Weave of Silver [ONC III | Fantasy/HistFic | Complete]

Chapter 5: Corrupt by Silver

Meera stopped just before she closed her travel bag. From the back room, she withdrew a plain, clear bottle of siphoning solution and wrapped it carefully in her shawl alongside the two coloured glass bottles she purchased earlier. She hesitated. For completion's sake, she also packed a tiny bottle of transfer medium.

She locked the shop door and returned the spare key before hurrying out. Mackleberry's gift of twenty gold coins were tucked safely at the bottom of her bag. The back streets were empty with only the faint rumble of distant conversation from the main road. Tall red brick walls lined her view on either side and the path meandered ahead, disappearing around the corner. The mid-morning sun was pleasant on her cheeks and neck, the air refreshingly chilly. She had no idea where Mackleberry could be. Her best bet was to ask at the bus station; Mackleberry was a fairly recognisable man about town. Maybe the clerk who sold his ticket would recognise her description.

She rounded a corner, heading up the slope towards the main street. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Another hand gripped her arm and twisted it behind her, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Her bag fell. She screamed, the noise muffled by the black leather glove. She sank her teeth into the leather. The material was tough, new, so her bite did little damage, but did inflict enough pain for his grip to loosen. Her assailant cursed. His voice was vaguely familiar. She didn't give her mind time to think further and slammed her leg back, connecting with something hard.

He yelled, giving her enough leeway to wretch her arm out of his grip. Her shoulder throbbed and her fingers were numb. She picked up her skirts and dashed.

She managed ten paces before his hand clamped onto her shoulders. She whirled around, bringing up her arm to elbow whatever part of body she could see. Another hand slammed onto her throat, crushing her windpipe and knocking her head back. Her arm swung at nothing. Guttural noises came from her throat. Her eyes watered. Blood drummed in her ears, counting down the seconds to her demise.

A lady should never be out alone. She cursed her bad luck. Her attacker released her neck. She managed to suck in a breath of delicious air to scream before he stuffed a cloth in her mouth, killing her attempt. Swift hands tied her hands behind her back. Meera spun around, leashed, furious eyes landing on grey hair and gaunt cheeks. Sharp hazel eyes scrutinised her with the same crypticism as a few days earlier.

"How fortuitous our circumstances are, Miss Sterne," Fullerton said with an icy smile. Meera glared daggers at him. "And you are every bit as impertinent as I expected."

She mustered all the hatred she could at the man intent on killing her tutor. Fullerton appeared unaffected. Picking her up like a sack of flour with one arm and her travel satchel from the ground with the other, he took Meera back down the alley into one of the many side streets. Meera could only see the orange-red soil-stained soles of his shoes, upside-down, as she bounced under his arm. How odd. Fullerton was pristinely put-together the last time they met. Even the toe area of his Hessian Boots had dried streaks of dirt as if they had been submerged in mud recently.

They continued in silence. He must have taken her down an abandoned path; nobody would ignore a man handling a lady with such a disgraceful manner. Her feet kicked at only air. A few minutes later, he set her down on the ground.

A plain horse-drawn carriage stood beside her. The driver sat at the front, staring ahead, still as a statue. Fullerton pulled the door open and gestured with an open palm, bowing at the waist in a mockery of etiquette -- as if he hadn't just tied her up and manhandled her! Meera stomped on and flopped onto the stiff seat, crossing her legs at the knees.

Fullerton sat opposite her with the same eerie smile still. He was perhaps quite handsome in his youth with his neatly-trimmed hair and sideburns and a properness about him. But the intensity of his gaze made Meera feel like a mouse in a trap. He said something over his shoulder to the driver. The carriage rocked and bumped on. The town of Pirran Downs rolled by, eventually turning into fields of cows.