The Key of Fate...Long Story! Read it to find out!

And before you say: yes Kestral is meant to be spelt with an A! Please ignore!

Chapter 1-Ship – 2328words

Sunshine poured down through the roofs of the huge looming warehouse buildings. An armed girl strolled purposefully down the noisy, crowded docks; sword hung loosely at her side. Not many girls wanted to learn how to fight in Valand; the ones that did could only be described in one way.

Deadly.



Nimbly, the trained assassin skipped across the crowded roof tops. His employer had told him that his target would be an armed girl of about sixteen. Unfortunately today, the sun was bright; it would outline his strong, masculine body making it easier for him to be spotted. The authorities wouldn’t take kindly if they saw somebody skipping across the rooftops in their “crimeless town.”



Tossing her long, slightly curled, hazel hair behind her, the target suddenly halted. Standing in front of her was the largest warehouse building on the entire docks. It towered above her like a forest of pine trees; sucking in all the surrounding light, before devouring it in its dark bowels.



Far above her, the assassin crouched low, panting. His dark breeches and jerkin camouflaged him from all; save the most observant.

Here was his victim.

She was young, and fit; he would give her that. Some might even describe her as pretty. On this particular day, she was wearing soft buckskin breeches; neat, flawless black-polished, boots; a shirt of cascading lace; and a beautiful, well made embroidered jade-green coat, which hung open to just above her knees.

One might also describe her as well turned out.



After a small moment of hesitation, the young, well dressed girl then confidently entered the largest wooden warehouse through a huge opening at the front. Quickly, she surveyed her industrial surroundings; taking special notice of all the possible escape routes. Young as this girl might have been, she was not stupid.



Nervously, Mr. Benjamin Zachariah Evens smoothed a calloused hand over his coal black hair; his bright blue eyes jumping with suppressed surprise every time he perceived even a very small noise. His pretty young wife, Mrs. Victoria Evens might describe him as roguishly handsome, even though it was an arranged marriage. They had a young child christened Hannah-Mai; of two months old. Even with such a small family, Benjamin loved them dearly, so would do anything to protect them.

Mr. Elliot Moore had told him that this was going to be a very important customer.

Important to please.

Also, he had said that he had been reliably informed that she was a killer.

Despite the circumstances, Mr. Evens was doubtful. After all, she was only sixteen.



“Mr Evens, I believe?” Unusually, today, the girls voice was warm, almost welcoming.

“Miss Kestral, Kestral Cleopatra Fell.” Despite his calm exterior, Benjamin was terrified.

Never had he met anyone who felt, who radiated, such coldness.

“Well met Mr. Evens. How are you?”

“I’m fine thank-you miss; you?” Embarrassingly, (as he wished to make a good impression for his company,) he shook with every word.

“Worried, Mr. Evens worried. I presume you have somewhere here where we can talk safely?” Naturally, being a wealthily dressed customer, her words were articulate and fluid; almost like a snake charmer’s, manipulating the words and claiming them for her own. Mr. Evens was practically helpless.

“Of course, miss.”

As he lead the lady to the small office adjoining the warehouse, Mr. Evens experienced a certain dread, as he realised that she must have been in some sort of army. He could tell because as she walked, her arms swung at her sides, and her beautiful black, cavalier style boots clicked neatly together; perfectly in time.

There was no doubt. This Miss. Kestral was very, very, dangerous.



At the rear of the building, the assassin skilfully slid down an old, convenient, rusted blue drainpipe; before silently creeping around the edge of the edifice, towards the entrance; pistol cocked and ready. This time, he was not going to fail his employer. Too much was riding on this.



Despite the colossal size of the warehouse, the windowless office was relatively modest. All that it contained was a small elfwood desk; two stylish, comfy looking padded ladder-back chairs; a freestanding wooden document cupboard and a large blue pin board, on which was scattered numerous individual pieces of paper, with the same scrawny writing covering them. Regardless of the small size, it was immaculately clean as well as tidy; its whitewashed walls unblemished.

“So Miss, what are you here for?” Mr. Evens’ voice tried to be cold and formal, tried not to betray any of his nervous terror.

“I am here Sir, for a ship,” smiling slyly, she leant forward, sharp elbows precisely placed on knees; “preferably an Apple-wood two hundred and eighty classic.”

Mr. Evens was in the process of reaching for his orders’ notebook, however when he heard Kestral name the ship, he froze. Slowly, he turned to face his newest customer.

“Pardon Miss?” Embarrassingly for him, Mr. Evens’ delicate calm exterior shattered, which caused his voice jump and stutter.

“You heard me Sir,” she giggled deviously, “an Apple-wood two hundred and eighty classic.”

Regaining her seemingly effortless composure, Kestral proceeded to stare Evens out.

Shaking visibly now, Benjamin Evens whispered, “I cannot supply you with a p, pi, pirate ship!”

“You can Sir,” Kestral replied firmly, not betraying any of her hidden mirth, “after all it is not a pirate ship that I am requesting you sell me, just a ship favoured by the pirate kind!” A long silence followed, before Mr. Evens shifted uncomfortably on his padded chair.

“Your innocence betrays you madam,” his voice suddenly increased in volume, as if he was trying to assert his authority over her. Then pointing a shivering finger at her he uttered: “you will clearly never comprehend the complications and calamities, thrust upon the diligent members of the boat builders and auctioneers trust,” he paused for breath dramatically, “I shall not, and shall never sell you or anyone an Apple-wood two hundred and eighty classic.”

“Do you have a wife Mr. Evens?” She was obviously not impressed.

“Yes.” Mr. Evens looked extremely perplexed by the unexpected, abrupt change of subject.

“Do you have any children?”

“Yes, but I…”

“Peace, peace Mr. Evens. Let me enlighten you with something. Have you ever heard of the V.S.S?”

“Of coarse Miss, do you take me for a fool? It stands for the Valand Shipping Society!” Following his answer, Mr. Evens mumbled something under his breath. Something that sounded very like: “Little bitch.”

“Mr. Evens, you give an erroneous answer! I mean of course, that you are wrong.” As Kestral laughed, Benjamin turned bright scarlet. “It stands for the Valand Secret Service, or in old Valandish: Valandia Secra Elphia. I am part of it. A secret agent if you like. Kindly the top brass of the V.S.S. recruited me when I became an orphan; both my parents died defending their legacy.” Silently a singular silver tear drop cascaded down Kestral’s cheek; it did not however, make her seem any less impressive, indeed it made her appear stronger, prouder and more powerful.

“I’m sorry Lady.” Sadly his face fell slightly. Then, for a fleeting moment, confusion passed over his cheerless face. “Surely though, if you did work for the V.S.S, you would not tell me, a mere boat builder so?”

This man was not obtuse.

“No, Mr Evens, during the usual circumstances I wouldn’t. However, considering, Sir. Gideon-Moir specifically commanded me to do everything I could to get hold of an Apple-wood two hundred and eighty. Including revealing important state secrets, and of course, killing anyone who stands, or sits for that matter, in my way.

She mentioned killing with abnormal ease.

Mr. Benjamin Zachariah Evens, the third of that name, did not take the hint.

“Who is Sir Gideon-Moir?” Mr. Evens was very confused. Why would anyone employ a sixteen year old girl?

“Sir Gideon-Moir,” Kestral answered casually, “is the head of the V.S.S. He is the third most important man in the country. Do you have any doubts about me belonging to such a society now sir?” His shoulders sagged as he was curbed like a bear cub by its mother. Determined to win however, he stuttered on.

“I shall not sell you an apple-wood two hundred and eighty classic. It would ruin the company’s reputation. I refuse to; you can not force me to either.”

“But you stock them?” It was clear Kestral was rapidly losing her temper.

“As I said before, you clearly…”

“Shut up, Mr. Evens.” Quick as a flash, Kestral’s voice turned as cold as ice, and her hand flew to her gold gilded sword hilt. “I shall give you one more chance.” Slowly and regally she rose from the padded ladder-back chair.



Quickly the masked assassin slid into the warehouse. To give him his due, nobody noticed him; however the assassin was at a huge disadvantage. What he didn’t know was that Kestral Cleopatra usually stored about twenty weapons about her person.



A strange ritual-like procedure then did commence. Carefully, the V.S.S. agent slowly removed twenty blades and pistols from various revealed, hidden or open areas within or on her clothes or person and placed each upon the elfwood desk. Benjamin watched with mounting awe.

“How many weapons do you store upon yourself lady?” he asked, gaping outright like a gold-fish, at the small pile of pistols and blades upon his desk.

Pulling a final blade out from the inside of her boot, Kestral replied “Usually about twenty, varying in size and use,” She paused carefully before adding: “and I’m not afraid to use them.”



Moving invisibly in and out of the shadows, the assassin circled the warehouse, keeping a close eye out for any intruders.

There weren’t any.



“Would you use them against me?” Mr. Evens cowed with absolute terror, while quickly backing up against the whitewashed wall behind his neat and tidy elfwood desk.

“Don’t move,” the assassin growled from the now open doorway, “or your life is at risk.” In front of him he held a loaded silver Springfield XD Assassin pistol in a business like manner.

“What do you want?” Slowly, Kestral surveyed her surroundings. Unfortunately, the assassin had cleverly placed himself between Kestral, and her weapons.

“Is it not obvious?” asked the assassin, “Your life of course!” He crackled evilly. “However first, my employer would like some….” He paused thoughtfully, searching for the correct word, “information. What he would like to know is what is the precise date and time that the Schezwien ambassadors and Price Jonathan will be landing at Port Calvyen?

“And why would I tell you that?” Kestral looked scared. She was.

“Because,” then the assassin unleashed his secret weapon, “because, Lady Alyssa, I have orders to slowly maim you until you answer my question.”

At the mention of Lady Alyssa’s name, Kestral turned white with shock and fear.

Laughing at the horrified look on her face the assassin pressed forward confidently. “Now, answer my question, and I shall spare you a painful and slow death.”

Ignoring the order, Kestral asked: “How did your,” Kestral paused before subconsciously correcting herself, “how does your master know I acted as Lady Alyssa at the coronation?”

Strangely, the assassin laughed mercilessly. “My master chose not to disclose that information to me, so I guess you’ll never survive to find out! I said, answer my question! Answer now… or I shall enjoy the pleasure of slowly mutilating you.” He stepped forward menacingly. “What shall I start with?”

What the assassin had forgotten though, was that Kestral was not the only enemy to contend with. While he had been preoccupied with his victim, Benjamin was slowly loading one of Kestral’s many pistols that had been conveniently placed upon his desk. There was no way that he was going to let a possible client be assassinated in his office. After all, it would completely ruin his reputation.

Unfortunately, as Mr. Evens cocked the pistol, a loud click echoed throughout the office; the assassin quickly spun his head around, alerted to danger by the sudden sound.

This was all the distraction Kestral needed. As she launched into a kick aimed with un-relating accuracy at his windpipe, the stunned opponent crumpled to the ground. Limply, he lay in a defeated broken mess of helplessness on the office floor.

Kestral, realising that she was now safe, then stumbled tiredly forward, to examine her victim and discover whether or not he had survived her vicious attack.

He hadn’t.

Sighing, she muttered under her breath, irritated: “Lord, Kess, can’t you go one whole day without killing someone?” Her words were barely audible. Silence swiftly followed, before the lady uttered her apology. “Sorry, Mr. Evens,” the assassins victim said, “to put you through such,” the victim groaned as she stood, “trauma.” Wordlessly, he handed over the pistol before gesturing at her other weapons. She quickly re-equipped herself. Never again, Kestral silently vowed, would she be caught without a weapon. The bigger question however, was who had sent the assassin.

And why.

That however, was a question for later; once this task was complete. Meanwhile, she had a stubborn boat builder to deal with.

“I’d rather nobody knew about this…mess” Kestral stared hard at the floor, “But we need it cleared up. Do you have somebody that you can trust with confidentiality? Someone who will not mutter a word… even if bribed? Someone who can take this body, and dispose of it, discretely?” Mr. Evens, who during the time she had been speaking, had flopped down mentally exhausted onto his chair, glanced up at her tiredly.

“Now?”

Kestral sighed and leant back against the wall before closing her sea green eyes.

“When do you think?”

“How did I just know you were going to say that?” Mr. Evens replied sarcastically, “Yes I can arrange it. Meanwhile,” with forced gallantry he stood and gestured at the door, “You first.”