Alive At Crepusculum ✓ [TPL Book One]

XVIII: Noon Struck

Eleven-fifty-eight, at Connie House, Anastasia Nikolaeva looked at the clock again, disappointed every minute that Mallord Beagle didn't show up.

"Do you think he will really come, Mary?" She adjusted her red scarf to make sure the red was visible from under her hair. Mary was standing at the window, looking out at the rain with a sigh.

"I believe so," she said. "Although this rain ain't gonna let up soon."

The door opened. There stood a boy with hair like wet burnt broccoli.

"Yaz nyayu, Mallord Beagle."

"You know him?"

"You speak well!" he exclaimed, impressed. "He's with me, hurry. It's gettin' awf'ly bad out there."

Anastasia stood, perplexed when shots rang out. Angry voices cried, "Freedom! Kill the Arcans!" Somewhere, windows shattered.

"What's going on?" Mary hurried to the window. A local man barged into the inn.

"It's the slaves! They have guns!" he shouted. "Get into the cellar!"

Anastasia gripped her scarf. "Oh, what shall we do?"

Noon struck.

As the clock chimed twelve, the boy gestured to her. "Hurry, he's waitin' at the bay. Red scarf, June tenth, Connie House. Twelve noon. Ship in a bottle. He told me to tell ya, 'case ya didn't believe me."

It was the telegram. Anastasia looked to Mary. Gunshots startled both of them.

"Freedom for Roktions, for sister and brothers." Came voices of a crowd. "Kill the Arcans, master fathers and mothers."

"Thank you, for everything." Anastasia squeezed Mary's hand. She would never forget the old woman.

"Be careful, love." Mary hugged her.

Smiling, Anastasia took an umbrella and hurried out into the rain after the boy. They ran through the streets, hearing gunshots and glass shattering. She saw a flash of orange and smelled smoke. The boy took her by the shoulders, hurrying her to the ocean. The wind picked up and she dropped her umbrella.

"Leave it."

Anastasia ran after the boy in the rain when she came to the docks. "Wait," She stopped, "where are you taking me?" On the docks a ship sat waiting. Four boys stood with ropes in their hands, rain falling from their faces.

Her heart leapt in her throat, and she snatched her wrist away.

"Git her," the boy said.

"You lied!" Anastasia knew she should have known better. Mallord Beagle wouldn't have sent just anyone to come and why would he meet her at the docks? It didn't make sense. In her haste to finally meet Mallord Beagle, she had made a mistake.

She turned to run.