Sad_Girl
Blue Crack Supplier
October
Disclaimer: this story is completely fictional. Although inspired in some ways by real people, their likenesses here are borrowed and used in a manner which is in no way to be considered realistic. It’s full of historical inaccuracies, as well. The author makes no profit and means no harm in anything within the story; it’s just a fun little fairy tale.
“October, And the trees are stripped bare, Of all they wear, What do I care? October; And Kingdoms rise, And Kingdoms fall, But you go on... ...and on...” The Bard’s soft, sweet voice made the jostling trip easier to endure, at least. The carriage was one of the best, but the road they traveled was abraded by traffic and weather.
“I was under the impression you land was not far from Dublin, Lord Clayton,” one of the ladies spoke over the soothing sound of the Bard’s melody. Adam found himself drawn away from his thoughts, back into the gathering darkness around his family carriage as it rushed along the country road between Dublin and the small village which marked the border of his family’s land. The air was chill, and he knew he should keep the velvet curtains closed tightly over the carriage windows, but he could not resist peeking out at the beautiful autumn evening. He closed the curtain once more, damping the wind and the sound of the horse’s hooves but, to his dismay, also damping the sound of the bard who rode up front with the driver.
“Not far by Irish standards, no. There is much more to Ireland, than the average English traveler might be accustomed.” Adam replied, repressing a self-satisfied smile when he saw the grimace upon the face of his father’s guest at being considered ‘average’. The lady was just the same as so many he had met before – self-centered, pompous and ignorant. Since coming to Ireland, Adam had become thoroughly tired of English Society people and their ways. He had not completely forgotten his manners, of course, but he found it more difficult by the day to be idly wealthy and content.
He’d seen such life and spirit in the Irish people, people with so little reason to hope, but hope never seemed in short abundance. Proud people, willing to fight to their death for a tiny lot of land to call their own or the right to attend the church they were raised in. They had lost many battles to the English army, but they were far from defeated; Adam could not help but respect that spirit. It was the sort of spirit he wished stirred inside himself; he had never felt so passionately about anything in all his life.
“How long have you been in Ireland?” the second of the two ladies asked, undaunted by Adam’s barbed words.
“I’ve only just returned, myself, last evening. My father sent word for me to wait to return to our estate with you when you arrived on the ship from London,” he replied, “I spent some time in the Caribbean on business.”
“I was under impression that your family was one of military men?” the gentleman, Lord Oliver Bertram, inquired.
“My father, my uncles and my brother, but not I, sir. No, it was my own business I was attending to,” Adam replied shortly, turning back to the window to signal the end of the conversation.
“I hear young Lord Clayton’s idea of ‘personal business’ involves seedy pubs and ladies of ill repute,” one of the ladies whispered to the other, making her gasp and cover her shocked expression with her lacy handkerchief.
The bard sang now about a woman of unearthly beauty who waited for the return of her long-lost love. It was a mournful ballad, and though Adam had heard it before it touched his heart again as he heard it told in this man’s lovely voice.
He had been thoroughly disappointed that he had no room in the coach to offer a seat inside to the man, whom he’d met the evening prior and taken an instant liking to. He was, as any good bard must be, smart, quick-witted and observant. He could regale an audience with song and tale of many things, from old Irish legends to the most current news from London and everything in between. He might perform for days without running out of material, but he could also be quiet and thoughtful; listening more intently than any student.
He had the strangest green eyes Adam had ever encountered, and the high cheekbones of French royalty. He spoke in clear English, however – his accent a unique blend of Irish, English and Welsh; a result of his vast travels, as far as Adam could reason. His own accent had changed and developed throughout his travels as well.
He was known to most simply as Edge, though the origin of such a name was one story Adam had been unable to get the bard to share. He would have greatly preferred to have passed the travel time with his new acquaintance than to be stuck inside the cage-like box of the carriage with his father’s guests. Suddenly, the carriage lurched and shook as the horses drew up short, whinnying their complaints to the driver.
“What’s happened?” One lady demanded, quite put out at the violent nature of their halting.
“Cullin?” Adam called out to the driver, addressing him by his Christian name out of familiarity. He much preferred the company of those who were servants to the family than to his family itself.
“I’m sorry, sir, I should’ve pushed past him…” the driver replied nervously. “It’s… We’re being…” he stammered.
“I’m relieving your fine horses of the burden of carrying all the extra weight of your money,” a man’s voice announced as he drew his horse up to the window of the carriage, a pistol trained on Adam. As his eyes managed to focus past the barrel of the man’s weapon he saw a the man was dressed in black leather from neck to toe, his long black hair tied back tightly at his nape, and his face was mostly covered by a white mask which included two short, solid horns protruding from his forehead.
The women shrieked and squealed in alarm and Lord Bertram let out a disgruntled huff. The sound of a second pistol cocking outside his own window silenced the man. The tip of a sword swept back the curtain and a greasy-haired man with a wide gap-toothed grin greeted them with a nod.
“I’ll ask ye kindly to step out of the carriage, then,” the first man spoke, backing his horse away from the door so it could open and allow the passengers room to disembark. “Come, come, we haven’t all night. It’s getting dark, and this wood is said to be a dangerous place at night.”
Adam and Lord Bertram stepped out of the carriage, each man removing his purse and handing it over to the masked highwayman. Adam glanced to the front of their coach to see a third man on horseback; this one shockingly slender with a mane of dirty blonde hair which was similar to his horses only, perhaps longer. He wore a flat cap which left most of his face in shadow. Only the grinning man who covered the opposite side of the carriage seemed unconcerned about his identity being known.
“Those broaches at your throats look to be worth a pretty penny as well,” the highwayman said, poking Lord Bertram’s with the tip of his rapier to emphasize. The man scowled but surrendered his jewelry, and Adam did so without a word. He was concerned with his driver’s well being, and Edge’s. The point man did not seem interested in either of them, though, so Adam thought it best to silently co-operate and hope not to direct their attention that way.
He heard the women fussing inside the carriage and turned to see the other brigand leaning in to remove their valuables as well.
“Oi! I’ll have none of that, now!” the first highwayman objected, pushing past Adam and Lord Bertram and dismounting from his chestnut steed to join the women inside the coach. “My apologies, ladies. My associate is an uneducated ruffian, I’m afraid. He doesn’t understand the delicate sensibilities with which he is dealing, when encountering two such sophisticated and beautiful women such as yourselves,” the highwayman told the ladies, who blushed and, though keeping their eyes lowered, stole peeks at him through their eyelashes.
“I’m afraid fortune has not been kind to us in recent days and we’ve had to resort to these measures but there is no excuse for disturbing two lovely gentlewomen such as yourselves,” the man continued as he retrieved the ladies jewelry and purses from the second man. He returned the valuables to them with a kiss on each of their hands and disembarked from the carriage.
“Wait!” one of the ladies spoke without thinking. The highwayman turned back, and a gloved hand soon protruded from the carriage, two gold necklaces with jeweled pendants dangling in the last remaining light of day.
“A token,” the lady said, “for returning our valuables.” The highwayman bowed gallantly, bestowed a smile and another kiss upon her hand and accepted the gift. He swiftly mounted his horse once more, nodded to his men, and the three of them rode off into the wood and quickly vanished from sight.
“Why on earth did you do that?!?” Lord Bertram was demanding of the lady as he climbed back into the carriage. Adam stared after the highwaymen, bemused by the gentle way in which they had just been robbed. The man’s speech gave away the fact that he was Irish, but whether he was educated or not Adam was left uncertain. He was certainly bold, and Adam was certain unlike anyone else he had ever encountered. He turned back after a moment, to Cullin and Edge, inquiring about their well-being before rejoining the others in the coach and resuming the trip to his family manor.
Disclaimer: this story is completely fictional. Although inspired in some ways by real people, their likenesses here are borrowed and used in a manner which is in no way to be considered realistic. It’s full of historical inaccuracies, as well. The author makes no profit and means no harm in anything within the story; it’s just a fun little fairy tale.
“October, And the trees are stripped bare, Of all they wear, What do I care? October; And Kingdoms rise, And Kingdoms fall, But you go on... ...and on...” The Bard’s soft, sweet voice made the jostling trip easier to endure, at least. The carriage was one of the best, but the road they traveled was abraded by traffic and weather.
“I was under the impression you land was not far from Dublin, Lord Clayton,” one of the ladies spoke over the soothing sound of the Bard’s melody. Adam found himself drawn away from his thoughts, back into the gathering darkness around his family carriage as it rushed along the country road between Dublin and the small village which marked the border of his family’s land. The air was chill, and he knew he should keep the velvet curtains closed tightly over the carriage windows, but he could not resist peeking out at the beautiful autumn evening. He closed the curtain once more, damping the wind and the sound of the horse’s hooves but, to his dismay, also damping the sound of the bard who rode up front with the driver.
“Not far by Irish standards, no. There is much more to Ireland, than the average English traveler might be accustomed.” Adam replied, repressing a self-satisfied smile when he saw the grimace upon the face of his father’s guest at being considered ‘average’. The lady was just the same as so many he had met before – self-centered, pompous and ignorant. Since coming to Ireland, Adam had become thoroughly tired of English Society people and their ways. He had not completely forgotten his manners, of course, but he found it more difficult by the day to be idly wealthy and content.
He’d seen such life and spirit in the Irish people, people with so little reason to hope, but hope never seemed in short abundance. Proud people, willing to fight to their death for a tiny lot of land to call their own or the right to attend the church they were raised in. They had lost many battles to the English army, but they were far from defeated; Adam could not help but respect that spirit. It was the sort of spirit he wished stirred inside himself; he had never felt so passionately about anything in all his life.
“How long have you been in Ireland?” the second of the two ladies asked, undaunted by Adam’s barbed words.
“I’ve only just returned, myself, last evening. My father sent word for me to wait to return to our estate with you when you arrived on the ship from London,” he replied, “I spent some time in the Caribbean on business.”
“I was under impression that your family was one of military men?” the gentleman, Lord Oliver Bertram, inquired.
“My father, my uncles and my brother, but not I, sir. No, it was my own business I was attending to,” Adam replied shortly, turning back to the window to signal the end of the conversation.
“I hear young Lord Clayton’s idea of ‘personal business’ involves seedy pubs and ladies of ill repute,” one of the ladies whispered to the other, making her gasp and cover her shocked expression with her lacy handkerchief.
The bard sang now about a woman of unearthly beauty who waited for the return of her long-lost love. It was a mournful ballad, and though Adam had heard it before it touched his heart again as he heard it told in this man’s lovely voice.
He had been thoroughly disappointed that he had no room in the coach to offer a seat inside to the man, whom he’d met the evening prior and taken an instant liking to. He was, as any good bard must be, smart, quick-witted and observant. He could regale an audience with song and tale of many things, from old Irish legends to the most current news from London and everything in between. He might perform for days without running out of material, but he could also be quiet and thoughtful; listening more intently than any student.
He had the strangest green eyes Adam had ever encountered, and the high cheekbones of French royalty. He spoke in clear English, however – his accent a unique blend of Irish, English and Welsh; a result of his vast travels, as far as Adam could reason. His own accent had changed and developed throughout his travels as well.
He was known to most simply as Edge, though the origin of such a name was one story Adam had been unable to get the bard to share. He would have greatly preferred to have passed the travel time with his new acquaintance than to be stuck inside the cage-like box of the carriage with his father’s guests. Suddenly, the carriage lurched and shook as the horses drew up short, whinnying their complaints to the driver.
“What’s happened?” One lady demanded, quite put out at the violent nature of their halting.
“Cullin?” Adam called out to the driver, addressing him by his Christian name out of familiarity. He much preferred the company of those who were servants to the family than to his family itself.
“I’m sorry, sir, I should’ve pushed past him…” the driver replied nervously. “It’s… We’re being…” he stammered.
“I’m relieving your fine horses of the burden of carrying all the extra weight of your money,” a man’s voice announced as he drew his horse up to the window of the carriage, a pistol trained on Adam. As his eyes managed to focus past the barrel of the man’s weapon he saw a the man was dressed in black leather from neck to toe, his long black hair tied back tightly at his nape, and his face was mostly covered by a white mask which included two short, solid horns protruding from his forehead.
The women shrieked and squealed in alarm and Lord Bertram let out a disgruntled huff. The sound of a second pistol cocking outside his own window silenced the man. The tip of a sword swept back the curtain and a greasy-haired man with a wide gap-toothed grin greeted them with a nod.
“I’ll ask ye kindly to step out of the carriage, then,” the first man spoke, backing his horse away from the door so it could open and allow the passengers room to disembark. “Come, come, we haven’t all night. It’s getting dark, and this wood is said to be a dangerous place at night.”
Adam and Lord Bertram stepped out of the carriage, each man removing his purse and handing it over to the masked highwayman. Adam glanced to the front of their coach to see a third man on horseback; this one shockingly slender with a mane of dirty blonde hair which was similar to his horses only, perhaps longer. He wore a flat cap which left most of his face in shadow. Only the grinning man who covered the opposite side of the carriage seemed unconcerned about his identity being known.
“Those broaches at your throats look to be worth a pretty penny as well,” the highwayman said, poking Lord Bertram’s with the tip of his rapier to emphasize. The man scowled but surrendered his jewelry, and Adam did so without a word. He was concerned with his driver’s well being, and Edge’s. The point man did not seem interested in either of them, though, so Adam thought it best to silently co-operate and hope not to direct their attention that way.
He heard the women fussing inside the carriage and turned to see the other brigand leaning in to remove their valuables as well.
“Oi! I’ll have none of that, now!” the first highwayman objected, pushing past Adam and Lord Bertram and dismounting from his chestnut steed to join the women inside the coach. “My apologies, ladies. My associate is an uneducated ruffian, I’m afraid. He doesn’t understand the delicate sensibilities with which he is dealing, when encountering two such sophisticated and beautiful women such as yourselves,” the highwayman told the ladies, who blushed and, though keeping their eyes lowered, stole peeks at him through their eyelashes.
“I’m afraid fortune has not been kind to us in recent days and we’ve had to resort to these measures but there is no excuse for disturbing two lovely gentlewomen such as yourselves,” the man continued as he retrieved the ladies jewelry and purses from the second man. He returned the valuables to them with a kiss on each of their hands and disembarked from the carriage.
“Wait!” one of the ladies spoke without thinking. The highwayman turned back, and a gloved hand soon protruded from the carriage, two gold necklaces with jeweled pendants dangling in the last remaining light of day.
“A token,” the lady said, “for returning our valuables.” The highwayman bowed gallantly, bestowed a smile and another kiss upon her hand and accepted the gift. He swiftly mounted his horse once more, nodded to his men, and the three of them rode off into the wood and quickly vanished from sight.
“Why on earth did you do that?!?” Lord Bertram was demanding of the lady as he climbed back into the carriage. Adam stared after the highwaymen, bemused by the gentle way in which they had just been robbed. The man’s speech gave away the fact that he was Irish, but whether he was educated or not Adam was left uncertain. He was certainly bold, and Adam was certain unlike anyone else he had ever encountered. He turned back after a moment, to Cullin and Edge, inquiring about their well-being before rejoining the others in the coach and resuming the trip to his family manor.
Brilliant!!! 
Can't wait for the next instalment!!!!! 
, he can point his gun at me anytime 
