Honourable Scandals

Chapter 1

The Tower of London, August, 1756

Despite it being summer, Jesse noted how cold it was as he made his way down the corridor. He saw a shape move in the shadows just in front of him. He sighed. it was probably Lukah; the dark prison had done little to dampen his spirits, even if they weren't the prisoners. Jesse supposed that it was something about being Italian that made his partner this way - he couldn't imagine anyone being so cheerful by choice. But then, Jesse found little use for such humour as a soldier.

Jesse moved his hand subconsciously to his hip, where the hilt of his sword lay. If the shadow was Lukah, then he might be trying some new type of practical joke. Jesse didn't blame him; they had been stationed here for three weeks and still had no luck finding a team. The Tower of London was credited with holding the best and most dangerous criminals in the entire country. But after almost a month of guarding duty, Jesse couldn't help but feel this was a slight exaggeration. Most prisoners seemed to have resigned themselves to execution, and the ones who did try to escape were less than tactical geniuses.

Jesse's eyes flickered up at the sound of movement. Well. He thought. This one might have a chance. He drew his sword at the shadow running at full pelt towards him.

His blade was met with another, probably stolen from a guard. The prisoner was strong, but Jesse had experience. He parried every blow, and by the sounds coming from his opponent, made more than a few hits.

In the dim light, Jesse's dark hair and eyes gave him the advantage. His footwork was flawless and he directed his sword like an extension of his slender arms. Meanwhile, the prisoner dealt every blow with an unnecessary amount of grunting.

I suppose he isn't going for the element of surprise. Jesse thought. Then he frowned at himself. Lukah made these sort of comments, not him. Where was Lukah, anyway?

It wasn't that Jesse needed the help, but it wasn't like Lukah to miss a fight. The man relished in delivering hits in between idle talk that often proved infuriating to his opponents. While Jesse didn't approve of such a technique, he had to admit that it was amusing to watch. Although he always made sure to scold Lukah for doing it after.

"Lukah!" Jesse called while making a particularly impressive jab. "I do think you're being paid to assist me with these types of things."

"Not enough," The reply echoed around the hall accompanied by the rhythm of approaching footsteps. Lukah grunted between breaths, as he ran towards Jesse, engaged in his own fight. "Buggers thought they would try to distract you and then take me on."

"How many?" Jesse asked, immediately beginning calculations in his mind to form their best plan of action.

"Two or three," Lukah replied casually between blows. The prisoners were impressive fighters, but Lukah and Jesse were backing them into a corner.

"Well? Which is it?" Jesse asked, his eyes darting between their opponents, making sure never to get lazy with his bocks. Lukah meanwhile whistled as a blade narrowly missed his ear, laughing as he dodged out the way. "Two or three?" Jesse prompted.

"Yes," Lukah replied, blocking a particularly strong hit which threatened to knock him off balance. "It was one of those."

"Which one?" Jesse asked exasperated, swinging his sword a hairs' breadth from Lukah's face to parry a blow that would have cut his partner in two.

"Does it matter?" Lukah asked as he stepped behind Jesse to fill the space he had created. Jesse cursed: correcting Lukah's mistake had given the prisoners a chance to back them against the wall. He made an angry jab at one of the prisoners, and then cursed again, scolding himself to get a grip on his emotions.