bringmethatnpc

Entry tags:

at world's end

A job.

On the banks of the Singapore River, a small bamboo-and-stone structure stands out as being one of the newest, and best cared for buildings in the area; a temple for a religion the Western world only hears of in stories from disreputable sailors. Inside, the acolytes sleep soundly on minimalist pallets, biding the time before midnight rituals.

The stillness within is a strange departure from the all-night activity in the town without, and stands apart as a silent haven. The silence is broken only by the movement of unwelcome boots sneaking across bamboo floors designed for bare feet only.

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The time it took Mal and Will to travel away from the rest of the crew (and he's taken to calling them that now, no matter how misplaced the vocabulary feels to him) allowed for Mal to calm any normal pre-thieving jitters out of his system.

Looking to Will, Mal double-checks his pair of pistols -- one far more advanced than the other -- and enters into the main altar room, quickly finding only one old priest asleep in the far left corner.

A jerk of the head toward the opposite corner. Might as well look around.

Will, who had actually become more relaxed and friendly as they found something to do, nods and grasps thehilt of his sword, before sneaking quietly into the altar room, heading towards the indicated corner.

He takesthe time to look around, though, primarily to check for any other acolytes.

There is a series of low trunks at the baseboards of the far wall, most of them unlocked. Mal starts the search through them as soon as he reaches the first one, finding nothing but folded mats and cushions for those novices not yet used to appropriate posture.

"Of course it wouldn't be that easy," Mal scolds himself under his breath. To Will: "You find anything?"

Will shuts the lid of the second trunk quietly and shakes his head. "Mats," he mutters, and stands to move on, checking the sleeping priest quickly.

The third shows nothing either. "He couldn't tell us where in the temple they'd be?" he adds, mostly to himself

"Take all the fun out o' life."

Mal heads to Will's side to move on as well, but his footsteps are louder than they had been.

And he stops.

And the footsteps continue.

"Tamade. Hide."

Will had heard those footsteps too, and he throws the trunk lid further open. It's mostly empty, except for a couple of mats at the bottom. The space above them is big enough to take one man comfoartably.

"Get in," he says, one foot already in, the hand not on the trunk on Mal's arm.

Mal wants to question, but he doesn't, folding himself up and letting the lid close.

Those footsteps are still coming -- two sets of them, and Mal's got jack-in-the-boxes on his mind if they get close enough to the trunk he's hiding in.

It's not Will's brightest moment for ideas, but even after all this time at sea, Mal's not as offensively noxious company as most of Will's male aquaintance would be in these quarters.

But he still can't wait to get out.

The lid doesn't manage to close completely, leaving a small gap at the rim. This would be much more useful if either of their eyelines were anywhere near the lid.

He stays quiet, hand on his pistol, and waits.

It's easy enough to listen, and it gives Mal the opportunity to figure out Earth-that-Was dialect.

"[I will never understand why I always receive kitchen duties]," a deep baritone moaned to the second pair of footsteps.

"[Quit complaining - at least you don't have to do the gardening. I'd prefer the food after it comes out of the ground...]"

Mal can't help but roll his eyes as the footsteps fade from the main altar room.

Will glances at Mal to check for some sort of acknoweldgement they don't seen to be returning, and stands slowly, pushing the lid up above them.

"Did you understand that?"

"Yes -- complainin' about chores. Sounds like my crew at home."

Home.

There's less humor in Mal's expression and just a touch more determination. "Figure we can get robes or somethin' in these trunks at all? We need to check the chambers for the temple elders and we'll be givin' ourselves away with hair longer 'n a close shave."

Said all while trying to crack the kink from hiding in the trunk out of his neck.

"Nothing in there," Will says, standing firm in a very unkinked posture then comes of being that much shorter than Mal.

"If we need robes..."

He looks past Mal, in the direction the footsteps had disappeared into, and tiptoes quickly and urgently in that direction, beckoning to Mal to follow him.

This should be fun.

The two novices -- at least, they better be novices, the way they were complaining -- are about twenty-five paces ahead of Will and Mal, turning left when the main walkway butt-ends at a recessed alcove and wooden gate leading off the property.

Mal hasn't drawn his pistol at all; he shouldn't need it yet.

Will pauses, glances at Mal and gestures to him urgently to follow him to the alcove, where they take different sides in the shadows. Will pulls his own pistol out, but holds the barrel, letting the butt hang from his fingers.

Then he draws his sword with his other hand, leaning forward to use the point to prod at the gate, until it swings open, protesting quietly against its hinges.

With a jerk, Will pushes it forward and retreats back into the shadows, as the gate swings back suddenly, thumping against its posts.

"[What was that?]" that same baritone voice asked to his partner.

The second man doesn't answer, but the footsteps stopped fading, reversing course toward the wooden gate.

Mal tenses at his position, right fist balling up and he's completely incapable of stopping a growing smile on his face.

Will is just about capable of not smiling, but there is a flash of enjoyment on his face in the dark as he readies himself, and focuses on the footsteps. He doesn't have time to sheathe his sword, but holds it loos at his side until the two men have reached the closest point to tha alcove.

Then he steps forward sharply, past the nearest to bring his pistol butt down sharply on the back of the head of the farthest novice.

There's just enough time for the taller of the two's eyes to go wide in recognition before they cross trying to follow the path of Mal's fist to the man's face.

Mal grabs the man's robes to stop him from thumping to the ground and attracting more attention, all the while stripping them off the prone body.

"How do I look?" he asks offhandedly, raising the dark orange-red hood over his head.

Will had caught his victim under the arm and lowered him to the ground before stripping him of his robes.

He looks up just as he has them in his arms, and gives Mal a thoughtful look as he replaces his gun and his sword.

"They're too small for you," he remarks, before pulling his on.

"Everyone's a critic. C'mon, this way."

Mal waits for Will to be dressed, and the pair of hooded men now are walking quickly and as silently as they can in leather boots toward the rear chambers of the temple.

"We need to find the head priest."

Will pulls his hood up and follows Mal, after a while quickening so he's walking with him instead.

Will's had enough of following people by now.

"Where would he be?"

As soon as Mal hears Will's question, the series of doorways they'd been passing -- brown, brown, some more brown -- change into gold leaf and more gold leaf.

"He with the most decorations, wins?" Mal finally stops in front of the only door with a placard over the door-frame. He presses an ear to the door, but no sound is heard through the heavy wood, and Mal reaches for the lever to open the door.

Will stands back as Mal does so, one hand reaching into his robes just in case, eyes open and alert for any surprises.

For once in Mal's entire thieving history, the door does not creak open.

It does however reveal a large pile of fabric swaths on one side of the opulent room, and it takes Mal a moment to figure out that it's a man sleeping.

Exhaling, Mal goes immediately for the desk on the opposite end of the chambers, starting his search for, if not the map, then at least anything of use.

Will hangs back for a second, leaving Mal to the deck, and homes in on a low chest at the other side of the room.

He has to move a small statue off the chest and place it on the floor, before he lifts the lid off and starts lifting up the sheets he finds within.

Most of the papers on the priest's desk are boring -- affairs of the temple, orders and texts --

To my most noble and worthy uncle: I look forward to my visit... Mal finds at the top of a folded and refolded letter, and he scans quickly to the bottom.

Your humble nephew, Sao Feng.

Mal's eyes open wide, and he mouths to Will while pointing at the still sleeping pile of clothes -- Sao Feng is coming!

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