star cross'd (pt.2)

Sparrowsgate at that time was a booming silver town. On any night of the week grizzled prospectors stumbled drunk through its labyrinthian streets or tumbled into its narrow canals. From its position on top of Chalkback Bluff, Laymans castle keep -the Chateau d'Voleur Couer- scowled down on the gothic peaks of the city's houses and the minarets of its churches. The Muscatine, a bleak black river toothed with granite outcroppings ringed the Chateau d'Voleur Couer. Only a madman would dare test his oars against the Muscatine. It had been over 13 years since Layman had ruined my lady Lidotchka (and with her all hope of earthly happiness) but my heart still caged a hate that was deep, dark and cold. Tonight I would pit myself against the Muscatine and brave the pitfalls and booby-traps of Chateau d'Voleur Coeur to face Layman himself in a final battle.

I girded myself: a cavalry saber of Damascus steel hung at my left side, on the right I wore the heavy horse-pistol of an officer in the Prussian Jaegerkorp. In it's barrel was a lead ball I had extracted from the Hagia Sophia. It was all over worked with ancient sigils; an old man in Cairo had carved it and blessed it with the waters of the Nile. In my boot I kept a ruby-pommelled stiletto, given to me by a Sicilian bandit whose life I had twice saved. Thus armed I made my way to a small birch-bark boat I had hidden in the reeds opposite the Chateau d'Voleur Couer.