The Society of the Eleventh Hour

Late Night Meetings

          Some of my earliest memories are of my mother trying to make it expressly clear how essential it is for a lady to be helpful to all others around her. Like a knight may be sworn to protect others on a battlefield, it has been made clear that my birth-designated fate is to be the sort of community leader that is never forgotten.

           Though I am sure this was never what she intended, her words have indirectly led me here... creeping along a darkened alleyway, trailing a suspected murderer.

           I've never had a knack for following directions the way they're intended, but I've also made my peace with this.

           The figure is much taller than I, and dressed from head to toe in all black. His face is obscured with a strange silver mask in the shape of a skull— which I only saw once, illuminated by a fading streetlamp, before he was cast once more into darkness and kept that way.

            I can tell from the way he carries himself alone that he is very cautious, perhaps verging on paranoid, and that he is someone well-versed in the art of hand-to-hand combat. This concerns me quite a bit, as I am not as quick in a fight as I'd like to be. You see, it comes with the territory of being raised as a noblewoman; people have already predetermined what is "necessary" for you to learn, and all else is considered forbidden by unspoken law.

            I'm working on fixing this little problem. You see, I'm still fresh to the business of fighting crime, and I have limited time and funds to dedicate to my craft.

           I am still confident in my chances at success, as I happen to have the advantage of seeing him long before he will see me. I take a heavy piece of rock knocked loose from the alley's cobbled street and hurl it in the opposite direction of myself.

           It makes a faint clattering noise, and the man whirls around in an instant. I smile, satisfied to have anticipated his fine reflexes... and then hurl myself at him, knocking him effectively to the ground and pinning him there.

          I shift my weight, slightly, to maintain the proper leverage to stay atop him despite his superior strength. Momentum can take you much farther in a fight than one would ever think.

           "Are you with the Society?" The masked person snaps, the second she regains her breath, and I find myself surprised in many different ways.

          The masked person had been a woman, after all. I of all people shouldn't be overlooking such things— but you almost never see women wearing pants in public, even in the dead of night. It embarrasses me deeply, as an investigator, to have been so shallow-minded.

          The second surprise is of course related to the woman's odd line of questioning. Why wouldn't she first ask who I was, or why I was attacking her?

          "I haven't the faintest clue what Society you speak of. Please inform me." I respond when I regain my composure.

           "As if!" The woman strains against my weight, seeming progressively more furious and confused when she cannot overpower me. "I will be doing the questioning, thank you very much. I understand exactly who you are, now that I've gotten a proper look at your face... Lucia Augustine-Sauveterre."

          Oh, dear. That complicates things greatly. I suppose some of my exploits did make the newspapers recently, as people find it quite shocking that such high-profile cases could be taken on by someone still an amateur in the field. (And of course, there were quite a few fluff pieces that obsessed over the fact that I was a woman detective. Ugh.)