Joshua Venn was quite impressed by Grassicton; as fringe settlements went, it really had quite a lot going for it. Yes the architecture was predominantly of timber and canvas, but there were a few cut-stone buildings, the civic hall in particular, that certainly stood out. On his earlier visit to that place, he'd been impressed by the range of traders on the high street, and the energy of the shoppers. There had always been money out in the agricultural heartlands, but most settlements he'd passed through on this 'tour' had been resolutely parochial. Everyone lived well, the agroindustry made for buoyant local economies, but here he suspected life might also be somewhat interesting to boot.
Though visiting Tara had been his premier conceit in securing the deployment, he was now curious to understand what made this place thrive. If he could capture that it his report, it might actually be useful. His name might forever be associated with improving the erstwhile dull lives of the country folk.
Still for an officer from Central, night time in Grassicton was both dark, and quiet. Approached from the north end, the high street hosted only gloom, the light of sparse oil lamps seeming to barely touch the ground beneath. Only chinks of light escaped windows above the store-fronts, the proprietors having long since closed shutters against the chill of evening. At the far end of the street the inn, going by the name of the Golden Goose, shone as a dull lantern. Whispers of patrons enjoying the fruits of local breweries reached him on the night's breeze; perhaps he could stop in before returning to Tara. The locals out here didn't realise just how good they had it when it came to ale. Preoccupied with thoughts of golden nectar, he arrived at the gate of civic hall.
The small guard post, scant protection from the night chill he thought, was unmanned.
Well this is just damn strange.
Peering into the grounds he almost missed the slight misalignments in the gates.
It's one thing to be away from post, but leaving the gate open?
Grassicton might not be a crime hotspot, but this was just bad form. When he'd visited earlier, the guards on duty had been assiduous requesting both the papers and business, of everyone who approached for entry. In theory, every citizen was welcome to their local civic hall, in practice, care was required to make sure attendance was orderly. Things might be more relaxed outside of city life, but not this relaxed.
He pushed the gate, it was heavy, but swung smoothly with barely a noise.
You don't slack on security when you take the time for regular maintenance.
He didn't like this at all, it was just wrong. He looked around, thinking to catch sight of a guard rushing back to post, caught short after an impromptu toilet break. Nothing. He peered beyond the gates, not a hint of movement. The hall itself looked normal, no light emerging from the ground floor where public rooms would have long closed for the day. Above, on the smaller second floor, the shutters on the residence were closed. He padded inside , ears straining but catching no sound. Wrapped in silence he approached the large double doors, swiftly making his way across the grounds and the two shallow steps intervening.
The grand double-doors were closed. Trusting his developing paranoia, Joshua didn't knock, instead extending a hand to push on the left hand side, the side left open earlier in the day. It didn't move. He sighed, just a little relieved. Just to check, he pushed on the right hand side. It opened.
Oh to hell with this, I'm going home. I'm not being paid enough.
Instead, Joshua Venn entered Grassicton Civic Hall, one hand on the hilt of his rapier. The only light crept in through the door he left open behind him, failing quickly. He reached inside his jacket and into one of several pockets sewn there as standard in military apparel, even service wear. From there he extracted a small copper tube, barely thicker than his thumb, and no more than five inches in length. Holding it towards the floor, he slipped the push switch. Inside, the miniature gears, emitting a sound no greater than an insect's wings, spun into life; and a moment later the embedded filament blazed with light. Focussed by the inset terminal lens, the result was a tight cone of intense light. Joshua slipped open the compartment on the top of the casing, taking out the diffusing lens stored as standard, and fitted it.
YOU ARE READING
Thereby hangs a tale
FantasíaTara thought she was just the teacher in a small settlement on the outskirts of the Empire. Leo thought he was just the bereaved brother of a long dead sister. That's not how they see each other, or how their friends see them. If they don't discove...
