The Colors of Fortune

The Last Refuge

"Open up, in the name of the king!" Fusco, the Captain of the king's soldiers, pounded his gauntleted fist on the door, causing the few people who dared to peek from their windows to quickly retreat deeper into their homes. His followers shuffled nervously, glancing in every direction in case their target had decided to flank them, but the whole street was silent.

Finally, his patience leaving him, the Captain backed up and charged. The door was not locked, however, and it gave easily. But as soon as it opened, a deluge of water poured straight down into his head. He shouted and spluttered, diving forward to avoid further attack. His men had lingered behind, and now stood on the threshold looking wryly at the bucket rolling away on the floor.

"Get in here!" Fusco yelled, trying to wipe off his face and cursing the trick that had been played them. "Search the place! Find him!"

Obediently the rest of the soldiers trotted in and began running through all parts of the house. A few shouts and bumps told the leader that more traps had been sprung, though when he checked on his men, none were actually hurt. The wanted man had a sense of humor, it seemed, and he had decided to make them pay for entering his home. But in the end, they found nothing. Nothing, that is, except for a red cloak and a crown hung up on a hook.

"Captain!" One of his men yelled, reaching up for the items. "We've got something!"

Fusco's eyes widened at a sudden suspicion. "OFF!" He yelled, and the soldier jerked his hands back with a start. The Captain came up slowly and patted the man on the shoulder. "Easy, Hammond. That could be trapped, as well. Just...just be careful."

Hammond batted the cloak warily. "This whole place is trapped, sir. And Technoblade's not here. He's already slipped off, seemingly."

"I know." Fusco groaned. "Blast him. How'd he know this time?" No one answered him, and he didn't expect them to. Technoblade was renowned for knowing more than he should. Fusco suspected treachery, but evidence was severely lacking. He glared at the cloak and crown briefly. "Here, let me."

The other soldiers stepped back, each all too glad to let their leader handle whatever prank the anarchist had planned for them with his most precious possessions. Why he had left them behind, no one could guess, but it could not be doubted he would have made them very hard to take. One soldier even raised his shield a little.

Fusco kept his back to his men as he shut his eyes and grabbed the cloak, waiting for something to burst or burn or implode. Nothing happened, and he realized it wouldn't the moment he heard the crackle of paper under the cloak. He lifted up the fabric. There was a note. He picked it up and read it.

Hail to the soldiers of the king!
I have escaped you again.
Had time to compose this thing,
Just to drive you all insane.
Enjoy my traps, my pranks,
My plans and this rhyme.
I give you all my thanks,
For this chase sublime!
But now it's over and done,
You're too late to find me
And I am happily long gone;
Salutations, Captain, to thee!
May we never meet more
And may your king fall,
For he's a sot and a bore,
His death'd be a mercy to us all.
Farewell, Captain and men,
Get promoted and paid.
Don't look for me again:
I make even the worst afraid.

∞∞∞∞°

Miles away were the docks. Ships lined the piers, some fresh from far-off lands with exotic cargoes, others preparing to set sail to equally foreign parts. Men moved back and forth from deck to dock, carrying boxes, bags or chests, leading horses, herding sheep or cows and merely taking off to find the nearest tavern. It was a busy morning, as always, and everyone was too used to strangers coming and going to make remark of any particular one. It was a perfect place to lose oneself.