A Meeting Of Equals.

Authors notes- Hey there, it's been some time since I'm uploaded, so I'll try be more consistent in future. For now, here's a short exchange between two characters in a short-ish novel I'll be doing. Think of it as a prologue. Criticism is happily accepted, so please go ahead and judge this as you would a published novel.

Happy Writing! 

The office, which was cluttered with lacquered furniture, spoke of indulgence and profligacy. Curtains of a deep red, threaded with gold hung over the window, warded off the dying sun. Cigar smoke hung in the air, coiling around the oil lamps set into the wall, like a river parting in the wake of a boulder. Dust clouded the air, as although the scene was coloured with extravagance, the room was largely unkempt. Documents rose from the desk, the face of which was littered with bottles of ink, the ash of forgotten cigars.

Lord Dalton leaned back, allowing himself a satisfied smile, sinking into the cushioned chair and setting a small glass of scotch onto the table. Only a few quivering golden drops hung onto the glass. He tilted his head to the side, sparing a glance for the finished letter which was emblazoned with a crimson seal, holding back a frown of resentment at the failed attempts at the letter, which lay in a frustrated pile to his side. It had been troubling to write. There was a feeling of closure and contentment to finally laying the past to rest. Tonight he-

A somewhat irritatingly entitled knock at the door broke his train of thought. His eyes snapped open, and the present, along with memory, returned. His eyes crinkled in amusement as he recognised the tall silhouette that stood at the door.

“Come in, Jacques”.

The door opened, emitting a low squeal. Dalton’s nephew entered. His mouth curled into a familiar smirk as he saw his uncle, dropping into the seat opposite. His features were bright, and pure with youth, his wide, electric blue eyes shining. His unkempt hair fell down onto his face in sweeping hazel curtains. He picked up the bottle of scotch the man had been drinking from, examining the label. His eyes quickly climbed beneath his hair, as he grinned.

“Good to see you still have taste, Uncle. Quite the connoisseur, aren’t you”. He sipped from the bottle, whetting his tongue.

“Hardly”, Dalton replied, chuckling. “It was a gift”.

A playful spark danced in his nephews eyes as he began to structure a retort, but suddenly faded as his eye caught the crimson seal on the desk. His expression sobered, the youth dissipating as tired lines of mourning creasing his face.

“So it’s done then.”

Dalton nodded. “It quite won’t be until I see him in the ground”.

Jacques eyes misted with memory, an aura of bitter melancholy surrounding him.

“So I suppose it’s time for your little scheme then, isn’t it?”

Dalton sniffed. “You know I despise that word. I find justice a more fitting term”.

Jacques leaned back, waving his hand dismissively. “Scheme or no, I’m ready to play my part.”

A servant walked in, carrying a tray laden with drinks and excessively decorated cakes. She set them down on the table, ignored, as the two waited impatiently for her to leave so they could resume their discussion. As the door closed, Dalton leaned forward.

“You’ve made the preparations?”

The mood soared rapidly higher, although still far from the cheerfulness of the conversations beginning.

“You should give me more praise than that, Uncle. I have Kaj awaiting orders. He’s sitting cooped up in a luxurious hole somewhere in the city right now, probably sharpening his knives, or whatever it is that man does when he isn’t being sent out as a hound.”

Dalton smiled emptily, filling his glass.

“I’m impressed you even found Kaj. Last I heard he was out killing for a minister.”

He took a sip, noting his nephew’s expression. He was tense, as one might expect. There was something else there, however. Anticipation? Eagerness? Perhaps it was simply pride in his own competence at readying for the situation in just a few weeks. He shrugged the thought off as Jacques replied. “That friend of yours, Lord Henry, was able to find him for me. So, you’ll send the letter tonight, then?” His eyes lit up, hungry for the response.

“Odd. I’d have thought he’d be somewhat cautious with a matter like this.” So, it was eagerness he had seen burning softly behind his Nephews eyes.

“So long as you can be ready by then. You’re sure you don’t need another day to get it done, or make final preparations?”

Jacques smirked, half out of arrogant knowingness and half from amusement.

“I’m ready.”

Dalton nodded, pausing for a moment, allowing the room to fill with silence for a long moment as he listened for servants in the hallway outside that could potentially hear. Satisfied, he stood, turning his back to his Nephew, drawing the curtain open to let the light of the setting sun fill the room.

“Take what money you need to ensure everyone stays loyal. Tonight, we rescue Hughes. I’ll send the letter for his and Warren’s execution tonight. You have until tomorrow. I’d say your chance will be between now and midnight”

His nephew nodded, standing beside him to gaze at the city, dark roof tiles bathed in flaming shadow. A crow flew overhead, gliding towards the Ebony Church, which loomed in the distance, a monstrous stone giant of sweeping buttresses, racing staircases, steadfast monuments and brilliant spires. Jacques lips curled into a menacing grin, layered with years of hatred.

“And throw Warren Jacobs to hell”.

As he turned to leave, his Uncle allowed himself a small smile.

“Safe journey”.