers scraped the
floor.  As it shattered the big window and swung its claws wildly
at the Indian, it reeked of the grave.
     The were-wolf crashed into a wall, looking as though she were
ready to collapse.  As Shadoe moved in to attack the shadow-wolf,
Alain turned towards Alice.  "Dunad, aid this noble woman!"  A soft
glow played about the two of them, and then the wolf bounded back
to her feet, looking envigoured and mean.
     Just then, Alain noticed the awful creature hunched over John,
swinging malevolent hands at him.  It was a wraith, a powerful
undead creature.  Brenden and Anna had produced guns, and began
firing at the wraith.  Small pieces of decaying flesh fell to the
floor, but it did not seem to notice.
     Shadoe and the black wolf circled each other, moving towards
the broken window.  The ninja kept pulling small puffs of blackness
from it on the end of her blade, but it seemed not to notice.  Then
the hideous thing stopped on all fours, and oozed back into the
floor.
     Shadoe had not even breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it
behind her.  With a maniacal, mocking laugh, the Shadow Demon
showed its terrible face.
     John found another collection of metal, and, holding it aloft
before him, began his enchantments.  The cloud of shards flew
straight and true at the undead Horror standing in the middle of
the room, swatting at those around it like flies.
     The metal struck, and jutted from its putrid skin, seemingly
with no effect.  The demon batted Shadoe aside like a small doll,
and watched her crash through a chair.
     The wraith turned its malevolent eyes on the shape of Anna.
It lumbered towards her, while its jaw dropped to its chest, baring
rows of razor sharp teeth.  Anna could manage no more movement than
two short, ineffective steps backwards.
     The wraith closed the distance, and began to lunge forward.
     "Nooo!"  Arthur threw himself forward, landing on top of the
creature.  It grabbed Arthur with both arms, and ripped violently
across his chest.  Arthur fell to the ground and lay still.
     Alain moved over to the fallen Lord, and applied her magic to
the large open wound in his chest.  He might have died, but,
apparently she had been in time, for he seemed to have lost very
little blood.
     The two monsters stood together in the center of the room, the
demon and the wraith.  They surveyed the demolition they had
wrought, and the pummeled group of stormers.  And they laughed a
laugh of absolute, violent insanity as the demon faded into the
darkness outside, and the wraith dissolved into a cloud of darkest
black which floated from the room.
     Anna was the first to find a voice.  "Get an ambulance!"  She
had moved to crouch over Arthur's prostrate form.  His eyes were
opened, but somewhat glazed looking.  They almost focused on Anna's
face.
     He reached with one hand, haltingly, and took Anna's hand in
his own.  A violent cough racked his body -- one of his lungs was
probably punctured.  "I- I just couldn't let it happen again.  Not
to you."
     Anna squeezed his hand slightly, though puzzled by that
enigmatic statement.
     Arthur seemed to ignore the pain he must most surely have been
in, for he continued.  "Forgive me, my lady, if I have been
impetuous, but you do so remind me of my beloved wife -- God rest
her sweet soul."  He paused, his eyes shut for a moment, then
opened again.  "I know, you do not much look like her, but there
are things:  the fall of a lock, the turn of a smile.  You inflict
these remembrances on me, and I cannot but help the way I act.
     "But, moreso, your mannerisms, certain attitudes, reactions;
I keep having to look twice at you, only to realise, yet again,
that she is gone.
     "And, God help me, I could not stand nearby, and allow the
shallow, selfish wrap of fear to hold me still, while another such
fine woman was taken so brutally from this world.
     "And, whatever consequences this may bring, I must tell you
now, Anna, that I love you, as I thought I might never love again."
     His eyes closed again.  His chest moved with shallow, laboured
breathing.  The wail of an ambulance sounded from outside.  Alain
thought that, perhaps, she noticed a tear in Anna's eye.
     A stretcher was being rolled nearby, two paramedics pushing
it.  Gently, they lifted the injured body up onto it, and Anna
moved to follow them back to their vehicle.
     "Sorry, ma'am.  We've no room for passengers."  He produced a
small card.  "This is were we're takin' 'im.  You can meet 'im
there."
     The wailing siren started again, and the ambulance moved off
down the foggy street.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
==  Colin J. Wynne                      wynne.c@fs.science.wlu.edu  ==
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
|                                                                    |
|  Lord Sandwich:  Sir, you will either die of the pox, or on the    |
|                  gallows!                                          |
|  John Wilkes:    That, my lord, depends on whether I embrace your  |
|                  mistress, or your principles.                     |
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