I predict a riot.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

“The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.”
- Shakespeare

Monday lunchtime, near the sheriff's office, on Main Street

This has proved almost too easy. The clouds are rolling in, air heavy with the promise of rain, and I stand in my Danika body wearing an old coat with the collar turned up against the cold, jacket short enough to show a few inches of a tidy, worn work dress and a calflength of wool stocking. My shoes wear the signs of good, honest farm labour, and my blonde hair is frizzing round my face in the damp air. I look very distressed.

"Did - was there really a man arrested for... for beating on a girl?" I say to an old woman gossiping with her friend on the street. My fingers flutter together anxiously.

"Oh yes," she says, "it's a horrible thing. They think also he did in a girl as worked at - well, the brothel, my dear," she says, lowering her voice over that salacious detail, eyes gleaming with prurient interest. "They think he chopped her up."

"Oh," I say, and I faint very neatly to the ground. It's not long before I have half a dozen people round me - offering water, saying they will take me to the Dormouse, fussing with my coat collar to let me breathe.

"I should've said something," I say, and I burst into tears. That gets me sat down on a bench, an old woman's arm around my shoulders, and a very handsome young man crouched at my feet. "I should - "

"What is is, dear? Do you know something about what happened to those girls?"

I shake my head tightly.

"I know - I know - him," I say quietly. "He - We went out a couple of times, and he was - he was real nice to me, and -" The old woman gives me a handkerchief. "You know, I ain't really dated much," I say, shamefaced, "cos my momma's sick a bunch and I'm busy out on the farm, and he just - he was real nice, and when he -" I turn my face away, and I can feel the vibrating tension from the boy at my feet, his desire to be a hero. "He - I thought it was my fault," I say, and then there is a furious chatter rising from the little crowd, and the conversation spreads in ripples.

"Some carnie's been carving up our girls," one man says fiercely. And there is discussion of me and of Melania - ah, yes, that explains some of what I saw in her - and how we're hard working girls, salt of the earth girls, and who is this monster and why hasn't he been strung up? What the hell is wrong with this town that a murderer and molester can be caught redhanded and he's cosseted in jail? And did you hear that he attacked that nice Mrs Beddau (I wonder if at any other time Glass has been described as nice) when she went to visit him in prison? He should be put in the old stocks in town. People would show him how they felt, alright. They'd show him very clearly indeed.

I manage a brave, trembling smile for the boy at my feet, and he springs up, ready for something, anything, if it will make me look at him like that again. And I nestle in against the arm of the old woman as the crowd grows larger and voices grow louder, and I wait for the storm to break.

[OPEN]

Comments

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Lance down good, bigger horse not charging the crowd good--

There's a crack and my head rocks sideways. Stagger a bit but keep hangin' onta the horse, an' don't go down. Grab for the rider with one hand--if I c'n get a grip, maybe I can grab him with both hands, get him off and then go for the other horse...

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

This is not the first time Hirondelle and I have broken a crowd; this is why cavalry was developed, after all, to break army lines, to scatter and confuse.

I have no desire to hurt anyone, but whatever their intentions they can't be good, not with the way they're swarming the building and pelting it with rocks. I'm surprised they haven't set it on fire by now. I can see broken windows, men with bloody faces inside. No, this cannot bide.

Hirondelle knows what is expected of her. She charges straight through the crowd, knocking people left and right. People begin to scream and scramble out of our way. I hope she's not stepping on anyone; she won't, if she can help it. I can hear Isidore and Boaz just behind us, moving at the same pace. The men before us scatter.

We break through the crowd, and Hirondelle pivots on her hind legs, rearing at my signal. For intimidation only, but it does its job. When she drops back to all fours I nudge her with my heels again; it was a good first charge, but the crowd hasn't dispersed, and they -

There is a howl like all the demons of Hell coming to roost, and I hear a horse scream. Isidore and Boaz are being attacked by some...some hellish thing with flames spewing from its mouth and limbs like a spider. Boaz is screaming and bucking wildly, and Isidore is clinging to his saddle, clubbing the mishappen head with his cudgel. Hirondelle dances in place, sensing my distress, but the crowd is already moving back towards the building. Not all of them were knocked to the side, and it seems none of them have run. A rock clangs off of my breastplate.

Taking a breath, I heft my lance and turn Hirondelle towards the crowd. I am sorry, Isidore, but I need to finish what we came here to do.

[isidore-excolo.livejournal.com]

It wrenches the cudgel from my hand and clutches at me, trying to drag me down off of Boaz. "Hetkuf" I order Boaz, and he bends around and bites into the apparition and then swings around.

Its grip tightens and as it falls it pulls me from the saddle. I jam my dagger into it before I hit the ground, and as we land I roll free, pulling my other dagger out and take a defensive stance. My hip feels bruised but I do not think I am otherwise injured.

My blade is clean. I look to the thing, my eyes narrow. Straw, and a gourd for a head. I look closer, waiting for it to attack and trying to see where its words are written.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Christing hell that hurts! Coat's back behind me somewhere and the teeth rip through my shirt and into the canvas. Feel myself tear an' I'm dragged sideways and down, smashing into the street. Let go of the man as I fall, an' pull free of the damn horse just in time ta get a knife high in what'd be the stomach.

Scramble back an' up, keepin' an eye on the horse. Knife falls outta me an' onta the street, but man's got another one. "Get back," still howlin', lunge forward an' try ta grab his knife arm.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

Hirondelle drives through the crowd again, knocking men aside and scattering them before her. She knows her duty and she does it well, and we do make an intimidating sight. Some of the men push closer to the building, but others scatter across or down the street. Others still, though, are massing. Our surprise is gone, and without Isidore there is only one warrior on horseback against a mass of over a hundred. Once the surprise has worn off, we may be in trouble.

When I round Hirondelle again, though, I see that Isidore has unseated the demon. The thing is on the ground, its head aflame, a blade in its guts. As I watch, the blade falls. It does not bleed. And it goes for Isidore again.

The street in front of me is clear enough to risk it. I wish that I had a true lance, but this wooden one will do well enough, I suppose. Hefting it under my arm, I kick Hirondelle to a charge. If my aim is true, the lance will strike right at the demon's breast.

[isidore-excolo.livejournal.com]

It watches Boaz even as it advances on me, howling an order at me to retreat. I can see Catherine behind the creature - she sets her lance and begins a charge, her mare starting slow and quickly gathering speed.

Rather than dodge, then, I jerk back, trying to maneuver the golem so that it stays in her path. Such a blow should disable it long enough for me to remount, and we can then finish our task.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Backing away, kinda half turnin', goin' for some kinda opening I guess. Go to follow him when I hear hooves coming up again. Just got time ta half-turn before something catches me in the back an' I feel myself rip again, punched forward.

Knight on Christing horseback. Hell.

Stagger up on one knee, lookin' 'round. The big guy's goin' for his horse again, the smaller one's done chargin'--an' a cobblestone goes whippin' past my head an' here comes a chunk a' the mob, out for blood. Upset a riot an' run risk of it tearin' you apart, great.

Means some less people goin' after Mab, I guess. Wonder 'bout Hermia fer a second an' think Lydia ain't gonna be too impressed by any of this. Meantime there's a coupla knights on horseback an' a bunch of locals too angry to stop in spite'a that.

Lurch up an' get between 'em, spreadin' my arms as I head back tawards the Sheriff's. Head's buzzin' now an' I'm missin' my badge, an' feels like half the town wants ta tear things apart an' it's so hard not ta run with that--

Turn my head 'round an' yell back at the knights "Wouldja get outta here!" as somethin' else hits me. Maybe they'll draw off some a' the crowd if they do. Maybe if the mob goes after me not them they won't ride'em down. Somethin'. Gettin' a bit hard ta think.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

Isidore sees what I am doing and distracts the demon, keeping its back to me as Hirondelle builds her speed. I wish for a real lance, I wish for my sword, I wish for my gun, but the blunted wooden lance will still do damage at a full charge. Hirondelle lowers her head and sets her shoulders, and I lean forward in the saddle, setting the lance under my arm.

The impact jars, but not as much as I would have expected from a full strike. But the demon is jarred forward, its body bowing around the blunted end of the lance. Hirondelle pivots as it stumbles to its knees. It is not dead. It does not even bleed. It is getting up. And this time, when it roars, the howl forms words. "Wouldja get outta here!" It shrieks.

Get out so that it can finish its work, I have no doubt. Hirondelle pirouettes neatly, her neck arched and her hooves clattering on the cobbles. I spare a glance for Isidore; if he has remounted, we can charge together.

[isidore-excolo.livejournal.com]

The mob looks to be turning on the golem. Such things are difficult to harm - it will help us if it distracts the crowd, helps disperse the mob.

And then, strangely, it steps between us and the crowd, spreading its long limbs and shouting ""Wouldja get outta here!" I run for Boaz, mindless of the weight of my armour, and remount.

Catherine looks to be readying another charge. "Let it draw some on!" I shout. "If we can push the remainder away we can split the crowd." I have no weapon beyond my dagger, but Boaz' bulk should suffice.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

Isidore runs for his gelding, swinging back into the saddle. He has lost his lance, but Boaz will serve well enough as a weapon.

But the demon is standing between us and the crowd. It has raised its arms. Is it trying to entice us to charge to crowd and injure them, or - ?

My eye is caught by two figures; they have broken one of the front windows. I stand up in my stirrups to see better, and as I watch they scramble inside.

"They are breaking in!" I cry, raising my cudgel.

[jack-hollow.livejournal.com]

Hear some yelling about them gettin' through the crowd and somethin' about breaking in, and look upstreet ta see Reed in through the window, and then a couple more. Least they can't get the damn horses through the window. An' Mab was in there. Even without Klavec bein' useful, I think Mab c'n handle anything that gets in.

Sure as hell hope she can, 'cause I don't think I c'n get back there before the knights do.

Yell again as the mob comes up at me, no words just a roar, an' the blows start rainin' down. Manage a step backwards--it's like wadin' through an angry snowdrift--and grab a stick away from someone who's smashing it at me. Used ta be part of--wonderful, I think Mab's porch railin'. Throw it overhand down Main, away from the crowd.

Take another step back, away from the Sheriff's, away from the heart of the mob. Can't exactly hurt any of 'em, not now, but at least a couple a' people are standin' at the back, yellin' instructions or encouragement. That's better'n tearin' someone apart, by my lights.

Oh lord this is gonna hurt.

[isidore-excolo.livejournal.com]

I follow Catherine's eyes to where some townsfolk have broken into the jail. I cannot risk Boaz, but if I went around the crowd I might be able to stop their movement - unless they are far gone enough to confront an armed warrior.

Given that they are already attacking the golem, they may well be. There is something here, some pattern I might discern if the urgency of the situation were not so great.

"Try to fray the edges!" I shout to Catherine. If we can take some pressure off the jail they might be able to defend themselves.

In any crowd there are points of strength, where the fanatic or the strong urge the mob on. If I can remove those points, the mob may collapse. This too is part of my training. I can move easily in my chain, and my gauntlets are heavy, enough to take the fight out of a large man.

="Follow"= I order Boaz, pointing to Catherine, and then I slip into the crowd. The first man, red-faced and waving a club, does not even see me until my fist knocks his wind out. And by then I have moved on, falling into the rhythm. Seek, move, strike, move. It is almost a dance.

[catherineknight.livejournal.com]

The mob turns on the demon, and perhaps they are good for something. Perhaps they have come to realize that the beast in the Tower means them ill. And yet...

...and yet it is not fighting back. It backs away, raising its arms to defend itself, snatching weapons aside. But it does not use those weapons; in fact, it throws them away. What sort of demon would allow itself to be battered by a crowd?

But I cannot occupy myself with this now. Isidore leaps from his saddle again and calls to me, "Try to fray the edges!" He is older than I, and he has been here for longer, so I will bow to his command. As he fights his way through the crowd, I turn Hirondelle to the edges, to the people still in loose knots. Those near the sheriff's office are too tightly packed; if I tried to force Hirondelle between them, either they would drag me from the saddle or she would kill several or both. Isidore is right; this is the best way.

I gather my reins and nudge Hirondelle with my outside leg, urging her to a canter once again. And once again, the people scatter before us. I swing my cudgel at a man menacing us with a club. We will not fail in our duty.