"And they call me 'Dr. Deathwish'," Able huffed incredulously. It was a lovely purple dress, really, and it looked darling on Lark with his hair in a loose, ribboned cascade over his shoulder, but he had no idea how he was supposed to sneak him into the manor house in it.
"Okay, first of all," Lark started, "the whole plan hinges on Gent recognizing me. Second, I needed to be the same person as a few days ago for the guard to not be any more suspicious and let me in, and third? As long as I don't say anything, lots of people assume I'm a girl anyway." And he wasn't, for Able would say Lark was mostly male right now if he were asked to put a quantifier on it. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't be gendering the aggressive energy thrumming under Lark's fastidious composure, given that Able's own nerves were pushing him to run and hide.
"Are you trying to convince me that you are good at planning ahead or just that you're good at justifying your actions after the fact?"
"I am equally adept at both, so you'll never know," Lark grinned.
"That doesn't mean you're competent at either," Able groused.
"Is that any way to talk to someone who brought you apple turnovers?" Lark pouted and held up the parcel he'd carried in through the gate.
"...why did you bring me apple turnovers?" he accepted the bag.
"So captain nosy security protocols could sift through it while I fussed about how they aren't feeding you and just overall made him too uncomfortable to think about looking for the shears I hid under my skirt because you, my friend, are looking terribly shaggy and sad."
Able looked up from the pastry to Lark's bold smile and reassuring gaze. He was, he was surprised to realize, mollified.
"Do you have experience with hair?" he pushed his straggly waves back.
"Thought you'd never ask!" a fresh shine came into Lark's eyes.
"Well, I suppose at least I can try taking you in through the entrance to the women's quarters, huh?"
~*~
The clock read 1:50 when Able ventured to the waiting area with Lark right behind him. He had waited as long as he dared before leading them through the halls, and they had so far encountered no one.
"That's pretty good," Lark sat and smoothed his skirt. "I'm impressed." And then, when Able was looking around to see what he meant, he added, "With your time sense, silly."
"Oh," Able was too anxious to be bashful. "Well, being stodgy is good for something, then."
"Relax," Lark reached for his arm, then seemed to think better of it. "You can make it through ten minutes."
"Better to count on fifteen," Able replied and brushed his fingers over his freshly shortened hair. He wasn't sure what Lark had done to it, exactly, as there was no mirror in his room, but it no longer curled into his ears or fell into his eyes and he was glad for it.
"What, my cousin's a petty power player?" Lark chuckled and eased back against the wall. "Thought people were supposed to improve with age."
Able said nothing, preferring to listen to the empty halls and the tick tick tick of the clock. 1:52.
"You do need to relax," Lark repeated more quietly. "Your tension might draw attention if someone comes by."
"Deep breaths, happy thoughts," Able muttered back.
"No," Lark somehow managed to laugh silently. "That's not usual for you at all. You need to make like you're bored and waiting for something normal. Try doodling in your notes, there. Er, or writing something, I suppose."
This wasn't a bad idea, so Able flipped to an empty page and, after glancing around for a likely subject, started sketching the mechanisms of the clock, starting with what he could see, then guessing at the interiors he couldn't.
"Wait, you can draw?"
Able looked at his sketch, then at the amazed look on Lark's face as he peered at said sketch, "...yes?"
"I don't know why I'm surprised," Lark shook his head. "You studied art?"
"Geometry. One of my favorite subjects, to be honest, and a prerequisite for astronomy, which is another discipline for which diagrams can be more useful than paragraphs, and furthermore, embellishments can make them more effective."
"Where do you find room in your brain for all the things you know?" Lark's smile was...spellbound. Able was flattered that he was looking at him that way but really wished he would stop.
"That's like asking where you get all your energy, isn't it? I just have an appetite for it, I guess. Or the stamina, maybe. However that metaphor works best."
"You have more curiosity than most people," Lark fixed it.
"I suppose," Able looked at the clock to sober himself. 2:01. Any minute now. It seemed that Lark wanted to say something more, but refrained. Able kept drawing, trying not to watch the minutes tick by. The door would open when it opened.
Unless it wouldn't. Adeptson had not appreciated that last meeting. Perhaps he was punishing Able for it by making him wait longer. Or what if he didn't intend to meet with him at all? His pencil strokes were getting stiff and erratic, and when he heard footsteps in the hall he froze. The clock read 2:15. His heart was hammering so hard he couldn't even hear it ticking.
Lark's finger nudged his pencil. Able turned to meet the brown eyes that casually dropped their gaze to the paper once more. He was the perfect picture of an interested observer. Able did his best to give him something to observe again while Reeve walked up to the door with a sheaf of papers in hand. Perhaps he meant to knock, but he stalled mid-step, then turned.
"What's all this, Houser?"
"I'm waiting for my appointment," Able gestured to the door.
"I thought you already had an audience with the count," Reeve cast his eyes on Lark. "You need another?"
"I have new questions I was hoping he would answer, yes."
"And you mean to introduce him to your... 'landlady?'" the sheriff raised an eyebrow.
Able's mind raced and every option it presented sounded even more suspicious than the one Reeve himself had presented.
"Nah, I'm just chatting with him while he waits," Lark chimed in.
"I see," the Sheriff's amber eyes had been wanting to settle on Lark while he had been questioning Able and now took their chance. "Who are you, exactly, and who gave you clearance to be in here?"
"Lark Miles, and don't I have a right to be here as a Larbant citizen?"
"Citizen," Reeve fought down a sneer. "Indeed? Settled in Fairbanks?"
"Yes, for many years now."
"Then I suppose you have your settler papers?"
Lark squinted one eye, then looked to Able for help.
"It's a document that allows you to keep your provincial rights when you move to a territory," he explained. "Your rights and tax rates would have remained the same as if you had never left Blueport, essentially."
"You didn't tell me I could do that!" Lark sounded incredulous. "God's blood, when they near enough put my business under?"
"Well, you...can't," Able hoped he was keeping up with Lark's acting. "Since you came as an orphan."
"That's quite enough of this," the Sheriff dropped his paperwork and drew his sword.
Able had only just thought to get to his feet when he found the bench assisting him. Lark had pushed down on his end and scooted off and away from the slicing blade, protecting his head with his arm. He struck Reeve in the groin, which staggered the sheriff long enough for the flushed out Shadow to find his feet and get some distance away. Able faltered a few steps back from the two enemies, then froze.
"Did you really think I wouldn't see through your disguise?" Reeve scoffed, eyes and sword trained on Lark, who kept retreating while he was bleeding heavily from his right forearm.
"If I'd been wearing it, I wouldn't be bleeding like a pig," Lark muttered and pulled a ribbon from his hair. Reeve seemed puzzled by that statement and watched Lark tie the ribbon tightly above his elbow. "By the Prophets, man," he chuckled between clenched teeth, "if you had been wrong about me..."
A hweeee pierced the air and echoed down the halls, then Reeve lowered his whistle and said, "But I wasn't." Then he barked, "Intruder on the second level before the audience hall, all to me! Intruder on the second level before the audience hall!"
Able looked in panic to Lark, who looked down one hall, then the other, then wandered backward a pace to listen at the third. He idled until Reeve had finished shouting.
"Welp, seeing as you've just shortened our negotiation window to about ten seconds, we only got one shot at this," and the Shadow held his hands up by his head. "So, I'll surrender if you let me talk to the count. Deal?"
"You'll...surrender?" Reeve held both his sword and whistle tightly and wavered on being affronted or intimidated.
"If I have your word that you will take me to talk to the count, yes. You have six seconds...five..."
"I—" and Reeve looked down the hall, then at Able, and by then the Shadow had gotten to two, "I'll do it, yes, I give you my word as Sheriff!" Boots rattled the landings just beyond sight.
Lark watched Reeve's eyes, then glanced as the first enforcers arriving to follow the Sheriff's orders. He settled in to stand quietly, his hands still up and open, and announced,
"I accept."
"You accept, so," Reeve lowered his weapon, "take this man into custody. He will not fight back." Able thought he heard something of a plea in the sheriff's voice—a "don't hurt them." The satisfied look on Lark's face suggested he had heard it too. He stood alone in a purple dress with his hands empty and blood trailing down his elbow but recognized as a force to be reckoned with.
Able was no such force, trembling from the icy fear lancing through his heart. Don't touch him, he locked the demand in the back of his throat, knowing it would do no good. He almost could not bear to watch as an enforcer approached Lark on each side and took his hands, bound them together behind his back, then bound his arms to his sides for good measure. But Lark was not worried—not even nervous from the look of things, so Able tried to steady himself and trust his friend, this warrior, to know what he was doing.
"Sh—er, he has nothing on him, sir," one lawman came back to report.
"He's never needed anything on him to be dangerous," Reeve warned but sheathed his sword. "Gentlemen, we've finally captured the Shadow."
"Blackbird," Lark corrected before Reeve's pronouncement had fully settled in. "My code name is Blackbird, but sure, you guys had to call me something lame instead. Take your victories where you can. Joke's on you, though, eh? Who got stuck writing 'the Shadow' in the official reports?"
Now the enforcers understood and erupted into gasps, whispers, then finally a couple jeers. Instead of calling for order, Reeve was exchanging words with Secretary Barker who had poked his head out of the audience hall to find out what was going on. Able could see one enforcer had angrily pushed Lark, who swayed but was unmoved and giving his aggressor a dubious eyebrow. Able was trying to see how he could make his way through the push of armed men to intervene, when they suddenly parted to let Tanner, still in plain clothing, through. Lark's eyebrows raised when he saw him.
"Hey, it's been awhile," he ducked down but with nowhere to escape, still took Tanner's fist to his head above his ear.
"That's for Puller," Tanner tried to seize Lark by the neck but, since Lark kept his chin pinned to his chest, made do with pushing him back and clocking him in the side of his face. "And that's for Cobbler." The enforcers watching started egging the lieutenant on, and Tanner followed up striking Lark in the ribs where he had struck him weeks before. Before Tanner could dedicate this to anyone, however, Lark had kicked one of his feet back and swept the other from behind the knee with his calf in one fluid motion. Tanner went down hard on his back.
"Still haven't figured out not to commit all your weight to your leading foot, I see," Lark huffed.
"Lay off, gentlemen," Reeve's voice cut the furor and all the lawmen stood to attention, else backed out of his way as he came to help Tanner up by the arm. "Especially you, Rich. Save it for the interrogation."
"Hope you have a lot to say," Tanner growled at Lark as he got to his feet.
"Oh, I do, you giant baby," Lark snorted. "I barely touched any of your men, while I've lost many friends of my own to your cruelty." He was not shaken, exactly, but he could no longer feign unconcern. He tensed when Reeve closed the last step to him and pushed his loosened hair back from his face to reveal the red welt on his cheekbone. Able was dismayed to note that Lark was breathing carefully again too.
"You all right?" Reeve's back was to Able, so he could not see his expression, only Lark's dismissive head jerk. The sheriff took his prisoner by the arm, "Let's get this over with, then," and started marching him to the audience chamber.
"I can walk," Lark grumbled as the ranks closed around him.
As they passed where Able stood, he turned his head slightly to meet his eyes, then flicked his own gaze down the hall. Go, get out of here while they're distracted. Able realized he couldn't even consider it. Logic be damned, consequences be damned, and damn whatever Lark was planning, too. There was no way he was leaving him. He followed the procession inside.
Adeptson stood atop the dais, cane clutched in his fist, trying too hard not to look alarmed.
"Sheriff, what is the meaning of this?"
"My Lord, I am pleased to announce that we have finally captured the elusive Resistance combatant called the Shadow."
"Ha, they have no idea what they've captured," Lark grinned easily, then nodded to Adeptson. "Hello, again, cousin. I'm not supposed to call you that, though. You used to call me all sorts of things, remember? Stuff like faggot, ponce, tranny... Used to piss me off, but Ace kept telling me that was the point, you were trying to pick a fight with me because I was smaller than you and you thought you could win, and it would hardly be gallant to disillusion you."
Adeptson had slowly been getting paler and wide-eyed, "What is this?"
Reeve stared uncertainly at Lark without an answer.
"You remember, Blessed Blue, right? I think he was supposed to be my companion because he was the same age as me? I never got on with him, but geez, you were awful to him."
"He would call me 'peasant,'" Adeptson's voice was as ashen as his face, but then he shook himself and declared, "everyone knows he used to call me that."
"Okay, that was unkind," Lark conceded, "but probably he wouldn't have if you hadn't always been trying to lord your rank over him. Especially that one time, when you were rubbing his face in the ashes on the hearth and telling him he'd better learn to respect his betters before you burned his hair off. That's when I took the fire poker and clubbed you in the knee—and I see you're still nursing it, huh? It was really ungallant of me, I admit it, and excessive too. You could take a shot at my knee if it makes you feel better?—just you, though, no underling proxies."
Able tried to gauge the reaction of the room, as Adeptson himself clearly remembered this. The closest enforcers where sharing glances, Reeve was scowling, and poor Barker up on the dais beside his master was trying to close his gaping mouth.
"No—this is some kind of trick!" Adeptson's voice had gotten shrill. "A trap! The—M-merit Blue is trying to-to—or the King himself is trying to undermine me!"
"Gent, would you listen to yourself?" Lark sighed. "My father's really going to conjure up a fake version of his most disappointing child just to...what exactly? Mess with you? Look, I know how awful he can be, and I've actually come out of hiding from him because I want to help."
"Get this creature—this impostor out of my sight!"
"I see you need some time to process this," though Lark seemed short of patience.
"He's an enemy of the Empire!" Adeptson shouted. "Take him out and hang him!"