The Patron

Lannion Compromised

As a reward for his exemplary work in the first investigation at the Hopping Toad, Lannion was given the following day off duty. While most soldiers would find this welcome relief, to Lannion it was quite the nuisance. He didn’t really know what to do with himself when he wasn’t in uniform.

            A bleary-eyed Adrien advised him to go out and “enjoy himself, for once. It’s quite fun.”

Lannion promised to at least try out his suggestion, but about halfway back to his apartment, with thoughts of the novel he was currently reading occupying his mind, Lannion realized that he wasn’t going to a pub or saloon any time soon. A peaceful afternoon at home seemed ideal.

            The streets of the North Quadrant, though wide and well-kept in comparison to the rest of Terrendell, seemed more crowded than usual. Perhaps it was the circumference of the ladies’ fine skirts, or an increase in roadside peddlers, but something made the streets congested and cramped.

            Not three streets from his apartment, Lannion heard the telltale shriek of a woman in trouble, a damsel in distress. Though he wasn’t wearing his guardsman uniform and had turned in his sword and pistol for the day, Lannion could not ignore the cry for help. He ran down the street towards the disturbance.

            Near the doorway of a flower shop a woman was clutching at her heart with her right hand, her left hand tied to a post. A blundering shopkeeper tried to undo the rope around her wrist, but in his nervousness he made no progress. Lannion was on the scene in seconds.

            “What’s happened?” he demanded at once.

            “He stole my bag!” she sobbed, pointing down the street towards the back of a man speeding out of sight.

            Without waiting for further information, Lannion sprinted after him, darting between strolling couples and outstripping bumbling wagons. He ignored the cries of annoyance from those he passed and kept running, closing in on the thief.

            The man with the stolen purse was a worthy opponent. He tossed tables and slipped through dense gatherings of people congregated in the street to shake Lannion off his tail. However, he met his match at the base of a high brick wall. A dead end.

            Lannion caught up at once. The man was short yet sturdy, and he had an impish glint in his eye. He lunged towards Lannion with a look to kill.

            He threw a strong fist at the guardsman, who quickly sidestepped it. Another punch, another avoidance. Lannion wasn’t going to attack the civilian if he could help it. There were consequences for guardsmen who fought off duty.

            The third first connected with Lannion’s lower lip.

            That settles it, he thought.

            Lannion wiped the blood from his mouth and attacked the thief with vigor. His opponent was by surprise, and in a split second of indecision, Lannion’s sure arm landed on his jaw, knocking the thief to the ground.

            That one punch was enough for the thief. He threw the stolen bag to his feet and ran back up the street. It was useless to pursue him.

            “What a coward,” Lannion muttered to himself. “Is there no honesty left in Terrendell?” He bent down and picked up the bag from the street. It was embroidered with fine yellow flowers, and jingled with the merry sound of lux to be spent. The small crowd that had formed during the encounter immediately dispersed, going back to its daily business.

            Lannion walked back the way he had come to find the woman whose bag he now possessed. He was surprised to see her coming in his direction, head swiveling as she sought him out. She was radiant, dressed in a blue gown that complemented her dark hair in the most wonderful way. Her blue eyes were flecked with gold, like starbursts.

            “Your items, miss,” said Lannion, tapping the rim of his hat respectfully.

            “Thank you, good sir,” she replied with a curtsy. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

            “Really, miss, it was no trouble. All in the line of duty.”

            “And what duty is that?”

            “I’m a guardsman of the king.”

            “Ah,” said the woman. She twirled a strand of her long black hair around her finger. “An honorable and brave man. It was a privilege to be saved by you.”

            “Thank you, miss, but it really was no trouble.”

            “How could I repay you for such bravery?”

            “No payment will be necessary, miss.” Lannion’s patience for all the formalities was wearing thin.

            “Oh, but I must show you my gratitude.” She tapped her lip, then smiled. “May I request your company at dinner this evening? Wegman’s place, on forty-second street. North, of course. My treat for you.”

            “I cannot accept such an offer, miss, though thank you for your kindness.” Lannion was hesitant to accept such a dinner paid for by a woman. His honor as a gentleman wouldn’t allow it. 

            “I insist!” she exclaimed. “You must come.”

            Her intoxicating blue eyes won Lannion over. “In that case, how could I refuse?”

            “Excellent,” said the woman. “And may I be so bold as to enquire the name of my rescuer?”

            “Lannion of the king’s guards, at your service,” he said with a deep bow.

            “And Eveline de Cipio at yours,” said she. “I’ll see you at seven.”

            With that, Eveline took her bag from Lannion’s hands and walked back up the street to the flower shop. Lannion watched as she went, admiring her, and for the first time all day, he was grateful for his time off.