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The Raven's Lair
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The Raven's Lair
Copyright 1993
Aerien Nightwind
Slowly he slipped three long slender fingers deep into the warm
wetness of her womanhood. His tongue gently caressed her clitoris.
From deep inside her breast an answering moan issued forth as the
woman arched her back. Her immaculately manicured nails clawed up his
back as she writhed with pleasure.
His manhood throbbed in rhythm with the pounding in his temples. The
man buried his tongue deep within her, savoring the woman's love juice
and her near screams of pleasure. Carefully he again brought her to
the brink of orgasm, then turned his ministrations to the less
sensitive, but equally pleasurable, areas of her bottom and anus.
Finally, unable to take any more of his torment, the woman pulled the
man on top of her. His lance pierced her sopping wetness in one easy
thrust. They locked in an iron embrace, afraid to move, lost in the
waves of ecstasy, lust, and desire that were crashing over them; both
on the very brink of orgasm.
Her fingers traced the muscles of his back as his mouth explored the
interesting contours of her neck and shoulders, each adding fuel to
the other's fire.
Not a word passed between them. They began in slow rhythm, causing new
waves of pleasure to course through their bodies, both lost to their
own lust filled world, unaware of even the curtains on their canopied
bed.
Then again, without word or warning, they rolled over. The long
luscious hair of the slender woman nearly covered her inflamed
partner, and effectively covered all but the upturned nipples of her
ample breasts.
She sank deeper onto his throbbing shaft, exploding in orgasm as his
lance filled her to overflowing. Completely out of control, she
screamed with pleasure. Her hips convulsed uncontrollably, driving her
pulsing clitoris into her partner again and again, adding to the
intensity of the detonations going off all through her body.
As the waves of pleasure passed she was surprised to find that her
partner did not climax with her. Rather, as soon the crashing tide
began to subside, his hips started driving his rock hard shaft into
her still pulsing womanhood with renewed vigor, this time apparently
intent on relieving himself as he brought her to climax again.
Still raw from the last orgasm, it was only seconds before a second,
even more intense, orgasm was crashing through the woman's body. This
time the man was not passive. The rhythm of his thrusts remained
steady and constant, despite her writhing. As her climax peaked she
felt the familiar pulsing of his member inside her as he gushed his
love juice into the very depths of her being, sending another flood of
wonderful sensations roaring through her. She was vaguely aware that
the man was growling, and that his fingernails were digging deeply
into the flesh of her back.
Slowly the waves of pleasure subsided, the woman on top of the man,
and the sounds of the crackling fire on the other side of their bed
curtain intruded itself into their consciousness, but neither of them
moved from their embrace. Idly the man played with the woman's
lustrous black hair, his breathing becoming more regular as time
passed.
"You know," she said in a soft, but husky voice, "you're not bad - for
a cop."
He chuckled. "I guess I should consider that a compliment, considering
the source."
She lifted her head off his chest to eye him quizzically. Her eyes as
black and luminous as her wondrous hair.
He merely smiled mischievously at her. His disheveled sandy brown
hair, coupled with his wiry build, gave the look a boyish cast. Then
he changed the subject. "I should be going," he said with a sigh,
reaching for the bed curtains. "I have work to do."
"Not quite yet," she purred, pulling him back onto the bed and
purposefully resuming her position astride him. "I think it's quite
time the turncoat Raven gave me some answers - lest I decide to kill
him!" As the last phrase escaped her lips her hand dipped under one of
the many pillows occupying the large satin covered bed, and she
produced a small, ornate, poniard which she pointed at his throat.
"Uhh..." the man said, eyeing the weapon cautiously. "I see your
point. Pray what answers are you looking for?"
"You know very well, lover boy. I'm one step away from the auction
block. Word's been around for months now that you've been quietly
gathering information about certain businesses in this part of town,
including mine."
His smile was positively vicious, but he said nothing.
She put the tip of the poniard on his throat, her face expectant.
"Your breasts are positively beautiful when you're being forceful," he
said casually. "The nipples stand so erect on your upturned breasts."
For a brief moment her look was baffled. Then the steel returned to
her eyes. "I'd lose no sleep over killing you, you know."
"That's good to know. I'd hate to be remembered as the one who caused
your insomnia."
Again bafflement crossed her features. This was not going the way she
had planned. He didn't even appear to be nervous.
"Problems?" He asked, an amused expression on his face.
"None that killing you wouldn't solve," she snapped.
"Your getting wet again," he observed, thrusting his hips against her
crotch. "I think you enjoy this kind of thing. We should do it more
often."
She forced the poniard into his throat until it drew blood.
"Tell you what. You tell me what I want to know and you can continue
to be a slave owner, rather than a slave - at least for a while."
Once again, bafflement crossed her features. "What?" She blurted out.
He chuckled.
"I've got a knife stuck in your throat and your trying to bargain with
me?"
"You may be a whore, Trish, but that doesn't mean you're stupid. If
you were you would have already killed me. You know as well as I do
that killing me doesn't eliminate the information I have on you - and
others in this part of Fernwall - but it will certainly guarantee a
change in career."
She lowered the knife, a look of resignation coming over her face.
"They really got to you didn't they, Raven? We've been lovers a long
time, yet you'd do this to me. Is there anything you wouldn't do to
save your own stinking skin?"
An affectionate smile crossed his face as he again took a handful of
her wondrous hair in his hand and let it fall through his fingers. "It
was you who tried to kill me, remember?" She glared at him and started
to speak, but he cut her off. "We're not all that different at heart,
lover. You'd put a knife between my ribs in a minute if it would save
you from the auction block, and I'd sell you to the highest bidder to
keep my own neck out of irons." Her look softened a bit. "We both do
the same thing, Trish. We play the ends against the middle in our own
little games and we have our own code of honor to guide the rules of
play."
"But you're a fucking cop Raven! Do you really think anyone on the
street is going to trust you now?"
"Probably not. But they'll learn, in time. We all had to start out the
same way. We had to earn the respect and trust of the underground. I
just have to do it again, that's all. Only this time it'll be easier.
My reputation - such as it is - is all ready known. All people really
want to know is will I still play by the rules."
While he was talking Trish slid off him and was now caressing his half
hard manhood. She kissed it gently. "So what is it I have to tell you
this time to keep my little tush out of the auctions?"
The Raven propped his head up with some pillows to watch her idle
ministrations. "Ever heard of Billy Jack and Ida?"
She giggled. "Who in the smuggling world hasn't?" She replied, licking
his rapidly growing cock.
"Well," he said, his growing heat plainly obvious. "What I want, other
than lots more of you yet this evening, is to know when their ship is
due in."
She smiled at him. "You mean I have to keep that legendary ardor of
yours satisfied to stay off the block?"
He grinned viciously. "Yup."
"Right up my alley," she replied wickedly. "Billy Jack's ship is due
in early tomorrow morning. What's on it that you want?"
"Not what, who. The largest shipment of Mlin Oil this city's ever seen
is on that ship. I want the buyer."
Trish stopped her ministrations and stared at him, her face going
pale. "What?"
"You heard me. There's enough poison on that ship to coat every
assassin's dagger and bolt in this city twenty times over, and I
haven't a clue as to why, but I mean to find out."
"Urilia's tits!" she swore. "Why didn't you tell me this before? I'd
have told you what you wanted to know without all the threats."
"Threats? As I recall, it was *you* who started making threats, right
about here." He pointed to the now dried prick the poniard had made.
"Besides, it's only fair that you know where things stand."
"Oh, I know where things stand," she replied, stroking his now hard
shaft. "Not to worry. I *always* know where things stand."
* * *
"Ye couldn't satisfy an old hag," Ida snorted acidly. "Kneel forward."
Billy Jack assumed the position commanded - with some difficulty, as
his hands were held behind his back by iron manacles, and his legs
were bound at the ankles by a length of small cotton sinnet.
She walked up behind him and began kneading his scrotum, pulling
gently down on it. His rock hard cock pulsed with desire. He moaned
and pleaded for her to let him cum. She ignored him and continued
massaging his scrotum until it was nice and loose, then she took a
length of 'small stuff' and securely lashed the top of his scrotum,
winding it down until his testicles protruded like two nuts in a sack.
"Kneel up." She commanded, then walked over to their bunk and laid
down, spreading her legs to show him the full view of that which he
wanted so desperately - her sopping wet womanhood.
He looked at her pleadingly. Her answering look was mocking. "So now
ya wants me to let ye spout, eh?" With obvious skill she quite
deliberately spit on his face. "Watch, bastard." And with that she
laid back and slowly began running a long finger in and out of her
drenched vagina, moaning slightly as her finger flicked across her
clitoris. Her hips thrust longingly against her slender finger, her
own heat blatantly obvious. Again and again her finger slipped in and
out of her womanhood, her other hand massaging her breasts with equal
intensity.
As her self ministrations continued her moaning grew in intensity. Her
hips worked up and down on her glistening finger with increasing
eagerness. Her body started to glisten with sweat. She began to writhe
with pleasure.
A second finger joined the first and her hips hungrily drove both deep
into her body. Her moans turned to near screams and growls as she
tortured her pulsing clitoris and throbbing vagina. She writhed and
moaned with abandon, lost in in the pleasure of self love making.
Billy Jack watched in a tormented haze. His hips thrust out toward her
involuntary. His cock throbbed up and down, and a near steady stream
ran from its tip. His balls ached, and restrained by the cotton
cordage as they were, all his sensations were far more intense.
He growled menacingly in frustration and it caught her attention. She
half sat up, her face a mask of unbridled animal lust. Her two fingers
were still deep inside her and her hips were gyrating against them
ever so slightly. "Ya wants this don't ye?" She hissed thickly,
spreading her legs to provide him a better view and quite deliberately
working her fingers in and out of her body with her hips.
"Ye fucking WHORE!" He shouted at her.
Quick as a cat she stood up and kicked him in the side of the head
with the top of her foot, sending him reeling into the deck. "On yer
back," she growled, and as he complied she straddled his face,
standing, and stuck her two fingers back into her vagina, continuing
her masturbation a mere foot from his hungry lips. Once again her pace
was slow and deliberate, both for her own pleasure, and to enhance the
torment of her victim who was writhing beneath her, his hips and
purple rod thrusting up toward her.
Slowly, ever so slowly, and quite deliberately, she worked herself to
a full and explosive orgasm, showering Billy Jack's face with her cum
juice. The delirium of orgasm made it impossible for her to keep her
balance on the rolling ship. She fell to her knees, bringing her
crotch within reach of his mouth. He immediately latched onto her now
extremely sensitive clitoris and began to feed hungrily.
Ida squealed and jumped off of Billy Jack's face. "Ye bastard!" She
snapped. "No permission was give ye to touch me!" She walked across
the room and picked up a quirt made of soft cotton sinnet - her
favorite weapon in its more deadly form. "Kneel forward." She
commanded him.
He looked at the quirt apprehensively, but complied. She took great
care to whip his bare bottom thoroughly with the quirt until both both
cheeks were nice and red. Then she rolled him over with her foot. His
cock and face were as red as his bottom and his manhood was throbbing
madly. He looked at her pleadingly.
She stood him up and kissed him deeply, her tongue lashing in and out
of his mouth. He returned the kiss hungrily and tried to obtain some
relief by rubbing against her, but she kept her body moving away from
his so he was able to do no more than further frustrate himself.
She broke the kiss and struck him across the face with the quirt, then
spit on him. "Cum on my tits!" She commanded, and dropped to her
knees.
He stared at her helplessly. His hands were fastened behind his back
and his ankles securely tied together, making it hard to stand on the
swaying deck.
"Cum!" She screamed at him, smacking his bottom with the quirt.
The sharp tang of pain rippled through his body like an electric
shock, pulsing down to his aching cock and balls. But it wasn't quite
enough to make him orgasm.
She watched his pulsing rod expectantly, then, when nothing happened,
she cast him a look of utter disgust and loathing and ran the nails of
both hands down the length of his cock. That was all it took. Billy
Jack came in a pent up explosion that drenched Ida's breasts with his
love juice. The entire world disappeared and he felt as though is
entire insides were being squirted out his rod.
When the world returned to focus, he was greeted with the view of Ida
spreading his cum over her breasts and tummy in dreamy contentment.
"And now, me slave," she purred, "ya gets ta lick me clean..."
* * *
Hours later, as Maa-rin and O'linn, the twin moons, sank into the
depths of the western sea, Billy Jack and Ida stood once again in
their cabin in a lover's embrace. The lights of the City of Fernwall
beamed through the cabin window, partly obscured by a growing early
morning mist.
Their ship had been made fast to a wharf in the merchant's harbor, and
Ida was dressed for an excursion into the city.
"Careful is me middle name," she was telling him, her voice soft.
"Aye," he replied, his rumbling baritone thick with concern. "An' ye
was born in the streets, there's no denying it. But I doesn't like it,
yer goin' alone."
"And what know ye of the streets," she replied gently. "A lubber would
ye be, an' no doubt about it. Me knows the rules, me lover, an' they
be as mysterious as the rules of the sea. We'll be together again
a'fore the next sounding of the bell, I gives ya me word."
"Aye," he said sadly, then kissed her on the forehead.
From the same table she earlier took the cotton quirt she this time
grabbed a loaded one with a wire loop in the business end. Armed with
the quirt, a rapier, and a couple of daggers, she shouldered a small
canvas covered box by its strap, and headed for the cabin door.
The streets of the city were damp with the growing foggy mist. She
moved quickly to her destination, a large abandoned warehouse several
blocks from the waterfront. Though it looked as though all was quiet
this early morning, she knew from experience that she was probably
being watched by the ever vigilant sentries of the various gang bosses
who ran this part of town, and who made their living by secreting
illegal cargos aboard unsuspecting captain's ships - amongst other
various illegal activities.
As she rounded a corner the smell of baking bread assaulted her
nostrils, making her realize it had been some time since she had
eaten. She and Billy Jack had fallen asleep after their play late last
night, and had then been awakened by the officer of the deck when he
had come to alert them to the approach of the pilot's launch. There
had been little time to eat. It also told her she was nearly at her
destination.
She turned right. She passed several broker's offices on her right. At
the end of the block a corner bar stood lights out and lonely on her
left, and across from it a large black building loomed up into the
night sky. An old shingle dangled from a rusty eye bolt, its faded
words a mystery as she could not read.
Crossing to the building, she walked up its length until she found a
large double door standing off its hinges, leaving just enough of an
opening for her to slip through.
Inside it was pitch black and smelled of the dust and dirt found in
nearly all unused buildings. From the echo her boots made on the
wooden floor, the room she was in was large and nearly empty.
According to her instructions, there was supposed to be a door in the
middle of the wall to her left. Carefully, with all of her senses
extended to their limits, she moved in that direction. Slowly her
vision adjusted to the new lower light level. She was able to pick out
the black silhouette of boxes and boards by the dim light of the
streets lamps outside.
As she approached the wall the thin outline of a door casing became
visible. The door was of the standard type, but the door knob had been
removed leaving its customary whole. She pushed on it and it slid
noiselessly open. That disturbed her. Hinges left unattended always
grew stiff. Someone had gone to certain lengths to keep this door
quiet. The tentative whiff of a cigar caught her attention. It was
fresh. She wasn't alone in this room, but as no light from the street
was penetrating this room her eyes were quite useless. Her palms begin
to sweat and thoughts of a trap entered her mind.
"Put down the box, Ida." A deep male voice said.
Damn! She'd walked right into it. "Yer higher'an a top yard if ya
thinks me likely ta jus' drop this case an' leave." If she could keep
him talking she might be able to discern precisely where he was.
The male voice chuckled. "And if you don't I get the pleasure of
putting a bolt through your lusty chest and taking that case anyway."
"I've weathered me share of starms, laddie. I'll take me chances..."
Something moved to her left. Instinct filled in the details. The quirt
whistled as she lashed out and made a satisfying snap as it connected.
Her assailant cried out and something thudded to the floor, bathing
the room in golden light. She grabbed him and jerked him in front of
her. The crack of the cross bow and thud of the bolt striking its
target sounded as one. Her assailant, a young man, doubled over and
dropped to the floor in a pool of blood. She had hit him in the face
with her quirt, she noted clinically, nearly ripping the skin off of
his cheek. The something that had hit the floor was a bulls-eye
lantern. The shutters had thrown open on impact. She turned her
attention to the larger man standing some twenty paces away from her
and holding his now spent arbalest. He appeared otherwise unarmed.
"Ya wanna play some more, laddie. Me thinks I've weathered this starm
rather nicely." She drew her sword. "An' the weathers a changin'."
"Uh, let's not get hasty here, my dear. Your reputation precedes you,"
the man replied, backing away a few steps. "I have your money right
here. Full payment." He patted the leather case he carried.
"Now sees how ya are," she said tauntingly. "A stiff breeze arises an'
yer ready to make port. All right then, you go over there an' unload
yer case, an' I'll go over here an unload mine." She moved slowly to
one side of the middle of the room.
Warily he moved opposite. Slowly they set down their respective cases,
then circled each other again to get to the case the other had
dropped. They were about to open them and inspect the contents when
the stillness was broken by a crash from somewhere in the building.
"More tricks?" Ida growled, reaching for her sword again. But the wild
look in the man's eyes told her this was none of his doing. Without
another word he bolted through a side door. All things considered, she
decided his plan was probably best. After all, they each had what they
had come for - she hoped.
The man ran back down the corridors the way he had come. Rounding a
turn he burst through a door, crossed a room, and shot out into
another corridor. Not much further, he thought, and he'd be safely in
the streets and back in the company of his companions.
Then the floor gave way beneath him. He cried out as he fell, grunted
as he landed hard, then screamed as he went skimming down some kind of
chute to be dumped unceremoniously on the wooden floor of a candle lit
room, the case landing in his lap with a plop.
"Good morning," said a younger gentleman of wiry build with sandy
brown hair. He was sitting in a chair behind an empty table. His
polished black boots were kicked up on the table and his hands were
interlocked behind his head. He scrutinized his catch carefully. "You
may mark me as an ass, Baron Van Trapp. You're not the bird I was
expecting."
The Baron stood up, arranged his clothing, and dusted himself off. "I
don't know who you are," he replied stiffly, "but you're playing a
*very* dangerous game and are quite obviously out of your league."
"Why, because you don't know me?" The younger man chuckled and stood
up, revealing himself to be dressed entirely in black and armed with
an expensive looking rapier and parrying sword. "You are Baron Heidwig
Van Trapp the third, of Angel Heights number five seventy five," he
said, heading across the room. "Most recently the heir to Van Trapp
Industries, a timber company that owns land mostly in the King's Range
northwest of the city, a company founded by your grandfather Heidwig
Van Trapp the second; a man of distinction and honor." He picked up
the case the Baron had left on the floor as he had moved away from the
mysterious, and apparently very knowledgeable, young man. "Attributes
that cannot be accredited to you." He continued, heading back to the
table. "Your father, the late Ivan Van Trapp, died of mysterious
causes - food poisoning, I believe - only three months ago, leaving
you in sole possession of the family fortune *and* business."
"I am well aware of my family history, and I'll appreciate you to
leave the recent death of my beloved father out of this discussion..."
"Ah yes! You are pained to the quick, I see. How touching." Setting
the case on the table the man in black retook his seat behind the
table, after placing a dagger within easy reach. "But I'm not quite
finished yet. You have a hundred and fifty slaves in your personal
household, all female, none over the age of twenty four, and the
youngest of which is thirteen. A hundred of them are for your own
personal pleasure, though I'm told all find their way into your
bedchamber sooner or later, either singly or in groups. Your present
favorite is a gorgeous sixteen year old girl with lovely blond hair
and pale blue eyes who fires your ardor because she always cries and
begs you to leave her alone when you rape her."
"SHE'S A SLAVE!"
"NO SHE IS NOT!" The young man shouted, jumping from his chair and
slamming his fists into the table. He leaned over it and locked eyes
with the Baron. "She's the oldest daughter of Wil and Brenda McKinney
who own a small farm in the City Downs!" he said from between clenched
teeth. "She was born as free as you and I! But just like every young
woman in your household, you - or rather your band of thieves -
kidnapped her on her way home from the fields one day and took her to
Madame Elie's where she was branded with the mark of a life slave. She
was then taken to your mansion where you forced yourself on her with
all the consideration for her well being one might expect of an animal
in heat."
"You must have been her lover. Is that it?"
"Oh no," he spat. "If you like I can tell you the story of every girl
in your household. But if I did I'd be tempted to kill you here and
now before I was half done. Tell me, Baron Van Slime Ball, what kind
of sickness is it that lets you enjoy raping a thirteen year old
girl?"
The Baron began to visibly shake, finally realizing the peril he was
really in. "What do you want? Money perhaps?" The man in black's eyes
didn't change. "Land! Yes land," he said laughing suddenly. "That must
be it. Yes, I could grant you enough land to make you wealthy for
generations." The young man's countenance remained unchanged. The
Baron thought frantically. "The blond girl." He chuckled. Slapping his
thigh. "You want her. Fine. No problem. She's yours. Enjoy her."
"All of it," he said in a deadly quiet voice.
"Yes! Fine. Wonderful," the Baron said gaily.
"You fucking slime ball," he continued in the same deadly still tone.
"I'd have gladly busted your little kidnapping ring and been satisfied
to see you sold into the same kind of slavery you condemn those young
girls to. But this," he placed a hand meaningfully on the case," is
even better. You can be sure I'll be there when you hang!"
Baron Van Trapp's face blanched. With his attention focused on his
slave girls he'd forgotten about the case full of Mlin Oil.
"No!" He whispered. "Please. No."
* * *
Epilogue
Lord Soltaire strode crisply into police headquarters and into
commissioner Roland's office, not even bothering to stop and knock.
Two uniformed officers followed him astride the chained and cuffed
Baron Van Trapp.
"Morning uncle," the young man said gaily.
"Fucking Soltaire. What do you want?" The bleary-eyed older man sank
into his chair with a low grunt, taking in the scene with little
change of expression.
"A present." He gestured toward the door as the shackled baron was
brought in, then placed the sealed case on the commissioner's desk.
Roland slowly shifted his suspicious gaze from the younger man, to the
shackled one, and then to the case. "This had better be good. I
haven't finished the first pot yet," and he indicated a carafe perched
on a warming brazier. "I take it there's some twisted reason you have
the Baron Van Trapp in chains? If it ain't airtight, I'll see you in
his place," he added, a vicious expression creasing his grizzled
countenance.
The baron's eyes looked calculating, but Soltaire was confident. He
jabbed his chin at the case and headed for the brazier with the carafe
on it. "Open it - carefully."
The chief snorted. "Not likely. *You* open it. I don't trust you any
farther than I could throw you."
"Look you fat, overgrown, pompous ass!" The young man snapped in
sudden heat. "I don't expect you to know everything but you *do* know
how delicate substances are smuggled into this city, don't you? And I
assume your wits aren't yet so addled that you've already forgotten
the fifteen minute lecture you gave this entire damned department
three weeks ago about a certain shipment of *POISON*? And I *know* you
haven't forgotten all the rules about handling sensitive *EVIDENCE*.
Now OPEN THE DAMNED BOX!"
"YOU WATCH YOUR MOUTH, BOY! Best YOU remember why you're here! One
word from me and you join the Baron here in irons! Is that perfectly
clear?" He growled, reaching for the case - carefully.
Soltaire smirked, but he said nothing.
The inside of the case was lined with padded, crushed velvet. Two
racks of vials filled the case in two layers. The vials were stoppered
with wax corks. Four vials in the top section were filled with a thick
amber liquid. The rest were filled with a clear liquid.
Roland most carefully did not touch any of the vials. Giving Soltaire
a look of grudging respect, he grunted, "Mlin Oil?"
The Raven took the rack from his bosses' hands and held it up to the
light of the window. "Well," he said, pointing to the vials of amber
liquid. "These vials most certainly are, but these," he pointed to the
clear ones and shrugged. "I have no idea." He grinned at his boss. "It
appears we may have gotten more than we went fishing for." He
carefully handed the rack back to the Commissioner.
Roland grunted again. Clearing his throat, he jerked his head at the
man in shackles. "What's he got to do with? You don't mean to tell me
one of the richest men in the city needed all this poison for himself,
do you?"
Soltaire's grin was vicious. "I think you'll find his truth tale very
interesting, especially after you read my report. Which reminds me,
I've got some more homework to do on this man before the hearing.
There's a lot more to him than being caught red handed with this case
in his possession." He bowed - almost formally. "Good morning chief."
"Hold it, Raven." He motioned for the two officers to take the
prisoner to a holding cell, meanwhile making quick arrangements for a
temple priest from the Guardian Paladins to be present during the
questioning. He turned back to the waiting younger man when they were
alone, momentarily at a loss for words.
After fumbling with a coffee mug for a few moments, he looked at
Soltaire with an ambivalent expression. "Nice work," he said, almost
grudgingly.
It was with a great deal of relief that Ida stepped back onto the
familiar deck of her ship. With no more than a brief nod to the deck
officer she went straight to the cabin she and Billy Jack shared.
"Tis relieved I am that yer safe," he said, wrapping her slender form
up in his arms.
"I got it," she said after a moment. "Tis all here." She walked over
to the table and placed the heavy case on the table. Billy Jack joined
her and opened it. They both gasped as their eyes took in the sight
before them. Gold! Two rows of one ounce gold coins filled the case.
"We did it!" She screamed, slugging forcefully at the air. "We really
did it!"
"Aye, lass. That we did." He picked up one of the coins to examine it.
Then he stopped. His blood ran cold. The coin underneath was blank and
lead grey. Only the edges were gilded in gold to make the whole stack
appear to be of gold coins. Ripping the case from the table he poured
the contents onto deck. Save for the top coins, all the rest were
worthless lead, and onto the top of the pile fell a small enameled pin
engraved with the image of a raven.
- 30 -
A SPECIAL THANKS
A very special thanks and all my love goes out to my dearest Thalia
for her masterful creation of Fernwall Police Commissioner Roland
during our co-writings of the first stories of The Raven - which have
yet to grace this echo - and his as yet unintroduced arch rival, Iris.
And yet another thanks to my dearest love for her playing of
Commissioner Roland in this story of mine; for the tales of The Raven
and Iris are creations of us both. Without her loving and consistant
support, this tale could not have been told.
© 1993, Aerien Nightwind @ 69:1020/40.
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