The New Dynasty

Blood Dagger

There's a loud banging on their bedroom door. 

Russell shoots up in bed and his heart is pounding. This day just will not end. He'd only been sleeping for 2 to 3 hours, and he kept waking up because of the persistent burning in his leg. He looks to the door. Maybe the banging had just been in his dream.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

The Law. He looks to the other bed, where a Stacey-sized mound lies still, covered in a navy blanket.

"Stacey!" Russell hisses. The mound doesn't stir.

The door opens and it isn't a lawman, it's Pop.

"Both of you, get up now." Pop orders, "And get dressed in your best clothes. We've been summoned."

"To The Courthouse...?" Russell's asks, rubbing hardened crust out of his eye.

"To where else?"

"Right now?"

"Yes, now get up."

"But my leg—"

"We've been summoned by The Law." Pop repeats, enunciating each word. Russell understands. There'll be no argument. He nods, and throws the blanket off of himself. Pop glares at Stacey, who still hasn't moved, before reaching over to grab a small book off of their table. He throws it, and it hits Stacey and falls to the floor with a thud. The mound undulates barely, and there's a groan.

"Up!" Pop yells again. He slams the door behind him.

Stacey finally rises, with a sigh. His waist-length dreadlocks are scattered about his head, covering his face. He looks to the door, where Pop just disappeared. "My best cloak is soiled!"

Stacey takes more time than he should getting dressed in a simple button-up shirt with dark pants and boots. He then helps Russell—who's balancing unsteadily on his good leg—to find a similar outfit in their clothing chest. Russell pulls on his dress cloak, a dark, heavy garment lined with scarlet silk. He's always hated wearing it, but Pop worked so hard for the seamstress to tailor it, that he occasionally forces himself to put it on out of guilt. Stacey wears a long, hooded coat. It's just as expensive, but not as formal.

Stacey helps Russell down the stairs and Pop calls to them from the kitchen. Together, they hobble back and forth up the long hallway.

Pop designed and help build their opulent home himself, and he scarcely misses an opportunity to remind everyone of this fact. Every single piece of wood, from the floors to the ornately-carved staircase banister were sanded and polished by him. Garrett Redd's home is one of only three in Middlebridge to feature a parlor, and the only house with a fireplace in that parlor. Their kitchen is double the size of most that Russell has seen, with more than enough space for an enormous brick oven, a washing area, and a round table set with four hand-crafted cherry wood chairs.

The best cherry wood.

Russell thought they would leave immediately, but Pop gestures for them to take a seat. Stacey sits across from him, and Russell half-falls into the chair to his left.

If Pop wasn't his father, Russell would be easily intimidated by his sheer size. His frame is almost as wide as one side of the table. With his deep black beard, his back straight as a rod, and his hands steepled in front of him on the table, he looks like he could be a lawman himself.

Pop's eyes bore into Stacey's for a long moment, like he's looking for something.

"What was in the bag?" he asks, his tone calm.