The Society of the Eleventh Hour

The Gift

    As I near the end of my shift, Morgan appears once more, like clockwork. This time, she takes the seat nearest to Ben and I watch them whisper back and forth conspiratorially, darting glances at me. Ben's grinning to himself, pleased, and Morgan looks slightly rumpled and irritated.
    He better not be telling her anything. I could RUIN him, if he's going to turn into the sort of person willing to spout embarrassing secrets about me to my investigative partner on a WHIM!
    When Morgan's not looking, I make the universal gesture of slitting one's own throat at Ben. He raises his eyebrows at me in a completely fake "Innocent" look. He doesn't say anything, but I can practically hear him asking me why I'd care about such a thing.
    Oh, only because she's infinitely cooler than me, and gorgeous, and I've got about a thousand skeletons in my closet! No pressure or anything!
    I close shop quickly and shoo Ben away from Morgan with perhaps more fervor than is necessary. When I look back at her, Morgan's lounging in her seat, arm slung across the back of a chair, looking up at me.
    "I don't know how to describe the events of yesterday without sounding overly dramatic." I admit, quietly.
    Morgan smiles.
    "Just throw it at me, I'm used to filtering through melodrama from all my time conversing with Nightingale."
    "The killer— presumably, we technically don't have proof that this is the same person— broke into the Augustin-Sauveterre estate and trashed what was once my bedroom to try to intimidate me... smashing all the furniture, smearing blood everywhere, writing messages on the walls. Almost too cliche, in my opinion." I shrug, nonchalantly, not wanting to give the killer the power he wants so badly.
    Morgan's gone pale.
    "Shit, Lucy." She lets out a startled, anxious laugh. "Anything else?"
    "I imagine that's sarcastic, but yes. He left me a letter. We're still testing the blood to see if it's human or not, so I'm inconclusive on that front."
    Morgan slumps over, head in her hands, looking exhausted and perhaps a touch angry at me. I take a seat at the table as primly as I can to do my best to assuage her frustration. Unsuccessfully.
    "Right. Was going to say this anyways, but you clearly need a proper weapon and more importantly— to be taught how to use it." Morgan picks up a box from under her seat that I hadn't noticed before and hands it to me.
    I open it, tentatively, and find that the contents are not one but two swords. The first is a rapier unlike any I've ever seen in William's vast collection. It's fairly simple, undecorated yet clearly expensive. The blade is completely pitch black, the metal of origin unknown to me, and the guard is wrought of pure silver. (Like everything that comes from that damned society. Apparently, our mines weren't as dry of silver as we thought— perhaps it was all just an illusion created by them just so we'd not intrude on their secrecy.)
The second seems to be the rapier's exact opposite. The blade is heavier and curved, with an elaborately carved handle seeming to depict a lunar eclipse. Right where the palm would meet the handle while the holding the sword is an engraving: this steel sings only of it's oath to justice.
"An oath to justice? Seems like this sword is the only auspicious choice, if we wish for the case to succeed." I lift it, carefully, out of it's box.
"That's rather dramatic of you. But hell, it probably is better for the case to pick up the saber... as it's a bit easier to learn, and won't take too much time away from actual work. Just enough to ensure you're safe."
I'm still not certain this is entirely necessary, but I don't think Morgan will be happy with me if I tell her that. Everyone seems so damn concerned with "my life" and "safety" nowadays.
"If you didn't know about the break-in, why did you go through the trouble of bringing me not just one but two fine swords? It seems rather drastic."
"... the wolf that escorted you home was one of our creations, a magical guard of sorts. Next time– don't tell it anything you wouldn't want me to know. " Morgan looks away, strangely shifty.
I wasn't suspicious before, but now I am. I give her a piercing look and resign myself to unraveling this mystery later, when she's not prepared to lie to me.
"So what I'm hearing is that you witnessed me using a sword so poorly last night that you were forced to intervene out of sheer disgust." I joke, trying to disguise what I'm certain is a rather obvious expression of scheming.
Morgan laughs.
"Essentially, yes. That sword is far too heavy for you, at least for now. I guess it's better than fending off foes with a butter knife, but I thought it was far too dangerous to let you walk the streets at night with a sword you could hardly lift off the ground."
I roll my eyes. Yes, I was a bit slow on the draw, but I did draw the damn sword— she's just being dramatic at this point.
"I concede, then. We'll jump back into the investigation tomorrow, and take a short break for your blasted safety precautions... or rather, your swordsmanship snobbery disguised as concern."
Morgan puts her hands on her hips.
"It's not snobbery! It's... well..." She grins, completely discounting whatever display of "irritation" she was meant to be putting on. "Yeah, alright, you got me there. But luckily for you, my snobbery makes me a damn good teacher. I've got a location for your first lesson picked out already, if you'd follow me."
Morgan half-bows, like a chauffeur, and helps me out of my seat in a slightly over-the-top show of "professionalism."
I carefully repackage the swords back into their box before trailing after her, amused by the sudden change in tone. Who knew she'd get excited about something like this? It's sort of... cute.
---
I stop short at the steps of the temple of the Warrior, which is placed right at the edge between the valley and mountain ridge on the north side of town.
I'd never expected Morgan to be particularly religious. Most academics aren't... though I guess that's not really the appropriate title to describe her, either way.
She asks the attendants for a private room to train in, a fairly common practice within the temple, and they hardly give us a second glance. It's nice. Even nicer to see Morgan around people she doesn't mortally despise or find annoying— still naturally a bit awkward and stilted, but not angry.
She's even smiling, a little, as we step into the room.
"You don't mind if I take some layers off, do you? I know nobles are sort of... shy, about this sort of thing, but I really would rather not fight in my full uniform. I've only got a few that are actually in regulation, and—" Morgan stops speaking abruptly, waving her hands dismissively as if trying to complete her sentence without words. " 'd rather not get them dirty."
"I don't mind," I respond, half-lying. The request she has made of me is not one regarding mere "shyness" but a breach of strict custom– if I were to ask to remove something as simple and modest as my gloves in another noblewoman's presence, she would likely take such great offense that I would not be welcome in her home ever again.
It's considered extremely inappropriate, to put it plainly. But I understand that Morgan would not understand that, and want her to be comfortable even if it comes at the expense of my own comfort.
Morgan unbuttons her waistcoat and discards it. I stand stiffly a few feet away, looking away from her. Even out of my peripheral vision, I can tell that she's amused at my expense.
Thinking she's finished, I turn around, only to find that she's merely stopped moving to unbutton her shirt and discard it as well... leaving her in only her undershirt. Oh. Gods. I turn around again, feeling myself blush and cursing my upbringing once more.
Just act normal. Just act NORMAL. You're being terribly rude, Lucia.
    Morgan's biting back a smile when I turn around to face her again, my own (fake) smile plastered on. I feel oddly sweaty and nervous.
"I'm shocked you didn't ask to change into something more comfortable, yourself. You really plan on fighting in petticoats?" Morgan jokes, once again completely unaware of the extent of the so-called "shyness" she perceives nobles possessing.
I smile.
"I'd be wearing something much like this in a real life scenario. It wouldn't be good practice if I wasn't dressed the way I plan to be in actual combat."
Morgan seems pleased. She holds the rapier aloft, a smooth extension of her own body. It's like seeing a puzzle put together for the first time— this was always how she was meant to be seen, not merely standing alone in a bakery or walking down the street. She seems almost effortlessly comfortable with it.
Picking up the saber, I attempt to copy her. Morgan doubles over and starts trembling with silent laughter at the sight.
"Oh please! Do it— do it again!" She waves her hand at me, hysterically, succumbing to actual laughter once more.
I humor her, and she has to clutch onto my shoulder to steady herself, leaning her full weight on me until she is able to regain composure.
"I don't see what's so funny about me being bad at this! I didn't expect to be a natural." I complain, trying to distract from the feeling of her bare arm against my shoulder.
Morgan frowns.
"Honestly, your posture is alright, and that's normally the hardest part to teach... though I'm sure you'll give me hell some other way, won't you?" She shakes her head. "Your main issue was holding a saber like a rapier in the first place."
Morgan doesn't sound particularly grudging, just amused.
She shows me the right way to place my feet, pushing and pulling at my posture for nearly ten minutes until she smiles and says that somehow the millimeter of difference has made my pose acceptable.
She makes me practice getting into position to guard for almost an hour, getting more and more irritable by the moment. I might be making it worse— it's far more interesting to test her patience than it is to do things properly, and even when I am trying in earnest, I find her informality strange and distracting.
"Alright!" She snaps, finally, and sighs. "Into position, now, sword drawn the way I've shown you."
I snap into position. She swipes at me as I'm still straightening the line of my blade, and I knock her blade upwards clumsily.
She swings wide, and I step out of her path— only to have her hook the blade of her rapier under my saber's curved handle, tearing it out of my hands.
I gather my blade and get back into position.
"What did I do wrong?" I ask, still out of breath. Morgan puts her blade away with the reverent care she seems to possess for it with shocking consistency.
"Well, for one, I'd never recommend that you duel me in real life. I'm the shit." Morgan grins, holstering her blade. "But other than that, your block was successful only in avoiding one attack. It put you in a bad place for the rest of the fight— allowing me to use the advantage of my height and my sword's superior range against you, for one."
I nod, solemnly, and raise my sword once more. Morgan disarms me twenty or so times before demanding we stop, claiming that I must be exhausted.
I'm not. All I want is to become strong enough to gut the man that has tampered with my city, that dared to set foot in my home.
Morgan attempts to share her dinner with me, holding her hands out almost meekly, but I shake my head. No time. While Morgan eats, sitting cross legged on the floor of the temple, I kneel at the small altar and pray for strength, fortitude, anything.
"Y'know, it's a damn lucky thing that you sent that wolf after me, last night. I wasn't in danger, necessarily... but I was shaken." I shake my head, embarrassed. "The killer shouldn't have been able to find my bedroom, in a grand estate like that. He's no stranger, that's for certain."
Morgan stares at me.
"You're only bringing this up now? Lucy, I'd hardly thought of that."
"I was hesitant to, after seeing everyone else's reactions. I'm going to continue investigating, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Attending a finishing school for ladies doesn't mean that you automatically transform into a glass trinket, that you need to be wrapped up and coddled whenever danger arises!"
Morgan holds her hands up, in faux self-defense.
"I wasn't going to say something like that. Stopping the investigation isn't going to make the killer any less of a crazed murderer— and as selfish as it sounds, I need you."
Oh. What a novel concept. The woman before me, talented enough to defeat me in combat blindfolded and with an arm tied behind her back... needs me. I find myself smiling, despite my attempts to stay on my guard.
I suppose I've always been weak to flattery.
"Then I think we'll be great partners, now and in the future. You understand my feelings exactly." I murmur, staring at the ground so as to maintain some semblance of privacy. Morgan brushes herself off as she stands, stiffly, and offers a hand to help me up.
"But this makes it all the more important that you learn to defend yourself, alright? And be careful. I'm not going to pretend this doesn't scare me, a bit. I don't know what I'd do if you got hurt." She looks away, strangely shy all of a sudden.
"I... feel the same. You've been good to me, in these past few days. More so than most people I know have been in years. I wish I could do something to be half as helpful to you as you have been to me— I almost wish I'd gone into the ring for you, as I'd intended. Next time, let me spare you the pain, hm?"
Morgan shakes her head.
"Let's just win, next time. No need for you to get hurt for me, of all people." She draws her sword once more, as do I.
Who else? I think, as I get into position.
Morgan slashes at me, a softball move and we both know it. I sidestep the move, guard up, and slide up to her left side, jabbing sharply at her in one clean motion.
It doesn't hit. I don't know how the hell it doesn't hit, but she's sinuous like water and practically melts away, agile and quick and so gorgeous. She begins what should be the match-ending blow, while I'm still dazzled by my loss, and I suppose my instincts kick in when my brain fails to make a proper decision.
I sweep her legs, using the distance she's put between us to my advantage, and she's flat on her back on the temple floor in seconds.
She lets out a startled laugh, and I cringe.
"Oh, no! I didn't mean to do that, I'm so sorry! Are you—"
Morgan shakes her head, studying me with an unreadable expression.
"No, Lucy. That was fantastic— you've got the natural instincts of a fighter. I've fought dozens and dozens of people in my lifetime, and you're the only person that's ever fooled me twice." She gets up, slowly, straightening her limbs out in one graceful motion. "I'd never discourage you from using the element of surprise in a real fight, as it's your best weapon. However, this is meant to be us developing your swordsmanship, so we should focus on that first and foremost."
" 'First and foremost' implies some sort of time afterwards where you'd want me to do that again. Somehow, I doubt that was your intention." I kneel at her side, trying to subtly check for unseen damage.
    Morgan winks at me.
"After hours, I don't see why we can't have a few matches just for fun. No rules, just casual sparring between friends."
I try not to look too eager, as it's not becoming of a lady. FRIENDS!!! This isn't exactly the trip to the library I'd imagined, but I can't see the harm. She actually wants to see me, not just for business but for companionship, too.
My next three matches are the finest yet, my fighting imbued with newfound confidence. I don't disarm Morgan, but it takes longer and longer for her to get to me. When she puts her sword away for the night, I almost feel disappointed.
"We'll resume work as usual tomorrow, I presume? We can continue lessons later, I assure you." Morgan's already walking towards the door, as she speaks, back turned.
I frown, following after her quickly.
"Thought you wanted a fight. It's unlike you to run." I tease, catching her by the collar.
She turns to look at me, something glinting in her eyes.
"Oh, I'll show you—" Morgan stops short. "No, damn, I couldn't. If you show up to work bruised, the Crawfords will have my head. Not to mention the entire damn country; no one roughs up a little sovereign in-training and gets away with it."
For some reason, that just makes me want it more. The contrarian in me roars for violence.
"Stop making excuses and put your hands up, then. I won't wait all day." I snap, haughtily, before attempting to kick her legs out from under her.
She grabs my ankle, grins, and then knocks me off my feet using the sudden imbalance of motion. I stare up at her, dazed, and she pins me to the floor with her knees on either side of my hips.
"Knew that would be your first move. Gotta come up with smarter shit, Detective."
I lean in close— enough to make her flinch, flustered and confused— and then punch her in the gut hard enough to break her hold on me, rolling her over and off of me.
She attempts to grab my hair, misses, gets a fistful of hat instead... and hurls it across the room in frustration.
I use the forwards momentum to gain the advantage once more, flipping her on her back and pinning her arms back.
"Oh, shit," Morgan attempts to roll me off, futilely, and I grin. Victory!
My grip on her tightens, slightly, and she visibly flinches, making a low sound in her throat— like she might be in pain? I let go quickly, on instinct, just for her to whirl around and knock me off my feet once more, shit-eating grin reappearing suddenly where once she'd been grimacing.
"What the hell was that?" I whine, as Morgan places one heavy boot over my ribcage.
"Me fucking winning. I knew you'd fall for that, with your god awful hero complex. That's my final tip, for the night— don't let your guard down."
Morgan prances off, thinking she's won. I let her, even though, clearly... I did. She fell directly into my trap, too blinded by her pride to realize I'd manipulated her into fighting me in the first place.
I kneel at the altar once more before leaving the temple, where Morgan is waiting at the front steps to escort me home.
It's sweet. Sort of.
As we reach the doorstep of the bakery, I find myself hesitating.
"I think I'm going to go back to the Beauforts tomorrow, to try and squeeze some better information out of them now that tempers have cooled." I smile, sadly, at the thought. At least I can spare Morgan the trouble... "I don't think you'd enjoy nor be particularly useful in this task, so I'd rather do this alone. Do you have any leads that you can chase while I'm doing this?"
Morgan groans.
"Yeah. I'll probably have to go back to Dagger and request descriptions of people who have bought the drug in the last six months or so, rather than just the most recent occurrence. I'd also like to ask around about Brutus's activity within the society as of late. Where he's been seen, what he's purchased, and so on."
I pat her shoulder, sympathetically.
"I'm sorry that you have to go back to him, after seeing the animosity that existed earlier."
Morgan rolls her shoulders, trying hard to look nonchalant and cool about it all.
"Can't be any worse than your fiancé. If I can bring Nightingale with me, Dagger will roll over pretty quickly... their businesses are fairly codependent, but Nightingale holds the real power."
I smile, at the thought.
"Um. Goodnight, Morgan." I blush, as I say it, because it's typically a scandalous act to escort a lady of high esteem all the way to her doorstep. Morgan doesn't know that— and it's sort of silly, anyways, considering that she's visited me at the bakery every day since we met. This is just more of my old-fashioned nonsense.
She slouches down the steps, turning back to look at me.
" 'night, Lucy."
I don't notice the figure in the bakery when I first enter, as he's sitting in a booth off to the side and the room is dark. When I catch a tiny movement out of the corner of my eye, I let out a strangled gasp and have my sword out in seconds.
"Whoa! Dude, it's just me! I live here, y'know, for a little while longer at least. How'd your date go?" Ben jokes, face now visible in the moonlight shining through the front windows.
"My training session," I remind him, firmly, a burning sensation of raw anxiety in my chest. One that doesn't suit me. "...went fine. Case is still shot to hell, but at least I won't be totally useless if the killer accosts me and tries to stab me in the throat."
Ben frowns.
"I think William's lying to you. If that helps."
"I think he's lying, too. I'm going to arrange to talk to him again, as well as a family member of his that could also have access to the drugs. Did you find anything out about it?" I lean against the glass counter, unhappy about the prospect.
"It's a very effective depressant, hypothetically fast acting enough to take women down in a matter of minutes. I don't see why William would give this to his mother to treat headaches, as none of the ingredients would contribute to an effect of pain relief... just normal sedation. There have to be much better medicines than this. His reasoning was sound enough but it just seems so fishy." Ben pauses, thoughtfully. "Also, the blood found in your room is thankfully animal blood, rather than human. I think it's from a deer, personally, but the science is still murky."
What would I do without him?
"Thank you, Ben." I start up the stairs before pausing, turning back to stare at him. "What were you and Morgan talking about, earlier?"
Ben smirks.
"I was just giving her a hard time. She was a good sport about it, really."
I roll my eyes, feeling somewhat fond.
"And I thought you two were getting along!" I scoff. "Play nice, Ben."