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rainbowfic2025-05-11 09:22 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2025-05-11 09:22 pm
Warm Heart #1; Vert #28 [Starfall]
Name: Trap for the Unwary
Story: Starfall
Colors: Warm Heart #1 (Hope); Vert #28 (Fear less, hope more)
Supplies and Styles: Chiaroscuro + Thread
Word Count: 2375
Rating: PG
Warnings: Imprisonment, nausea.
Notes: Portcallan, 1313; Leion Valerno. (Leion's side of On the Trail.)
Summary: Leion walks into a trap.
Leion answered a knock at the office door to find one of Tana Veldiner's messengers standing there—a woman, who gave him a curt nod and handed over a sealed note. Leion thanked her and then shut the door with one hand, already intent on reading the message. Apparently Tana wanted him to go to a house in Lock Street that she believed might have been used as hiding place by firestone smugglers at some point. Her staff were too busy following up more current leads and would he go and cast an eye over the Lock Street site as soon as possible?
Leion had no other appointments and had planned to do some research up at High Chambers, so he had already asked Arna to sort out someone to look after the cats. He pocketed the letter, reached for his jacket, and after a quick check to make sure that he had locked everything up and all four kittens were present and accounted for, he set out, heading along Zindelen Road.
Lock Street was near the old harbour, in one of Portcallan's less salubrious areas. Once the general business of the city had moved to the newer docks, the whole locale had only deteriorated over the years. It was uncomfortably close to the river mouth, and there were supposed to be a lot of hidden watercourses in the area, too, enough to put off most reputable developers. It wasn't a surprising place to find shady operations like firestone smuggling. Leion was sure, in addition, that he had heard Lock Street mentioned by someone recently, also in some questionable context.
He picked up his pace, frowning in his efforts to chase that thought, taking little note of other pedestrians as he went. "Of course," he said under his breath, as he stopped at the crossroads with Shara's Way. "That book!"
His friend Yita Pollens had given him a lightwood edition of the standard schoolchild's history of Portcallan that contained an alternate version of the events of General Sola's rebellion in the last century, related in some detail. That had been odd enough but, stranger still, it had reverted back to the usual text when he had tried to show it to Viyony and Arna. When Yita had first pointed it out to him, Leion had asked where the bookseller had acquired it, and Yita had given him a flyer for an auction in Lock Street in answer. It didn't seem likely to have any connection to a smuggler's haunt, so he must merely content himself with the satisfaction of having placed the mention.
The house in question was the second from the left end of a row, right at the water's edge. Leion could see the Calla glinting behind it in gaps between the houses. It was boarded up, and looked as if it had been for some time. The door was, nevertheless, hanging open. Leion slowed his pace. Someone had been here before him, and he had better tread carefully.
He entered and made his way in through the hallway as quietly as he could. The abandoned state of the house gave him further pause. The dust was thick on the boards, and he had to brush a grey cobweb from his face as he leant against the wall. It didn't seem a likely smugglers' hiding place—but, of course, Tana had said that she believed it to be disused anyway. The floorboards creaked and wobbled under him, as if the floor might collapse at any moment and the path the most recent visitor had taken was written clearly in the dust.
Still, Leion reminded himself, it shouldn't take too long to check for any signs of suspicious activity. He followed the trail of footprints in the dust to the cupboard under the stairs and pulled a pocket lightstone lamp out of his jacket before ducking down to go inside it. A cursory examination revealed a trapdoor, brushed clean of the endless dust. He hesitated at the idea of going down there alone, but he was only going to take a quick look. There was probably nothing of interest here anyway, and if it did seem likely to warrant a more thorough search or became too dangerous for him to go further, he would get out and leave it to Tana.
He lowered himself into the area underneath, and once inside it, had to bend almost double as he moved around—it wasn't anywhere near tall enough for him to stand—raising his faint little lamp to provide some illumination. It was as empty as the closet above on first sight, and his next move was instinctively and unwisely to try and straighten up, thwacking his head against the absurdly low ceiling. Plaster and dust rained down around him, making him cough. He shook himself, and knelt on the cold floor to take one last good look around before he left.
This space under the house extended across about two thirds of the width and a little less of the length of the building. The wall on his left was panelled, while the remainder were brick with some patches of crumbling plaster remaining here and there. The floor was lined with solid stone slabs, which surprised him for a moment, before he remembered how close he was to the river mouth and the sea. It was probably a reinforced area built to minimise the risk of flooding.
Leion spotted something glinting in the light in front of him, and shuffled forward to grasp a chain, forming part of a block and tackle. A brief examination revealed that the flagstone directly beneath it had a metal seal around it—another trapdoor. Leion tugged on the chain, grimacing as he weighed up his options, but the house was empty and this was exactly the kind of possible hiding places he was here to investigate.
Leion, after some fiddling, found and twisted the hidden metal loop to fit the hook, and raised the stone. The stench of rotting fish immediately assailed him. He drew back sharply, putting a hand over his nose, instantly regretting his resolve to be thorough. But he thought of what Tana would have to say if the one place he didn't even look inside was the most likely spot in the entire house for securing firestone, and sighed. This place would be ideal, if the goods could be fastened securely enough against the tide—plenty of water cover for safety with the firestone and the stink would keep most people well away even if they did come down here.
"Burn it," he muttered. He shoved the lightstone back in his pocket, and started climbing the metal ladder down into the reeking darkness beneath. He regretted all his life choices. Anything that had led him here was clearly a mistake.
He was almost at the bottom, close to where gentle waves were already lapping at the foot of the ladder, when he heard a scuffling movement above. He looked up in time to see the stone sent slamming back into place; the pale face of the man responsible visible for less than a second before darkness fell on him. Chiulder! Leion shot back up the ladder at once, yelling, but he was too late. The stone wouldn't budge. He shoved at it as hard as he could, but it got him nowhere.
Had it even been Chiulder? It had been such a brief window of vision, he doubted himself already. He swallowed, caught for an instant between fury and tears, both equally impotent.
Leion clambered back down the ladder and then let himself drop to the floor, landing with a splash in water that was already above his ankles and rising. His jaw clenched and as he reached for the light in his pocket, the sheer stench of the place nearly overcame him. He put one hand over his mouth and nose again until the nausea passed, and then raised the lightstone with his free hand.
Solid, square foundational pillars of bricks cast shadows and barred him from an easy full view of the cellar, but what he could see was as vacant as the house above. At the far end of the opposite wall, a metal grille was letting in the water. It was rising with the tide, but there must be a waste channel or buried stream beyond it, presumably the source of the odour of rotting fish—no doubt courtesy of the fish shop he had spotted at the end of the row of houses when he first approached them. He hoped there was nothing worse than fish in it. He pulled the corners of his mouth down. Best not to think too much about that.
Leion rotated slowly, holding the lightstone aloft, directing it at the walls, searching first for the watermark. Examining the closest wall, it appeared to be just above his shoulders. He risked removing his hand from his nose to touch the stone. Sure enough, it was damp below the line and drier above it. Barring an unusually high tide, he shouldn't be in immediate danger of drowning.
He gritted his teeth and waded through the water—now nearly halfway to his knees – to examine the far wall as the likeliest source of an exit. The grille was almost covered by the water. He tried tugging at the bars, but the incoming tide made it difficult. Getting a mouthful of this water seemed like a very bad idea, possibly even fatal. Leion straightened up and gave the bars an experimental kick instead. They seemed firm enough, as his toes could now testify, but hopefully once the water went down, he could work on them properly and maybe get out that way—if there was a way out through whatever water channel lay beyond it.
He walked around the remaining walls, running his hand over them, ignoring slimy seaweed deposits, looking for any hidden exit. He didn't expect to find one—this was part of a reinforced sea defence. His only option as yet was to wait—for someone to find him, for the tide to turn. He was going to be down here for a while. He stared upwards at the ceiling, but he remembered the solid blocks of stone he had been kneeling on mere moments ago. His chest tightened, panic welling up. It was dark, cold, it stank, he was wading through waste as well as water, and there would probably be rats and stars knew what else down here.
Leion returned to the ladder, hooking his fingers around one of the rungs and pressing his head against the metal in an effort to calm himself. Tana knew where he was; that was something. Almost immediately, he realised that was probably not true. It depended on whether Chiulder had read Tana's message or had merely used her messenger to send Leion a fake note of his own. The latter seemed much more likely. That raised another question. Was Chiulder planning on coming back? Had he left Leion down here for someone else to collect at their leisure? It was an uncertain way to try to kill someone.
Typical of Chiulder, though, Leion thought. The man had never had the courage to do the thing himself. He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. Someone would notice he was missing, surely? Maybe they could trace his steps—people would have seen him passing by. Perhaps the note was real, in which case Tana would know where to start looking. And, come on, that grille had salt water flowing through it every day. The bars would give all right, once he got the chance to try.
He slipped the light back into his pocket and swallowed as darkness swamped him. Cold sweat trickled down his brow. The trouble was, even if any of the above was possible, they would all take time. How long would it be before people realised he was actually missing? How much longer to work out where he was, if they even could? He had no water and no food; nowhere even to sit safely. He couldn't remember how long a person lasted without water. Less time than without food. Leion grimaced. It wouldn't be a very nice end anyway. Of course, he might collapse into the water and drown first, but he didn't find that idea particularly comforting.
Wait until the tide turns, he told himself. When he could move about more freely, it would be much easier to find a way to escape. He turned sharply, then, as something—unmoving at least—bumped against his leg. He yelped, and then was assailed by an even stronger smell of rotten fish. He retched into the water.
"Burn it," he muttered, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief. He threw it away and gripped the ladder again, shivering. "Shit."
He lost the battle to stay calm. He clambered up the ladder, out of the rank water, the lower half of his trousers and shoes already sodden, and hammered his fist on the bottom of the trapdoor wildly, shouting until he was half hoarse. He then drew in an unsteady breath, the warmth of embarrassment flooding his face, and he cursed his idiocy. He felt a little more human for the outburst, though.
He hung onto the ladder, not quite ready to stand in the murky water in the dark while it rose and rose around him. He distracted himself by thinking of anything but that—what Chiulder was really up to, whether or not he could trust Eollan Barra, what he was going to get Tam for his birth-anniversary—always pretty much impossible—whether or not this stupid escapade had already ruined his jacket, and then about Viyony. She'd have something to say about him landing himself in this predicament, and he only hoped he'd live to hear it.
Maybe, he thought, she would finally dream about him, and come to his rescue. He leant against the ladder, stifling laughter. Poor Viyony. She would have plenty to say about that as well, if it came to it.
He must be patient and wait. The tide would turn, and he would find a way out.
Story: Starfall
Colors: Warm Heart #1 (Hope); Vert #28 (Fear less, hope more)
Supplies and Styles: Chiaroscuro + Thread
Word Count: 2375
Rating: PG
Warnings: Imprisonment, nausea.
Notes: Portcallan, 1313; Leion Valerno. (Leion's side of On the Trail.)
Summary: Leion walks into a trap.
Leion answered a knock at the office door to find one of Tana Veldiner's messengers standing there—a woman, who gave him a curt nod and handed over a sealed note. Leion thanked her and then shut the door with one hand, already intent on reading the message. Apparently Tana wanted him to go to a house in Lock Street that she believed might have been used as hiding place by firestone smugglers at some point. Her staff were too busy following up more current leads and would he go and cast an eye over the Lock Street site as soon as possible?
Leion had no other appointments and had planned to do some research up at High Chambers, so he had already asked Arna to sort out someone to look after the cats. He pocketed the letter, reached for his jacket, and after a quick check to make sure that he had locked everything up and all four kittens were present and accounted for, he set out, heading along Zindelen Road.
Lock Street was near the old harbour, in one of Portcallan's less salubrious areas. Once the general business of the city had moved to the newer docks, the whole locale had only deteriorated over the years. It was uncomfortably close to the river mouth, and there were supposed to be a lot of hidden watercourses in the area, too, enough to put off most reputable developers. It wasn't a surprising place to find shady operations like firestone smuggling. Leion was sure, in addition, that he had heard Lock Street mentioned by someone recently, also in some questionable context.
He picked up his pace, frowning in his efforts to chase that thought, taking little note of other pedestrians as he went. "Of course," he said under his breath, as he stopped at the crossroads with Shara's Way. "That book!"
His friend Yita Pollens had given him a lightwood edition of the standard schoolchild's history of Portcallan that contained an alternate version of the events of General Sola's rebellion in the last century, related in some detail. That had been odd enough but, stranger still, it had reverted back to the usual text when he had tried to show it to Viyony and Arna. When Yita had first pointed it out to him, Leion had asked where the bookseller had acquired it, and Yita had given him a flyer for an auction in Lock Street in answer. It didn't seem likely to have any connection to a smuggler's haunt, so he must merely content himself with the satisfaction of having placed the mention.
The house in question was the second from the left end of a row, right at the water's edge. Leion could see the Calla glinting behind it in gaps between the houses. It was boarded up, and looked as if it had been for some time. The door was, nevertheless, hanging open. Leion slowed his pace. Someone had been here before him, and he had better tread carefully.
He entered and made his way in through the hallway as quietly as he could. The abandoned state of the house gave him further pause. The dust was thick on the boards, and he had to brush a grey cobweb from his face as he leant against the wall. It didn't seem a likely smugglers' hiding place—but, of course, Tana had said that she believed it to be disused anyway. The floorboards creaked and wobbled under him, as if the floor might collapse at any moment and the path the most recent visitor had taken was written clearly in the dust.
Still, Leion reminded himself, it shouldn't take too long to check for any signs of suspicious activity. He followed the trail of footprints in the dust to the cupboard under the stairs and pulled a pocket lightstone lamp out of his jacket before ducking down to go inside it. A cursory examination revealed a trapdoor, brushed clean of the endless dust. He hesitated at the idea of going down there alone, but he was only going to take a quick look. There was probably nothing of interest here anyway, and if it did seem likely to warrant a more thorough search or became too dangerous for him to go further, he would get out and leave it to Tana.
He lowered himself into the area underneath, and once inside it, had to bend almost double as he moved around—it wasn't anywhere near tall enough for him to stand—raising his faint little lamp to provide some illumination. It was as empty as the closet above on first sight, and his next move was instinctively and unwisely to try and straighten up, thwacking his head against the absurdly low ceiling. Plaster and dust rained down around him, making him cough. He shook himself, and knelt on the cold floor to take one last good look around before he left.
This space under the house extended across about two thirds of the width and a little less of the length of the building. The wall on his left was panelled, while the remainder were brick with some patches of crumbling plaster remaining here and there. The floor was lined with solid stone slabs, which surprised him for a moment, before he remembered how close he was to the river mouth and the sea. It was probably a reinforced area built to minimise the risk of flooding.
Leion spotted something glinting in the light in front of him, and shuffled forward to grasp a chain, forming part of a block and tackle. A brief examination revealed that the flagstone directly beneath it had a metal seal around it—another trapdoor. Leion tugged on the chain, grimacing as he weighed up his options, but the house was empty and this was exactly the kind of possible hiding places he was here to investigate.
Leion, after some fiddling, found and twisted the hidden metal loop to fit the hook, and raised the stone. The stench of rotting fish immediately assailed him. He drew back sharply, putting a hand over his nose, instantly regretting his resolve to be thorough. But he thought of what Tana would have to say if the one place he didn't even look inside was the most likely spot in the entire house for securing firestone, and sighed. This place would be ideal, if the goods could be fastened securely enough against the tide—plenty of water cover for safety with the firestone and the stink would keep most people well away even if they did come down here.
"Burn it," he muttered. He shoved the lightstone back in his pocket, and started climbing the metal ladder down into the reeking darkness beneath. He regretted all his life choices. Anything that had led him here was clearly a mistake.
He was almost at the bottom, close to where gentle waves were already lapping at the foot of the ladder, when he heard a scuffling movement above. He looked up in time to see the stone sent slamming back into place; the pale face of the man responsible visible for less than a second before darkness fell on him. Chiulder! Leion shot back up the ladder at once, yelling, but he was too late. The stone wouldn't budge. He shoved at it as hard as he could, but it got him nowhere.
Had it even been Chiulder? It had been such a brief window of vision, he doubted himself already. He swallowed, caught for an instant between fury and tears, both equally impotent.
Leion clambered back down the ladder and then let himself drop to the floor, landing with a splash in water that was already above his ankles and rising. His jaw clenched and as he reached for the light in his pocket, the sheer stench of the place nearly overcame him. He put one hand over his mouth and nose again until the nausea passed, and then raised the lightstone with his free hand.
Solid, square foundational pillars of bricks cast shadows and barred him from an easy full view of the cellar, but what he could see was as vacant as the house above. At the far end of the opposite wall, a metal grille was letting in the water. It was rising with the tide, but there must be a waste channel or buried stream beyond it, presumably the source of the odour of rotting fish—no doubt courtesy of the fish shop he had spotted at the end of the row of houses when he first approached them. He hoped there was nothing worse than fish in it. He pulled the corners of his mouth down. Best not to think too much about that.
Leion rotated slowly, holding the lightstone aloft, directing it at the walls, searching first for the watermark. Examining the closest wall, it appeared to be just above his shoulders. He risked removing his hand from his nose to touch the stone. Sure enough, it was damp below the line and drier above it. Barring an unusually high tide, he shouldn't be in immediate danger of drowning.
He gritted his teeth and waded through the water—now nearly halfway to his knees – to examine the far wall as the likeliest source of an exit. The grille was almost covered by the water. He tried tugging at the bars, but the incoming tide made it difficult. Getting a mouthful of this water seemed like a very bad idea, possibly even fatal. Leion straightened up and gave the bars an experimental kick instead. They seemed firm enough, as his toes could now testify, but hopefully once the water went down, he could work on them properly and maybe get out that way—if there was a way out through whatever water channel lay beyond it.
He walked around the remaining walls, running his hand over them, ignoring slimy seaweed deposits, looking for any hidden exit. He didn't expect to find one—this was part of a reinforced sea defence. His only option as yet was to wait—for someone to find him, for the tide to turn. He was going to be down here for a while. He stared upwards at the ceiling, but he remembered the solid blocks of stone he had been kneeling on mere moments ago. His chest tightened, panic welling up. It was dark, cold, it stank, he was wading through waste as well as water, and there would probably be rats and stars knew what else down here.
Leion returned to the ladder, hooking his fingers around one of the rungs and pressing his head against the metal in an effort to calm himself. Tana knew where he was; that was something. Almost immediately, he realised that was probably not true. It depended on whether Chiulder had read Tana's message or had merely used her messenger to send Leion a fake note of his own. The latter seemed much more likely. That raised another question. Was Chiulder planning on coming back? Had he left Leion down here for someone else to collect at their leisure? It was an uncertain way to try to kill someone.
Typical of Chiulder, though, Leion thought. The man had never had the courage to do the thing himself. He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. Someone would notice he was missing, surely? Maybe they could trace his steps—people would have seen him passing by. Perhaps the note was real, in which case Tana would know where to start looking. And, come on, that grille had salt water flowing through it every day. The bars would give all right, once he got the chance to try.
He slipped the light back into his pocket and swallowed as darkness swamped him. Cold sweat trickled down his brow. The trouble was, even if any of the above was possible, they would all take time. How long would it be before people realised he was actually missing? How much longer to work out where he was, if they even could? He had no water and no food; nowhere even to sit safely. He couldn't remember how long a person lasted without water. Less time than without food. Leion grimaced. It wouldn't be a very nice end anyway. Of course, he might collapse into the water and drown first, but he didn't find that idea particularly comforting.
Wait until the tide turns, he told himself. When he could move about more freely, it would be much easier to find a way to escape. He turned sharply, then, as something—unmoving at least—bumped against his leg. He yelped, and then was assailed by an even stronger smell of rotten fish. He retched into the water.
"Burn it," he muttered, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief. He threw it away and gripped the ladder again, shivering. "Shit."
He lost the battle to stay calm. He clambered up the ladder, out of the rank water, the lower half of his trousers and shoes already sodden, and hammered his fist on the bottom of the trapdoor wildly, shouting until he was half hoarse. He then drew in an unsteady breath, the warmth of embarrassment flooding his face, and he cursed his idiocy. He felt a little more human for the outburst, though.
He hung onto the ladder, not quite ready to stand in the murky water in the dark while it rose and rose around him. He distracted himself by thinking of anything but that—what Chiulder was really up to, whether or not he could trust Eollan Barra, what he was going to get Tam for his birth-anniversary—always pretty much impossible—whether or not this stupid escapade had already ruined his jacket, and then about Viyony. She'd have something to say about him landing himself in this predicament, and he only hoped he'd live to hear it.
Maybe, he thought, she would finally dream about him, and come to his rescue. He leant against the ladder, stifling laughter. Poor Viyony. She would have plenty to say about that as well, if it came to it.
He must be patient and wait. The tide would turn, and he would find a way out.
no subject
Some beta notes:
It was uncomfortably close to the river mouth, and there were supposed to be a lot of hidden watercourses there area, too, enough to put off most reputable developers.
This sentence is a bit muddled after 'watercourses'.
They seemed firm enough, as his toes could now testify, but hopefully he once the water went down, he could work on them properly and maybe get out that way—if there was a way out through whatever water channel lay beyond it.
The 'he' after 'hopefully' is extraneous.
And, come on, that grille had salt water flowing through them every day.
It, not them.
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Ooh, if it is Chiulder, I wonder what he would want with Leion. Or is the whole thing, and the reason he might be chasing him, just to keep him from making more trouble for them?
One quick note:
"There was probably nothing of interest here anyway, and if it did seem likely to warrant a more thorough search became too dangerous for him to go further, he would get out and leave it to Tana."
It looks like there's an "and" (or maybe "or") missing between "search" and "became".
no subject
And thanks for the note - fixed! (I knew I was being a bit too hasty in posting this last night, but I'd pormised myself I'd get it posted before bedtime and I was soooo nearly done.)
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Aw.
(Regretting all of his life choices seems overkill under the circumstances, but intensely relatable and when history starts slipping, you never know where a jonbar point is.)
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(Regretting all of his life choices seems overkill under the circumstances, but intensely relatable and when history starts slipping, you never know where a jonbar point is.
XD
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<3 I liked reading this scene through Leion's eyes, especially because we know Viyony is actually coming to the rescue, it's a great link between them!
no subject