The Clockwork Melody

By The Lucy Nation

The world, characters and locations of Thief © Looking Glass Studios (rip) and Eidos. George Mifune, original locations and characters © The Lucy Nation. "When fortune smiles..." quote © Quentin Tarantino.

Chapter 4: Confessions and Progressions

Before his first knock had a chance to hit the wood, I'd thrown open the door and dragged him inside, his impossibly polished boots flailing. I sunk both my fists into the soft palette of his velvet collar and lifted him a good foot in the air. Using our combined momentum I carried him over towards the window and flung him halfway out. His blushing head dangled wildly about when he caught a glimpse of the water-slick streets shimmering so far bellow. The steady thick droplet's of rain falling from the abysmal sky did well to mix with his sweat.

"Three Questions, George."

While I'd firmly grasped whatever attentions he possessed, I'd still have bet Ol' Bafford's staff that he wouldn't be listening to a word I said - so with every syllable I shook his legs, if anything I'd press my anger onto him.

"What do you know of the Order of the Vine, are you in anyway lying to me and is there a history of zombiism in your family?"

"What? Garrett? I don't know! What is -"

I let him slip another set of inches towards the street.

"Okay! I'm sorry! I'm a lying bastard she wasn't kidnapped she left with all her stuff and note saying she hated me and that she was staying with a Vine Priest those filthy pagans now I'm all alone and I want my money back because I have a gambling problem... Oh by the BUILDER I'm scared of heights!" He hastily covered his eyes and began muttering a prayer. I pulled him back inside and dropped him to the red and gold carpeted floor. His Hammerite prayer ceased and he looked up cautiously, those big blue eyes of his swimming like a toddlers. He delicately wiped the sodden blonde fringe off his face. If I wasn't so angry, I probably would have felt sorry for him.

"So she left with a Vine, did she... Male or Female?"

"A man, named Raoul. He was a tall weed of a thing - gaunt like a bloody skeleton and always preaching on about something or other. I'd only met him just the once when Emily insisted on inviting her Opera House friends over for dinner. She seemed quite smitten with him, much to my utter shock. The man had nothing going for him aside from the silk in his robes. Awfully annoying whiny voice. Yet she just had to laugh at his jokes and not at mine." He pounded his fist on the floor and grimaced in pain.

"Get up, George." I groaned and headed into the kitchen. Awaiting me was the meal I'd cooked twice tonight - once asleep and once awake. A leg of mutton and a cucumber... the top of my culinary talents. I dumped it on a silver tray and returned to my living room just as George carried his brooding self into the very chair the Viktoria-impersonator in my dreams had occupied. Yet purple-woven silks and dirty blonde hair were a far better match then cherry-blood-red and melting green.

So he had confirmed what my nightmare guest had sung - the woman wasn't kidnapped, she'd left the pathetic drip and run off. Which, had I been any other man in any other profession, might have tugged twice at my heartstrings and convinced me to drop this awful charade of a partnership - how could I be convinced to make a profit from dragging some poor, miserable woman back to her upper-class prison? Ha, mental snort, easy... I'd be making a profit. If a childhood of Keeper training didn't inspire a sense of professional morality by this night and year, than by no means would a broken marriage. Why I was even thinking about it astounded me - had the vision shaken me down further than I thought it would? Perhaps. But the vision was essential to this 'case', because it proved a great many things - least of all that George was both lying and scum. What it didn't prove, was an underlying river of self-doubt.

Quite the contrary, it was luring my wits in further.

"Tell me, George..." I snapped the cucumber in half theatrically, noticing with pleasure the gulp my inbred friend now suddenly tried to hide. Good... be afraid, George. Be very afraid. "... everything you know about Lady Valarius. Her wealth, her friends, her contacts with Emily... her voice." I munched lazily on my meal, hoping this wouldn't take all night - I'd laid the bait for him to solve who'd taken his wife, and I'd laid it without patronising or frightening him further. If he came to the same decision as I did, without me having to spell it out directly, he might regain the parts of his composure I somewhat admired. Consider it my form of apology... to bring back my client's self-pride without his destructive arrogance.

"Well, uh... she's tall, thin - partially pretty. Owns half the artistic scene after she weaselled the Opera house out of that poor fool Raou-" He stopped sharp.

You could almost hear the tiny cogs and gears whirring around in his brain.

I nodded, grinning... could he connect the dots as faster than I thought?

"Or was it Richard, I can't quite remember. I never really cared for that family - inbred idiots, mother said. No wonder he got the Opera snatched out from under his feet, ay?" He snorted and went on. "Oh, but the Lady owns them all now, haven't seen Richard in months... Valarius even had his statue destroyed so that no one could recognise him in the street anymore, that evil trollop. Still, my Emily always did admire her political sense - she used to say that wicked Lady had a plan for everything, and that nothing ever ruffled her feathers. Until you stole that stone, heh heh. That really set her skirts on fire, couldn't have happened at a better time, either. Emily didn't speak to her for days after that - because her Melody Box was gone. I remember her coming up to me and sobbing on about 'The clockwork's gone, the clockwork's gone' - like it was a sign from heaven by the builder himself. Oh, but Lady Valarius kept on trying to win her back, till finally she-"

"GEORGE." I finally interjected with a heaving sigh. "I admire your ability to drone on gratuitously without hide-nor-hair of a point because granted, it's a skill all gentlemen should aspire to hold - but please, for the sake of keeping your head attached to your shoulders, try to see the reason for my interest in Lady Valarius." A took a sip of my warming drink. "And bare in mind it's Raoul, not Richard, that she banished into obscurity... months and months ago."

His pallid brow furrowed as he thought this over. For a quick second, I almost heard him ask how I knew about Raoul - but thinking it wiser (and a large degree safer) not to question me in my exasperated anger he fell back into the rhythm of thinking, not questioning. The silence was a welcome one, and after a few lengthy seconds of it, I returned to my meal with the full intention of eating it completely before I'd speak another word. But as it turned out, such delay tactics weren't needed... for even when every scrap of flesh was wiped from my plate, George was still thinking. I licked my fingers gracefully and sighed.

"The Raoul you saw at dinner that night was Lady Valarius in disguise - she was building up her alibi." I offered and knotted my hands together beneath my chin. The noble's expression turned from grim to surprised as he leant back further in my richly-upholstered armchair, his eyebrows bare millimetres from his hair-line. "From what you described to me, it couldn't possibly be him - I've met the real Raoul. He's a hermit in the sewers - quite insane with bitterness. All he ever did was drone on and on in Opera Speak about the Lady's betrayal... in a rich, deep voice. The Raoul at your dinner party was a) Sane b) Whiney and c) A pagan." I drew in a deep breath, then puffed it out in a small laugh. "And the Raoul I know is definitely not a member of the Vine Order, however badly he smells."

"But... I would have recognised her, surely!" He tried - I shook my head. "I mean... oh Dear."

I lifted myself up and carried my tray back to the kitchen, from which my grumbling voice carried out steady and strong. "Congratulations, your wife left you for a pagan sorceress who owns half the dandy scene... nice, if not a touch unwarranted." I heard him snort a laugh of bemusement. "You're not too bad George, I've met worse fops in my time... but that doesn't mean these - extra developments, won't end up costing you dearly." I returned from the kitchen with a bottle of fairly bad wine (Curtesy of The Crippled Burrick's unlocked cellar door) and an extra goblet. I refilled my cup and poured out his. He moved to take it but I waved him off.

"Now, we can continue in one of three ways. First, you consider the challenge no longer up to either of our standards - meaning you want to cancel this agreement forthwith and pay me for my services so far. Second, you can resign yourself to being the client only - you won't come with me in my outings, you won't arrive here unexpected and you won't pry into my... means of investigation. You'll pay me twice the agreed figure since the agreed assignment has grown beyond a simple rescue mission. And thirdly... lucky last - You can decide that getting your wife back is no longer an option, because now you have the chance of getting something better..."

"Getting... what?"

"Revenge." I scoffed and took a long sip of bitter wine.

"Oh... er..."

"George, you might not understand this... but being who I am, I don't make a lot of friends. Well... none that I like." He perked up a bit at this. "And sometimes, sometimes I tend to keep an eye out for fellows whom I admire from afar. I consider Raoul to be one of those people..." George looked a bit crestfallen at this admition, as he'd probably been hoping I was referring to him. Heh. "He may be crazy, bitter, twisted and creepy... but he took a chance and helped me out - albeit, to forward his own goals... but I'd like to give him something back. This, Squire Mifune, has the potential to work out extremely well in your favour. It's not every day the greatest Thief this city's never seen decides to hand out favours." The corners of my lips lifted into a cat-like smile. I love blowing my own horn, however vulgar that sounded.

"But... it's a little harsh, isn't it?" He winced. I could tell he liked the idea of getting back at his wife a lot more than he wanted to believe - but there was something holding him back. "I mean, sure she's a cold, cruel bitch who uses her feminine whiles to drain men of the will to live... but revenge... What would the builder think?"

Oh, so there it was - Georgey believed in Eternal Paradise. From his hasty prayers earlier, I knew he was of the faith... but really, he commits adultery like it was nothing but strawberry crumpets - yet revenge was suddenly a sin. I shook my head... why was it that I knew so many people with selective morality? It's one thing to be a bastard, but the least you could do was admit that your pass card through the holy gates was slowly expiring.

"Let me tell you something, George... When fortune smiles on something as violent and ugly as revenge, not only is it proof that the builder exists - but that you're doing his will." I slid his goblet closer to him, targeting my predatory green eye on him. He had to know how much I was offering him here, and how rare such a conversation like this occurred. He looked away from me sourly and focused his gaze out the window. It was still raining, still foggy and cold. The steady pale wash down the smoke-blackened roof of the house adjacent looked oddly morose and morbid. His eyes dimmed and misted up as he thought about the fate awaiting his wife and cohorts if he agreed. It was a sobering sight to behold.

"Okay, Mr Garrett." He reached out and snagged his goblet, his face still scrunched and sour and his tone of voice a touch acidic. "Revenge it is."

I raised my cup to his. "To the fall of Lady Valarius." We chinked together, sealing the deal as gentlemen would - a Thief and a Nobleman, together in a pact of wicked deeds.

"The Fall of Lady Valarius." He echoed, and we drank.