Larkin: Heading South

The wall in front of them was empty.
Well, not empty – it had a nice, decorative weaving hanging down
from it. The cloth tried to cover a door-sized rectangle of fresh
looking pinewood boards. So fresh, Larkin could still smell the resin
as she stared at what was supposed to be their exit.

She turned around to catch the eyes of her partner, fingers communicating her thoughts in simple signs.

*Where is the fucking door?*

There was no sign for *fuck* but a sharp jerk of her hand at the right moment did the trick of getting it across.

Finch cringed, looking about as confident as a shrew thrown into the ocean. Behind them, up a short flight of stairs, they could hear the footsteps of the old woman as she made her shuffling way from the kitchen back into her small tea room – cutting off their retreat.

This was what came of pride. This was what came of making plans so tight there was barely any wiggle-room for so much as an extra step. Larkin wanted to shout and rant at her partner, telling him how *she had told him* but of course, this wouldn’t get them out either. Instead, she ground her teeth and pointed down the hallway branching off to their right.

*Leading anywhere?*

Finch chewed on a knuckle as he tried to come up with a way to not have them arrested or killed tonight. The expression on his face didn't get Larkin's hopes up.

He closed his eyes.

He'd probably gone through everything he knew about the layout of the manor down to the last alcove and determined that they were, indeed, fucked.

*Occupied rooms ahead. Corridor leads to outer garden, kitchen, watch house. Guard posted at intersection and door.* He communicated this in a series of hand signs.

This limited them to one of three options: try to sneak through the sitting room in
plain sight of Lady Marienne; take the servant's way and try and incapacitate the guards on the way to the vegetable garden or wait here and pray that the old Lady of the house would go to bed before the first servants got up to prepare the house for the day.

The last option they both knew wouldn't be viable. The matriarch of the house, though working hard on completing her first full century, had a habit of sitting in this room drinking tea well into the early hours of the morning. The stakes were simply too high to place their success on sheer luck.
The first option though...Larking considered it for a moment. The old lady would be an easier target than a guard for sure. But it was twenty-three feet from the top of the stairs to where the Matriarch was sipping tea in her cushioned chair. Too far a distance to charge at her and hope she wouldn't have time to scream. Also, the catch of the job was that no one must know there had even been a break-in. Attacking the Lady of the house didn’t exactly fit that description. Unfortunately, the same was true should they try to get past the guards.

Larkin rubbed her face as if it was all a bad dream and she’d wake up on her sleeping mat in a moment. She made her decision. They’d take it up with the guards.

For a case like this Larkin had packed needles prepped with a fast-working paralysing poison. They would have to sneak up and stick them with the needles but then they could get through without causing an alarm.
This was the only safety measure she had been able to enforce against Finch’s ego. For him, every scheme had to be worked out in minute detail and he loathed backup plans. Those were *inelegant*.

Granted, if this had worked out as he had planned, this thing would have been fucking beautiful. And yet – dammit Finch.
How could the guy who taught her the art of break-ins so completely ignore the first rule of any second-story job: the plan is never perfect.

They moved through the servant’s corridor without a sound until they came to where the first guard would be. Backs as close to the wall as they could without touching, they inched forward. Larkin leaned around the corner to take a peek at their target.

*No guard.*

She did not look at Finch as she made the signs and instead continued to stare down the empty hallway, straining to catch any sound, any kind of movement. There was nothing but a single oil lamp burning in an alcove. The only thing she could hear was the rustle of Finch's clothing behind her. She turned to him.

*We go?* His right hand asked.

*Sure about the guard?*

Finch nodded.

*Where is he?*

He shrugged, then mimed taking a piss against the wall.

That was the most likely explanation. That or the man had gotten too tired and left his post early. In any case, he was out of the way and even though a wandering guard was way more dangerous than a stationary one, Larkin was glad they didn't have to confront him. She gave the sign and they moved forward.

Behind them, a door creaked.

They both spun around to find themselves facing a man in a household guard uniform. He stood in the open door to one of the servant's room, weapon’s belt in hand. For one heartbeat, no one moved. Then the guard recalled his job description and yanked at his scabbard trying to free his sword. “Shit! Fuck! Intruders! Someone - “

Finch had moved and was at him before the man had his sword out, kicked the guard's feet out from under him and knocked him to the ground.

 “Dorian -,” the guard yelled in the direction of the room he'd just come from, “the alarm! Run!”

A moment later, Larkin had reached the two men wrestling on the ground, a poison needle in hand. She hopped onto the guard’s chest while Finch worked to hold the struggling man down and sunk the needle into his neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

The room’s occupant darted out of the door, using their distraction to try and get away.

Larkin sprang to her feet to go after the servant but the guard beneath her was still struggling, still not succumbing to the poison. He managed to get a knee into Finch’s stomach, knocking the air from him and breaking free of his grip. He grabbed after Larking, catching her foot and bringing her down again.
She cracked her head against the hardwood floor and for a moment, the world dissolved into blackness and bursting stars.

When she could see again, the servant had already vanished around the corner. She knew there was a pull-rope in this corridor that led to an alarm bell in the watch-house. Every guard on this property would be down on them within minutes.

“We gotta go.”

She could hear the panic in her own voice. Turning to look back at her partner she saw him sitting on top of the now limp guard, hands around his neck. Finch was wide-eyed and pale even in the dim lamp
light, the scars on his face standing out like fresh burns. He let go of the man and got up.

Larkin could practically see his mind working, dissecting all the information he had about this property for possible escape routes, calculating their chances of survival.

Beside them, another door opened. Larkin slammed it shut into the face of whoever had tried to get out, producing cursing from within. Then they heard the alarm bell.

“The kitchen,” Finch said and both turned to run back in the direction of the sitting room. More doors opened now but they ignored them, running past the confused servants or shoving them out of the way. Some shouted after them but none made a serious attempt to stop the two thieves, too scared to get hurt.

Finch was first up the stairs and into the sitting room, Larkin following close behind. She hoped the guards from the front door hadn’t reached this room yet or-

*God fucking damn*.

The old matriarch was supposed to be feeble, helpless and blind as a bat; yet there she was, a crossbow propped up on the backrest of a chair, point aimed at them. Larkin dove aside the instant she saw it but Finch hesitated half a heartbeat too long. The bowstring *twanged* and her partner cried out as the bolt ripped through his side.

Larkin scrambled over to where he had dropped and tried to get him back on his feet. A rapid *clack, clack, clack* told her, Lady Marienne was rewinding the crossbow, readying it for another bolt. Leaving Finch where he was, Larkin got up and rushed at the old woman. The matriarch let go of the crossbow with a surprised yell, grabbed the teapot from the table next to her and hurled it at Larkin.
She avoided it and a second later slammed into the woman, sending her sprawling to the ground where she stayed.

Larkin returned to Finch who, with the help of the door frame, had managed to stand up, one hand pressed against the side of his stomach. He was shaking and from between his fingers blood soaked into his clothing.

“How bad is it?” Larkin asked, putting and arm around him.

“Hurts like a motherfucker,” Finch brought out between clenched teeth.

“Come one. We’re almost out.”

They had to move. The bell was still ringing and Larking could hear shouts and bellowed commands from several directions now. Finch gasped and moaned as they hobbled along but she pushed them on as fast as she could. He would have to bite through the pain or they’d never make it out.

They reached the hallway between the sitting room and the kitchen at the same time as a trio of guards. They were coming from the direction of the entrance, weapons drawn and ready.

Larkin separated herself from Finch, drawing her own short sword but not knowing how the hell she would defeat three trained fighters. The first of the trio levelled the point of her sword at them.

“Drop your weapons,” she said in a tone that sounded almost bored. “We have you cornered.”

Finch reacted faster than Larkin. Supporting his weight against the wall, he drew two throwing knives. The first one glanced off a buckle on the leader’s armour but the second found its target in another guard’s exposed throat. He went down gurgling.

The remaining two cursed and charged. Larkin barely managed to avoid the leader’s swing by stumbling backwards. She brought up her weapon to catch the sword on the return stroke but the woman’s blade came down with too much force. Larkin’s short sword got knocked aside and she cried out at the pain that exploded down her left shoulder.
Retreating another step, she used the only useful thing her tiefling blood had granted her. With a snap of her finger’s the guard’s clothing burst into flame.

She shrieked and fell down to roll on the ground. The last of the three stopped advancing on Finch to first stare in shock, then hurry over to help put out the fire.

“Run!” Larkin shouted at Finch but he was already moving. They crossed the length of the kitchen and stumbled down a narrow flight of stairs that lead to the stokehold.

Larkin fell to her knees before the hatch that barred the coal chute. She ripped away the bar holding it closed and black lumps spilt out across her legs. Apparently, it had only recently been filled. She began shovelling away the coal with both hands, trying to create a space large enough for them to squeeze through and out of the opening of the chute.
Finch arrived a moment later and crouched beside her to help. Injured and out of breath as they were, it was going excruciatingly slow. Above them, they could hear more shouting and the trampling of boots.

When they had cleared a small gap between the pile and the chute’s interior, Larkin wriggled in and began to climb the steep slope of loose, shifting coal. She couldn’t get a good footing in the pile and her left shoulder was all but useless but at last, she got up high enough to reach the wooden hatch at the top of the chute. She pounded against it with her right hand and it sprang open. Grabbing the wooden frame, she pulled herself out.

Larkin wasted no time catching her breath and turned around to help Finch. Her partner was down at the bottom, face white as chalk and looking as he was going to pass out at any moment. She leaned in as far as she could, her good hand outstretched and reaching for his.

Finch struggled to move up the loose pile and through the space too narrow for him. They almost had it, she could almost reach him. He shoved himself forward with another grunt and his hand found hers.

Then it was yanked away.

With a cry, Finch disappeared back into the darkness. Larkin barely managed to catch herself before falling back into the chute.

They had him. She was outside, escaped, but they had her partner and she could hear the guards shouting and whooping inside the cellar as they beat him up.

Larkin didn’t know what to do; she couldn’t think through the pain and the shock.
She sat at the mouth of the shaft, panting and staring down at it. What could she do? Go back down? There was no way the both of them would get out alive if she went back in. But she had to do *something.*

*God dammit, Finch, god fucking dammit.*

It was his fault this had gone as bad as it had. Because he refused to make backup plans, because he wanted to time everything down to the last minute, because he had fucked up getting the right floor plans.

“Fuck!” She hit the chute with both fists, regretting it immediately.

“There’s one! Down there!”

Larkin looked up at the shout. Above her, figures with lanterns in hand had gathered along the wall, gesturing and pointing at her.

Below, the noises had stopped.