1. Immortal: "No young man believes he shall ever die," said Stek, who had turned forty the week before. "But we both know that's not true, don't we? Just think of all that we could achieve if we didn't grow old and die just as we are getting starte...
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(Author's Note - Round One - Alternate History - featuring Joan of Arc. Word limit 3000 - word count 2808, not counting this note!)
"Ban the Baguette!" chanted the unruly crowd as they surged down Oxford Street.
"England for the English!" bellowed a man holding a megaphone from the front of the march. Several hundred people waving banners and shouting slogans, jostled noisily along the road, bringing traffic to a standstill. Many of them carried national flags, white with a red cross in the centre. Police lined the route, hard faces showing no expression.
Two people watched silently from the shelter of a coffee shop, tight-lipped, their coffee growing cold on the table. "It's getting worse, this is the second one this month," said the darkhaired young woman.
"Some people—it's as if they can't bear to live in peace, they have to fight something."
"Now that the war with Bohemia is officially over, they're looking for a new target. And we're it. We're always it—second class citizens. You'd think after all these years they'd have learned to accept us." The young man unconsciously fingered the small scarf which was around his neck. It was dark blue, patterned with three golden fleur-de-lys. He smiled with dark satisfaction. "Well they won't have it all their own way much longer, not if we have anything to say about it!"
The woman glanced at him, then frowned as she saw the scarf. "You're crazy to wear that, today of all days! Tuck it out of sight or, better yet, get rid of it!"
"There's a bloody coffee shop!" yelled a voice from the crowd outside. "Why don't they serve honest English tea? Not good enough for them, isit?"
A rock sailed through the air, putting a large crack in the shop's glass window. As if it was a signal, all hell broke loose and suddenly the police had a riot on their hands.
The couple scrambled to their feet. "Let's go!" said the woman. "We don't want to be trapped in here." They strode to the rear of the shop, where a sturdy middle-aged woman held the door ajar, ready.
"This way. Quickly!" she murmured, looking back over her shoulder at the cracked window and the crowd beyond.
The couple slipped outside then stopped to face the owner, who hadn't followed.
"You should come too, Celeste. They're so angry! It's not safe here."
"I can't leave my shop. Anyway, they'll be past in a minute," she added, optimistically. "Allez." The door shut behind them. Not soon enough to block the sounds of smashing glass.
Unthinkingly, the man twisted the door handle, trying to get back in to help, but his companion grabbed his arm. Her expression was anguished but determined as she tried to break his grip on the handle and pull him away.
"We have to leave her. We can't risk getting caught, our mission is too important. You know that."
He shut his eyes for a second, indecision battling on his face, then gasped and let go. Grim now, he grabbed her hand and they raced down the alley, soon disappearing into the narrow warren of streets which marked the Norman quarter.
