//------------------------------// // It's Curtains For You // Story: Tower of the West // by Lasairfion //------------------------------// Wrath slunk towards the huge stacked stones that formed the city wall. Slipping across the roadway he moved through the long grasses and under-brush to get closer to the gateway and its tower. Fortunately the conspiratorial cargo movers had disappeared when the commotion in the air had started, and a few handy crates still littered the open ground between him and the open gate. Moving from spot to spot using whatever cover he could find, Wrath came up against a tree that grew against the tower wall. He took the time to blend into the shadows and take a breather. Hitting the river had rather taken it out of him, and the cold was seeping into his skin even on a warm night like this. Looking up towards the pale moon, he could see that part of the mainsail of the opposing ship must’ve torn loose during the battle, and the heavy canvas had wrapped itself across the roof of the building; no doubt caught upon the fancy decorative ironwork that adorned so many Vanneran rooftops. Lady Luck was smiling down upon him. The halyards, still attached to the torn mainsail, were hanging down the side of the building, meeting the treetop near him. Mustering his strength, Wrath hauled himself up the broad branches of the tree, boosting himself with a little supportive magic when he felt that the glow would not be too obvious. Pushing his way through the dense foliage at the top of the tree, he grasped hold of the nearest rope and tugged carefully, testing its stability in supporting his weight. Finally convinced that he wasn’t going to plummet to the ground, he slowly inched his way up until he came close to the open and unlit window whose continual evening light had started this whole escapade. The window was covered now with heavy drapes, blocking out whatever light was in the room. Pulling himself up the last few inches, Wrath struggled onto the windowsill and hauled himself onto the broad stone lintel, before dropping relatively noiselessly onto the stone floor behind the curtains. The drapes were heavily patterned and were perhaps once quite opulent, but you could see that they were now well worn and fairly dusty. Likewise the floor, at least here, was fairly dirty as if it had not been cleaned in a good while. The room seemed silent, and Wrath decided to take a peek from behind the curtains and into the room beyond. He slowly nudged aside the heavy fabric and squinted against the lit candles that cast their light on him from the wall sconces around the room. The room was fairly small, since it was set into the curve of the tower. A staircase swept up from the right, into the room, through a door that lay open. Just past the window a small table held a box and a piece of crystal. Bookshelves lined the far wall, and in the middle of the room, a large oak table and a wheelchair. On the table a piece of rough parchment lay. Behind the table, on the far side of the wheelchair was a tall and expensive looking harp. The wheelchair was positioned towards the harp, with its back to the window; and in which sat a pegasus. The figure was slim, and the sky blue coat well maintained. Long blonde tresses of her mane flowed down her back and commingled with those of her tail, which tumbled over the side of the contraption. The long flight pinions of her extended wings looked sharp and oiled as they lay half-outstretched towards the musical instrument. The sylph turned her head. ‘And her hooves were well hooficured and shone so brilliantly…’, she said, ‘or did you miss that one?’ Wrath grinned. ‘The Sylph of the Tower of the West, I presume?’ ‘Some have taken to such fanciful names’, replied the mare. ‘Who are you, and why come you into my chamber…’, she continued, ‘to perhaps rob a poor Vanneran cripple?’ ‘Aah, theft is such a terrible thing isn’t it’, Wrath responded. ‘To deprive one of the things they own... and yet, what do I espy here upon your own table? Surely I would not expect to find such an item in the hooves of an innocent and charming young mare. I wonder where it could have come from?’ He paused and walked around the table a little, to better face her. ‘A certain priest mentioned that he was visited recently by a well-read young mare in a wheelchair,’ said Wrath, waving a hoof at the bookshelves. ‘And unfortunately he seems to have found himself missing a valuable piece of parchment... such a coincidence don't you think?’ Wrath angled himself a little closer to the table. The mare shifted in her chair. ‘You know’, continued Wrath, ‘for a pegasus that cannot fly your hooves are indeed quite shiny...’ Downstairs there was an almighty crash as the door to the house was broken in. He could hear yells as members of the Agisters called out for the occupants to show themselves and surrender. Outside he could hear the noise of explosions, and flashes of light briefly illuminated the opposite wall through the open window. Quickly leaning forward he made a grab for the map; as he did, the pegasus launched herself across the airspace, wings spread wide. Grasping the map in his magic, Wrath connected his forehooves with the edge of the desk and flipped backwards. As he did so the mare passed over the top of him, but the map was now below Wrath near the floor. Twisting, he brought the map to his chest and rolled through the open doorway and down the stairs. He heard the pegasus scream in annoyance but she, choosing not to follow Wrath down and into the hands of the authorities, exited out the open window. Wrath bounced down the stairs hitting every single one on the way down. He finally ended up in a heap at the bottom on the cold stone floor. He groaned. Opening his eyes and slowly peering up, his eyes met the upside down gaze of a uniformed officer. He smiled weakly. Another officer, looking rather disheveled, limped upside down into his view. ‘Aah Wrath, what a predicament you do find yourself in...’ proclaimed Cool Pastures. Wrath grinned painfully and rolled over, stuffing the map beneath him inside his jacket as he did so. ‘She was there, the Sylph, but she flew out the window. Some cripple she was… a fake looking for who knows what.’ ‘She was involved in smuggling through the city, armaments, messages, to and from our enemies; the which she left open the gates and gave admittance. Our forces have caught a number of individuals who the questioning of, will bring some further answers, I have no doubt,’ replied the Agister, indicating a pony in shackles near the door. Wrath looked at the detained pony and nodded; it was the boatpony from before, the one with that odd sculling stroke that had been the subject of conversation on his way across the river from the Llamasery. ‘Well what’s done is done, and I’m in need of rest,’ said Wrath. The Agister nodded, and the two limped out into the moonlight. ---- Back at the Broken Snare, Wrath leaned against the bar. The night’s rest had helped to ease some of the aches, although the bruises would take a while to disappear. At least they didn’t really show up against his coat. Next to him Cool Pastures sipped a complicated cocktail, whilst Black Thorn stood in his usual spot polishing the glassware. ‘...so she went for me. Good job you turned up in time with a distraction’, said Wrath, ‘although I'm still debating the merits of a trip down that staircase.’ ‘It seems that perhaps there was a motive behind the Sylph's traitorous ways?’ asked the Agister. ‘War drives ponies to do strange things’, replied Wrath. ‘I would expect she’d been paid handsomely for her duplicity. Wishful thinking of the chance of wealth has driven others to do far more’, replied Wrath. ‘A terrible thing that one would abandon principles and their people for mere riches’, needled the Agister. ‘I wouldn't know’, said Wrath. The Agister looked at him. ‘The commission would be handing you a medal for your part in downing the enemy ship, I'm sure. Quite a feat it was in such tumultuous conditions.’ ‘Keep your medal’, growled Wrath. ‘You and your men took it down, I was never there.’ He paused. ‘Although safe passage out of here wouldn’t go amiss.’ ---- Out on the river, a small boat bobbed up and down. Wrath lay back in the prow, sipping a cool drink, as the boatpony sculled his way across the harbour. A map lay across his chest. As they passed the now empty tower house the pilot commented on the events of the past few days. ‘Strange it is, that empty house. It is said that it was inhabited by a crippled mare who shot down an enemy airship’, said the boatpony. ‘Oh?’ said Wrath. ‘I heard that it was three airships, and that she shot them down... with a giant trebuchet. It was mounted on the roof.’ ‘Three... wait. What? Hey!’ The boat floated off into the sunset, a trail of muttered cursings from the rear.