A Dark Tower is the Candle in the Night

Sitting I watch my lovely wife and daughters at the city well. They are pulling the bucket up from the bottom of the well to retrieve water to make dinner. I can hear them laughing, the corner of mouths turning upward with happiness. However I could just not make out their entire faces for they are focused on the bucket and they were looking down upon it.

Once it reached the top, Lily splashed her mother sending them into a giggling burst of joy. The water that landed on my wife hair then started to dampen, sending it from a lustrous brown to a dark chocolate. Amelia, my youngest scooped up some of the water from the bucket and drank it, letting the cool water quench her parched throat. She excitingly told her sister and mother to drink it as well.

It was then when I noticed the water. Lily’s cupped hands were leaking some of the water between her fingers. The water was black and oily and my family was drinking it over and over. I called out to them.

“Stop!” my worried voice called to them

“The water is foul. Do not drink anymore!” I yelled again as I rose from my seat.

Then they all three turned in unison to look at me. Pale faces, shrunken cheeks and dark circles around their eyes. Their hair falling from their scalps to the stone paved road in clumps. Lips are blue and black from the chill of long death frosting the flesh of their lips. They opened their mouths to speak to me, but only a pouring of black oily water spewed forth to the ground.

I turned my head in revulsion before I looked back to them with grief and remorse.

“Father you promised to take care of us.” Lily harrowingly spoke to me in a haunting whisper.

“Take care of us” they said together as they shambled towards me. Their bodies are decaying more and more with every step.

Just then their voices were just one and not either of theirs.

“Time to take care of them.” A hollow male voice said to me.

The man, a middle age fellow, Robert his name is, walked right through my over active grief’s imaginations forced phantasm. As he glided through the scene, the images all just dissipated like mist and fizzled out.

“Get up! The tower has moved and we are in a new Kingdom. It is time to go look at our new guests.” He said as I stood.

Outside of the tower it was night and a large wooded field of grave markers was around the tower. Any on looker of the graveyard would notice the Tower but think that it had always been there. The tower sends out a pulse that alters the memories of any that look at it.

“What name are you going to have here Caretaker?” my assistant Robert asked.

Looking over some of the stone markers I made a new moniker. Seeing the name William, the age from the weathering of the area had almost wiped away the first half of the name, so I took what was left. Then the grave stone to the right had Angus for a first name and that would be a good middle name. Last behind me a crumbled stone had its pieces all over the high grass by its base. The letters I could see were, al’ and Ias. So I took them all.

“Liam A al’Ias” I said as I rolled the new name off my tongue. It felt good and right.

“Yes. It will do.” I added.

“Yes, M’lord it fits. The souls of the lost will know you as thus now.” Robert said.

“We have a long night ahead of us. Let us start on seeing whom we have as guests while we are stationed here.” I said as I moved to an unmarked grave.

“Speak to me” I said in a whisper to the earth with a forceful intention.

“Speak to me” again I said but with words moving so slow out of my mouth.

A wisp of glowing fog rose from the ground. A quiet song of choirs spilled from the fog. I reached my hand and grabbed the fog. Pulling it from the ground and the soul of a young lady about 20 appeared in my hands. I release her from my grasp and she fully formed in front of me.

“You have summoned me. I wish to return to Heaven, may I leave?” She asked with a willowy voice.

“After I learn from you whom you were in life and what you did in it, I will release you back to the warmth embrace of heaven.” I said.

She nodded and began to tell her tale.



I am in a new realm and those souls living or dead that are in dire need will find me by the will of Saint Jude. I will aid them in their desperation and bring them peace by any means necessary. I am charged by the Saint to be the Caretaker of Lost Souls and Causes. I am the guardian in the night.

Excellent. Keep it up I am eagerly awaiting the next part.

(( Sorry I have taken so long to post again. I have had a long week. My next post will that follows this note will not have been edited fully. Sorry for any grammar mistakes. I will try to do a full edit this weekend and then amend the Posting then on the Boards. ))

What am I to do? Sitting here I have an ample in beauty, ready and willing, woman delicately placing her fingers over my body trying to incite my inner desires to take her, most likely in a room in the back of the tavern, and have sex with her. Of course her company would be for a decent sum of coin for her professional favors in the bedroom. I neither had the time nor the want to have anything to do with The Queen of the Tavern this evening. My only focus point is how to help young Katy the waitress.

I sat back into my chair while I started up my gears of thought in my mind. Instantly, the noisy tavern room became muffled. The loud laughter and boasts of my friend Robert faded away as well. Time would seem to have stopped if you were looking over my shoulder. Using my deep well of creativity I stepped back from myself from where I was sitting and prepared to watch all of my options. Hovering over my real seated self I began to go over any scenarios I could think of in the briefest amount of time I had before anyone would notice me just sitting there with a blank face while a sexy woman flaunted herself at me.

I flung Callie off my lap as I rose sharply. She cascaded to the floor with a large smack as her well rounded butt struck the tiled floor. Her cries of surprise them contempt ring out like a beacon alerting Reed and Mason to trouble and I being at the center of said trouble is going to make this attempt even harder.

I can hear the laughter of Robert bark out like a dog from the commotion I created distracting me momentarily right before I flip the table over and into the next one adjacent to me. This would make a small foray of havoc and give me some time before Reed and Mason could get to me. The tables full of men and women would jump up and make a good size crowd in the tavern separating me from the bruisers coming for me.

All of these swift actions were timed so I could grab Katy as she approached and fling her over my shoulder like a sack of flour. I would run for the door with her kicking and screaming as I carried her. Her cries of help would alert my pursuers that this was getting even more serious than a drunk.

It is quite possible as I was running with the squirming girl on my shoulder that some less inebriated guests of the Silent O might try to stop me with varying degrees of bravery. The man with the brown close cut hair third nearest to the door might just stick out a foot and try to trip me. I in my hurried state could be tripped by this. However I am fleet of foot and sure with my balance and would recover quickly. Not however quick enough to not lose some precious time I lost when I stumbled. Time is my enemy now, I must keep John Thatcher’s toughs from reaching me and even now they are making their way through the chaos of the crowd I made.

The second closest man to the door, a tall man with a reddish brown beard might even move in front of me at the last second causing me to plow into him and perhaps drop the screaming and hair pulling daughter of Meghan that rides atop of my right shoulder.

I would not be able to avoid his entire maneuver but I am sure I could take a light blow and be able to continue towards the door. Cursing him and I am sure he would throw a few choice words my way as I passed him.

The last man, the one right next to the door would be the most likely hardest to get by. A middling man in height, he is leaning against the door jam in a long black hooded cloak. There is a sword at his left hip waiting to be freed from its scabbard to deal out hurt and blood. The pommel and hilt has signs of wear, which indicate much use. In my case and with my luck he would know how to wield such a blade and the wear and tear on the blade would not be because he bought a used blade recently to just look menacing and brooding to the girls here in the tavern.

I have no idea what could happen there, I am a pessimist at heart, so darting by him without losing my bouncing bundle in tow, and I would definitely take at least two decent cuts from his blade. I would take a wound at my left leg and one across my left forearm trying to defend myself with a weapon of my own.

Bleeding and limping I would burst through the door. Reed and Mason only a few yards behind giving me chase. Katy yelling at the top of her lungs for help, her throaty calls reddening her larynx while she was pleading for anyone to aid her from me carrying her away.

Soon with her doing everything she could to slow me down, my bleeding leg and arm, my lungs losing more and more air due to exhaustion from the running and pushing, I would feel a sharp pain in my back. I would fall to my knees and Katy would clatter to the ground and get up backing away from me, with her eyes looking confused and then scared as they rose to something that was behind me.

It would be Reed and Mason and in my back was most likely a dagger or a knife. Two large and meaty hands would grip both sides of my head, digging his nails into my skin and ears.

It was then I would see my wife and children just behind Katy. They would be staring at me and saying together. “Another promise broken.”

Then with a strong and quick twist my neck would be snapped and my lifeless body would slump to the dirty street.

Looking back to Callie with a smile, shaking off my imagination, I opened my coin purse and produced two gold coins of Rome. “Callie thank you for your hospitality but the evening is getting late and I must retire. Can you be kind enough to share these coins with the young Katy whom attended to my thirst as well?”

“Aye, milord, I can and will.” She said as she pocketed the coins with delight sparkling in her eyes. It was plainly seen all she cared about was payment and the possible payment in her future. “Come back now, dearie. Next time I will make sure we get real acquainted”

She slid off my lap and stood up, but not before she gave me a long kiss on my cheek and wink from her eye.

“Robert. I need to you follow John and his two men.” I said in a hushed tone to him as he sat next to me unseen.

“You should swoop up that buxom lass and take her to bed with you Liam. You need a tumble badly you damn fool. Such a wench in my lap, I would have had a hand down her bodice and taken a nice squeeze before I took her to the back.” He said then laughed heartily with a belly laugh becoming of him.

“Just do what I said. Then when you find something that I can use meet me in the lichyard. I am going to get whom I need to finish this through tonight. We cannot waste a minute longer. She was supposed to be very young girl. Not a teen.” I told him firmly but still with the hushed tone.

“Alright! Alright! Just leave damn you. I will be there. I warn you, all this doing things half cocked.” He paused a moment during his tirade with a grin. “You are going to make a mistake and it might cost you your life.”

I simply nodded to my friend as stood up. I moved towards the door and spied John and his lackeys talking to a well dressed man who was pointing towards Katy. I quickly made eye contact with Robert to signal him to get over there now. Once Robert sauntered over to them I left. My steps over the streets of the city were quick.

I made good time getting back to the Tower’s graveyard. Popping my head inside the front door and reaching in with my hand, I grabbed a shovel. An old and beat up tool, it seeing the better of times, I walked to the first cross in the oldest part of the graveyard.

It is a mass grave marker. For those whom died with no money to buried properly. A grave for the poor and forgotten, a grave for the evils of society to slip in bodies of those they have slain without any one being the wiser. That is one of the souls I needed tonight. A murdered French Merchant. My conversation with him a few nights past still rang in my memory. He seemed a fine fellow even though he was French. He was Murdered in the prime years of his life but ended up where he did.

“Gaston Moreau. Speak to me. I call you from death and compel you come forth” I said forcefully before the hallowed ground of the gravesite.

“GASTon MOReau. Come to me. You are released from the bonds that bind you.” I said forcefully.

Then the wisp of curling mist and smoke came from the soil at my feet. Then with a crack of thunder the ground erupted out and separated into a small chasm right before me. The smell of brimstone and ash filled my lungs. The cries of the wicked and tormented filled my ears with woe. I spied my targeted soul rising towards me but still bound in barbed chains of iron and flames. I reached my hand forward and screamed with hard will.

“Release thy bonds on this Soul Hell, I call him forth and you have no power to deny me.”

My words echoed down into Hell and broke the chains hold Gaston’s soul. He floated much more quickly to the surface. Once he passed into my plane, he became fully formed and the earth sealed itself up.

“Pourquoi avez-vous appelé moi encore Sir?” Gaston said.

“It is time for us to go to work.” I replied. “Can you lead me to your bones while I dig, I will need more than just your soul for what I am going to do?”

“Oui” he replied. With that I began to dig.

“So tell me about yourself.” I said as I climb out of the mass grave I just recently dug into.

“How do you say- ah… I was a rich merchant. Calais was my home. I traveled for my family’s business all around the world. I even did business here as you can tell. Here is where I ended life.” Gaston said in his annoying French accented English.

Now I am not saying, well I guess I am saying it, The French, as a people I find quite annoying. Their pomp and the air about them, saying I am so high above your station in life. Well it just bugs the shit out of me. Gaston here was no different than any other man I have ever met from France. Even in death, Gaston had the aura of pretention embracing him. I am sure he might be an all right man to those he knows, or at least was, but, man was he plucking each and every nerve I have.

French women can be as bad as the men, but I find that somehow I seem to enjoy their prim and proper airs that they cloak themselves in. My wife was French, so I know from experience that underneath all of that lies a seductress ready to let her more adventurous side come into the light. My wife was not the first girl from France that I have had the honor of seeing so uninhibited, but that was when I was a young knight of England, defending the King’s lands and rights in Brittany.

“Liam?” Gaston got my attention away from my thoughts. “Now that you have some shavings from my bones what are you going to do with them?”

“I am going to smash them down into little bits. You as a soul or a ghost have a bond with your bones. I am going to use this to aid me in tonight. I am going to have you ride inside me, giving me access to your mannerisms and speech patterns. You can even help me with your own specific knowledge of the trade business and help me pull off a fully fledged disguise.” I answer.

I brush the dirt and grime off my clothing after I got up from the ground. The caked dirt from digging falls to the ground near the pile of earth I removed from the grave site. I look to the entrance to the graveyard wishing Robert would just appear there with the information I needed. Time was of the essence. I still did not know when I had to act and in most of the cases I have taken in the past, I usually did not have much time at all to do them. I am the Caretaker of Lost Causes and that usually means in the twilight hour of need I am tapped for battle.

“Gaston let us go inside the Tower. I need to prep your bones and lay out some clothing that might fit me after the process is over.” I said as I walk towards the entrance to the Tower. Looking up I am always taken back at the sight of the thing. Every time I look at it, it takes me back to the first time I laid my eyes on its stone and stained glass.

I can see it now. I was kneeling near the grave I dug myself for my wife and children. Tears falling from my eyes and soaking the earth that rests above them. I had placed sprigs of lavender and bunch of tulips, my wife’s favorite flower, against the stone carved cross headstone that marked where they lie. In the corner of my eye I noticed the fog bank that was lowering itself from the sky suddenly looked like it was being held back something. Turning I saw it.

As high as some castle towers it appeared. Three large stain glass windows in the center of one side of it glowed lightly with the presence of light inside it. It had a giant double door at its base made of steel or iron, colored in black. Creeping all over every side of the Tower was ivy growing and to me it looked like it moved like serpents wriggling about ready to constrict the stone that made up its walls.

It was then the door opened and Robert came out walking towards me in a greenish tint. It was not the first ghost I have ever seen. I had lived with that curse most of my life. I had kept locked up inside me, trying to forget it and at times I had been able to suppress it, but it was never gone from me.

I heard him out and I went inside. I kissed my dead family goodbye that night, but I knew I would see them again, for I never allowed myself to forget them and I visualized them every chance I get.

Enough of that I said to myself as I open the door for Gaston. If he would have tried to just walk through the wall, Gaston would have gotten a big surprise. No spirit can enter the Tower without aid of those that live there or have been called there by the beacon for the Lost.



Climbing the stair up to the main level of the Tower, Gaston spoke to me. “Où allons-nous ce soir?”

“Pour enregistrer une jeune femme d'une vie dans un bordel.” I answer in French to be polite.

“Oh, I see.” Gaston said in English with a weird look in his eyes. He must have realized that he was speaking in French again. When I was digging out his grave we talked in French until I just could not keep up. I know a lot of French, but I would not say I am fluent in it. My wife always got exasperated with me when she was talking to me in French and I gave her a blank look of confusion.

I open the door to the main room; it is dusty and full of cobwebs as usual. The only places in the room that you could call clean would be the pathways I walk in the room and one table with my chair. They are not clean in any matter of saying; they were just cleaner than the rest of the room.

The room gives an empty cold feel to even the souls and ghosts that visit. Life just did not spring from inside the Tower. I had been the only living Caretaker ever and I am not sure anyone would be able to tell that someone alive lived here at all.

I walk straight for the far bookshelf. There on the top shelf was my mortar and pestle, about five or so inches wide and six inches in height, it was made of fine marble, hand carved with hammer and chisel very carefully. I picked it up and moved it to the tabletop near the center of the room.

I drop the small clump of bone shavings into the bowel of the mortar, pieces of his jawbone for speech, another piece of his hands for his movements, a chip or two from his skull for his knowledge, and finally a few scrapes from his femur for hopefully his base, his stature.

I have never been sure that any of this was necessary for the process to work. In my head it logically felt like I needed the different bones for the things I needed. I could be wrong in this completely, but I did know is that I needed his bones no matter what. The journal left behind by the past Caretakers laid out instructions they had received from Saint Jude on this manner for any Caretakers that are living. I have been wary of this though since I am the first Caretaker that has been living so when I took this for the first time I was shaking in my boots. The instructions were not all that clear on if I needed certain pieces or whatever. So far it had worked for me and so I wasn’t going to stray until told otherwise.

I grip the pestle and begin to work the shavings into the bowel of the mortal. It did not take long for me to work up a sweat, bone was not the easiest thing to grind, even decades old bone.

“Is this brothel we are going to have many de--- different women of Solurius to choose from?” Gaston asks after having perhaps difficulty finding the correct word in English.

“I am sure it does. Why?” I ask in return, not looking up from my work.

“No reason at all. I just have not seen any ladies in a long time.” He said in return with a crude and gleefully evil look in his eyes.

“We will be saving girl of fourteen or so in age. Katy. Her mother was drawn to the Tower in need. She did not want her daughter to end up in the same life she led.” I said with gritted teeth. You would think that I would be used to how hard it is to do this by now. It had been seven years and maybe 20 kingdoms in that span of time. I lost count of how many different graveyards I tended to.

Finally, the bone shavings had turn to a fine powder and I pick up the mortar and moved to fine my wine glass. Over at my desk it was, still half full from my chat with my guilt made phantom wife. I turn the mortar over spilling the bone powder into the wine. I set the mortal down on the desk and placed the pestle in it before I raised the glass with my left hand swirling it lightly.

“This is how you will be able to ride inside me. You will ride in your bones while they ride inside me.” I told him.

“Tres bon” he affirms.

It was then Robert passes through the door into the room. He has a look of heavy distraught and worry. I would not have paid any mind to it because he always looked forlorn, but this time I could tell something was wrong.

“Liam!” he yells. “Thatcher and his thugs are going to sell the girl to some Spaniard who represents someone of importance. I believe they are going to make her a slave for sex.” Robert reported with anger in his voice.

“When?” I ask.

“Soon, two days I believe the deal will be done.” He answers. “That is not the worst of it Liam. Thatcher was upset with the terms of the deal and he is going to take it out on Katy. He means to make her available tonight as a viable harlot.”

I almost drop the wine glass when I slam my free hand down on the desk. “Damn it!” I curse. “We have no time. It must be tonight.”

“I am ready to see the ladies, Liam.” Gaston purrs.

I could see on Robert’s face that he was upset but it quickly turned to worry and not for Katy any longer, but for me.

“Liam, whom is this?” he asks, referring to Gaston.

“Gaston Moreau. The French merchant from the mass grave in the back.” I reply.

I almost see the gears turning in his ghostly brain. He is recalling the names and situations of each name that we counted a few days past. Then he stops and I assume he remembers whom it is now.

“That soul is from Hell!” Robert exclaims. “This is too dangerous Liam. Think about it.”

I knew Robert was right. Even from the first exchange of conversation with Gaston, I felt a tingle of warning, saying to me to leave this soul be. I ignored my gut feeling on this. Gaston had been very crafty so far in hiding why he went to hell. Statements of killing men in warfare and duels he gave me while I was digging to his bones. I knew there was something he was hiding from me and something in my head was saying the same thing. This same feeling sometimes I get in my head tells me a lot of things to do. I ignore it most times because just like Robert it is always pushing me towards company.

It didn’t matter at all though. Robert’s or my own self warning me, there was a young woman in trouble and I was confident that I can remain in control of myself while Gaston possesses me.

“There is no time to argue this, Robert. We have no time and besides_” I lifted the glass and drank the bone laced wine empty. “It is done.”

“Foolish. You are being rash. At least balance the soul out with one from heaven.” Robert points out just as Gaston swirled and pours into my eyes.

“No time. We must leav…” I try to say but the process was beginning.



My eyes shot wide open instantly. I have never been able to get used to this and today it seems I will chalk another try up to nope, wasn’t able to bear the pain. The first thing that happens is the height. I was getting shorter to match what Gaston had been in life. I am 6’7” and by what I can tell from Gaston’s ghost, he was at least a foot shorter than me. Every bone in my arms, chest, and legs just snapped, all at the same time. I cry out in pain, my throat throbbing with every snap. Then what feels like the fires of creation burn away enough of my own bones to match the size Gaston’s bones had in life. I fall to the ground and convulse in rhymthic patterns as my skin color changes.

My face is going to be the worst. I could feel the bones in my cheeks moving over muscle groups, it feels like someone with a spoon was digging under my skin. I cough up blood and spit it out to the floor with a sudden stop.

Blood dripped from my nose as it became slightly pointed and small, instead of my medium English nose. My hair then shortens in length and turned into fine jet black in color. Blinking my eyes, I looked to a single mirror that we had in the Tower. I was easily French by my look. The angles of my cheekbones, my hair, my coloring in the skin, now have changed into the French traits of Gaston. I had only retained my ice frosted green eyes this time around. Gaston had brown eyes set high on his face, while mine stayed centered.

“Gaston to you hear me?” I ask in my mind.

“Oui” he replys in my thoughts.

I walk right pass Robert over to the large closet. This closet would make the richest Queen in the world jealous. My closet was as large as three royal bedrooms are. Inside I went for the silks and finer clothing the Tower had to offer. Picking out the tunic and pants that were the most expensive, I quickly put them on.

After I was done I exited the closet only to see the disappointment on Robert’s face. I did not have time for it, even if I understood it. I ran up the next flight of stairs to the bedroom area of the Tower. Inside a locked door held the treasures of the Tower. I fill a single large coin purse full of gold coins from many different Kingdoms. If was going to be a rich man flaunting his money, I ought to have the actual coin to back it up.

As I enter the main room again I walk over to the weapon cabinet. Opening it I spy my special thin width knifes. Taking a few of them, I insert them into the hemline pockets of my cloak, near the bottom where the back of my heel hits when I walk. Last but not least I grab the long handled dagger. Pulling it from its sheath revealed a dagger made of a fine hardwood. It is stained in a dark brown and it had a luster to it. This will be a weapon to defend myself at the brothel that would deal only knockout power. It had a secret however. At the base of the hilt was a hidden clasp, once triggered would let loose the wooden blade to reveal a wicked blade of cold steel.

Coming out of the weapon’s cabinet, I looked for Robert. Giving him a serious gaze I instruct him verbally. “Robert. Find Meghan and get her to the Silent O. I will need her help in convincing Katy. Then I want you to return here and wait for us. Have a room ready for Katy so she can stay with us until I find a place for her. Get some food from the stores in the basement levels.”

Robert just nods and pauses before saying anything. “Lad, you know I am right, but I will support you on this. The girl needs help and she needs it now.”

I extend my hand for a shake to him and Robert took it and upon my touch he became physical and we gave each other a firm handshake. “Be well” we both said in unison. Then I left out the door and down the stairs. We, Gaston and I, would be at the Silent O very soon and hopefully it would not be too late.

(Very nice! I can't wait to find out what happens next. Gaston seems like a creep lol

Keep up the great writing!)

Wriggling my jaw just before I enter the Silent O, I decide that I really do not like being in the skin of a Frenchman, Gaston Moreau or any Frenchmen at all. Pushing the door open, I allow the boisterous rambles of music, song, laughter, and vibrant revelry escape into the street behind me. Just inside I come upon the large and gruff Mr. Reed, one of the two toughs that John Thatcher, the owner of the place, employs. He gives me a scornful eye as he scans my clothing and face, most likely looking for any obvious signs that I mean to do this place harm. Of course I do mean to do it his place of work harm by sneaking one of its girls out of it, but he didn’t need to know that.

“No room fer you! Get going back to wheres you came from.” He audibly grunts loudly over the raucous room.

“Will I be able to enter with my esteemed colleagues?” I said in my perfect French accented English thanks to Gaston, after I produce five gold coins from my heavy coin purse hanging from my waist next to my wooden dagger.

He snatches them from my hand eyeing them greedily for a few moments. He inspects them with a surprising thorough eye before he looks up at me again. “This be enough for you and your friends to enter, but they have to stay here with me and your steel stays as well.” He said with special inflection on the last part and steady gaze towards the pommel of my weapon at my side.

“I have not any steel, Sir. I only have this.” I respond with a smile and a flourishing draw of my wooden dagger. His eyes grew thin with a smoldering anger stoking in them. I believe he thought I drew my dagger to wound him. He takes my dagger from my hands with his heavy coarse right hand. He looks it over just as slowly as he did with the coins now in his possession. Handing it back a short time later he has a disdainful smirk on his face.

“Your toy cannot hurt me. Why even bring such a pitiful weapon anywhere?” he amuses.

“Sometimes the threat of a weapon is enough to keep trouble at bay when coin cannot.” I said with a hint of cowardice. He guffaws loudly and smacks me in the back with his hammer hand.

“As long as your coins flow tonight and your toy stays in its sheath, you will be able to bring to bear your real weapon, however puny it may be.” He hints boldly about me with a disparaging jab.

“This weapon shall stay in its sheath; as for my other blade, it hungers to find the folds of skin and blood.” Gaston said aloud through me.

I could barely walk as I verbally berate Gaston inside my head. “Do not ever do that again. I am in control and you are only along for the ride.” I sternly voice to him inside my head.

“Pardonne-moi. Mettons-nous pour les filles.” Gaston said back to me mentally with an eye roll, as I could feel my eyes moving without my moving them.

Looking over the crowded room I see lots of different kinds of patrons with their bought and paid for pleasurable company for the night. All of these men are rich and for the most part not very attractive. The ones that did have good looks had more than one girl hanging around them. Keeping in the act of my guise, Jean Anslot, I went straight to the table nearest the hallway to the back. Spying the least rich man there, he was wearing tattered silk that had seen better days, I rapidly fling four coins that bounce off his tabletop and topple to the floor and start to roll away.

“Oh! Can you help me retrieve my coins?” I said with a fake fear of loss. Soon the man spotting the coins fell over his chair to the floor looking for them with a fever. He found all but one in short order and stands back up to only find me sitting in his chair at what once was his table.

“Sir?” he said quizzically. “I have some of your coins. Two to be exact I could not find the others.”

“Keep them and find yourself some better rags to wear.” I add.

“But…Butt… my seat.” He stammers.

“Bought and paid for. As I said GO.” My words are said with a thrust of austerity that finally convinces the man to find somewhere else to be.

After he left I instantly scan the room over every working lady there. Gaston of course mentally had something to say about each girl, some of his thoughts just did not sit well with me. After I complete my search of the room with my eyes, I had not seen Katy anywhere. I am sure Robert heard correctly but perhaps I am too late. I can feel the sweat start to bead at my forehead in the anxiety of the situation. I have no way of knowing if she had already been taken in the back with some other man or if she is still in the back getting ready to come out to the main room to start working. Then I see Callie coming out from the back with Katy in tow.

Katy swimming in a dainty almost sheer shift adorn with tiny embroidered roses about the plunging neckline that barely hide the small but still growing sign of womanhood on her chest. She has a look of being frighten or overwhelmed with her task at hand. Though I could see a misguided spark of loyalty towards doing a good job for her self- appointed savior John Thatcher, who I am sure just shortly before making her come out to the room, gave her some speech about pulling more weight or following in her mother’s footsteps.

Now, how to get her in back with me alone without drawing too much attention to the sudden action of just walking up to her and claiming her for a conquest.

“Get some other girls, Liam. Find them unsuitable, one by one. Then call upon some aid. They will bring her to you. Flash your coins. Your own man said they want to make money on her before she is sent away. Use it.” Gaston thought to me with a very surprisingly useful plan.

I nod and call to the first girl I see. “Vous, Jolie fille, vous apporter ici.” Gaston said aloud, exerting himself over my control. Noting the closest girl, a girl of average height, slender in form, and with long brown hair cascading around her blue eyed face did not speak French, nor understand it. “Hello. I wish to have you sit with me?” I ask in my new French accented English while holding a coin out for her to see. She smiled and sexily saunters over to my table and once she came to it she dips down to flash her full dark beige colored bosom before she plucks the coin from my fingers.

“I would more than happy to sit with you, Milord.” she says with a trembling tongue roll to incite my arousal. “I will be happy to sit however you want, Milord. I can sit next to you, on you, or we can go somewhere more comfortable for the both of us.” She smiles to me widely and I can make out a small trace of eagerness in her body’s language. Her finger reaches out to me and traces a long switchback full trail up my left arm, over my sleeve and up to my neck, as she sits down on my lap. Her firm butt starts wriggling into my lap as if she is trying to get comfortable or it is a ploy to ignite a fire of lust within me. She is very good at her job so far. I can feel the results of her flirtations growing hard in me and it takes some frustrating willpower to control myself.

I slip my hand to the small of her back and playfully tickle her in an attempt to keep my cover intact as a normal patron of the tavern would act. Her body starts to tremble with giggles from my touch and she lifts a few of her delicate and soft fingers to stifle her laughter.

“You smell very fragrant this evening Milady. May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of this fine vintage of wine sitting with me? Your bouquet aroma is sweet with hints of rosewood and dare I say lavender. You are a very intoxicating fine wine, Milady.” I muse to her.

“My name is Elizabeth, but you may call me whatever you wish Milord. You truly flatter me with your kind words that flow from your lips like a waterfall.” She responds.

“La tentatrice est de semer la semence du péché. Il est honteux que je souhaite récolter ses graines un règlement de comptes pourrait être dans l'ordre.” Gaston said with rapid fire words in my head that I could not keep up. Then he moves my hand to her ass and pinches her as hard as he can. Inside my head, I am stoking a quiet fire that has been building since almost as soon as Gaston has joined with me.

Elizabeth stands with a shout of surprise and alarm. “Watch IT!” she yells breaking the calm of conversation with the other patrons and their girls. Phillip Reed’s attention upon the room suddenly changes to only what is going on here at my table.

“I am so sorry, Lady Elizabeth but…” I falter trying to think of something to add. “Your vintage is too sour for my tongue this evening. Here take these for your troubles. Perhaps this tavern does not have what I am looking for. I had thought I could find it here.” Smoothly I say with help from Gaston, who was feeding me the lines. I pluck out five coins and place it in her hand before she left the table with a small huff. Mr. Reed made his way to my table and groans loudly.

“I don’t want trouble and you are trouble.” He clearly made his point to me.

I undo my hefty coin pouch and set it on the table with a loud thump. I look to the bag then to Reed then back to the bag again. “Now if only I could find something here to my liking. I have journeyed a long way and I just wish to have a good long taste of a nice selection of lady wine and so far the vintage you offer has been---sour with age. I need something sweeter, something just corked in the bottle. Do you have anything like that here, or do I have to take my patronage elsewhere?” I ask as jingle the bag for emphasis.

His brow furrows in thought contemplation as I look to him. He must not be a well educated man, evident by the length of time it is taking him to grasp the simple concept I laid out to him just minutes before. Finally, I notice his face smoothes with realization that I might take my golden coins to another place. He did not want that nor will his boss. He definitely will not like that he let a large spender just slip through his fingers.

“Wait here and do not cause any more trouble. I am going to get someone that can help you.” He says firmly before he moves across the room to where John Thatcher is sitting. Somehow while I was busy with Elizabeth, I fail to notice that Katy and Callie are sitting with Thatcher now. He looks to be instructing Katy about something that I can’t make out. I wish I could read lips.

Then Reed speaks closely to Thatcher and points me out. Thatcher nods and gives a smile to Reed before he stands from the table. As Thatcher walks with Reed towards me I notice a slight grin that pops to his lips after he looks to Katy then to my money pouch on the table. The line had been cast and it seems I have a nibble on the bait.

“My associate here tells me you have an interest in some of my wares?” his cool tone voice asks.

“Yes, but your wine selection has left me wanting yet so far.” I rebut.

“From what Mr. Reed has told me you but have only tasted one vintage as you have eloquently put it. I have many more for you to choose from.” He glibly imparts to me.

“Sir, I have looked over all in the room I believe and do not see the vintage I require to have a full bodied experience here in your establishment.” I said completely full of shock at how easy it was to respond to him with my internal fire of hatred burning ever more hotly now that he was so close to me.

“Hmmm. What do you wish to have?” He inquires as he greedily looks down to my full coin purse.

“I wish to drink the soft taste of fruit freshly plucked from the vine recently. Not something that has sat for a few years to age for a rich bold taste. I want something prickly, sweet, and full of surprises.” I counter.

“Ahhhh! I feel understand you fully now. I have just the thing you want. However.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “For such a delicate vintage as that, you will have to understand that it will not come cheaply. Finding wine so fresh is very rare and therefore I must hike up the price for the sampling of it.” He says to me with the face of a man setting up his own bait to get me to agree to an exorbitant price.

“I gladly will pay your price if you can deliver to me an eventful evening in private with this young wine.” I add.

I can see Thatcher internally think over how much he should set the price. I know he feels he is losing money on the deal with the Spaniard, so I am sure he will at least set the price close to the amount he was losing. He will not go for all of it at once because he thinks he has a couple of days to offer up Katy to the seedy men that frequent his house of bliss. Soon his thoughts gathers into a price, easily spotted by the movement his brow gives just before he speaks to me.

“100 gold coins for the exclusive rights to the first taste of my new vintage.” He states.

“100, you say?” I pause a minute in fake contemplation. “I agree to this amount only if you can give total privacy and fulfill every desire I can imagine this evening. Do we have a deal?” I ask. Greed outweighs caution and as soon as I finish speaking my question, Thatcher speaks his answer.

“Done.” His solo word of agreement said with exuberance. “Katy, come over here and meet the acquaintance of--- I am sorry I did not get your name.”

“Jean Anslot of Calais.” I say.

Katy hesitantly moves from Callie’s side over from across the room with a look of foreboding. Callie gives her a smile, as to say it will be ok and good luck all rolled up into one giant smile. Katy walks up to my table and did a small curtsey to me with a small smile. She looks me over, inspecting whom she will be spending her first night with; at least she thinks she will be having her first night with. I can see easily my disguise is more than enough and she does not recognize me from earlier in the evening. My amalgamation with Gaston had produced some fruit after all.

“Katy this is Lord Jean. I have granted his request to spend the evening with you. Show him to your new room upstairs.” He states to her with a certain tone that bites into any resistance she may have held.

“Of course I will. Lord Jean, follow me.” She says as she takes my hand with her soft, dainty, and innocent touch, leading me to the back hallway and up the stairs. I can feel her confusion through her hand. The conflicting ideas in her head of losing her virginity, the loss of a father figure; for a real father would not sell her virginity away so crudely, the graciousness towards Thatcher for keeping her clothed and sheltered since the passing of her mother, and finally the wonderment and curiosity of sex; it had been so much a part of her life in the tavern for so long and she had never taken part in it.

“Here is my room, Milord.” She says with a simple smile as she opens the door.

“Yes, go to the bed while I make sure we are alone.” I instruct her as I close the door behind us and look for a lock, only to find that it locks on the outside only.

“Lord Jean?” Katy asks with confusion. “Is this the way you want me to sit?” She asks as she sprawls out the foot of the bed in the fashion of one of the courtesans downstairs might have if they were here.

Turning to her I give her a long look with a sigh. It was then I felt the chill come in from behind me. Meghan finally made her way into the room; Robert had come through in finding her. Moving to the foot of the bed near Katy I motion with my hands for her to sit up.

“Katy I have something important to show you and tell you.” I say this with my real voice, not the French that Gaston spoke with in his lifetime.

“Sir?” She says with a strange look about her.

I reach out and touch the hand that Meghan extends to me. On my grasp she becomes fully realized. Her skin, clothing, hair, and everything fully fleshed. She smiles to her daughter and waits for me to speak.

“Katy your mother is here and has asked me to help you. You are in danger.” I say with the best caring tone I can.

Katy bolts up from the bed to a standing position. Fear grips her hard and she quivers with a whimper. Over and over she marches in place on the bed, as like she wants to flee but her legs don’t let her move but up and down in place. Tears well in the corner of her eyes and she starts to sob slightly.

“Are you a Devil? You bring a ghost to kill me? Take me? Or do you just will to plague me with nightmares?” Katy says with a small amount of moxie and resolve to face what she perceives is a threat to her.

“Katy. I am your mother. I know you remember me.” Meghan says in trying to calm her with her words of remembrance.

Then when I see Katy shake her head in denial, a soft melodic song floats in the room from Meghan. “Baa, baa, black sheep, Have you any wool? Yes ma’am, yes ma’am, three bags full. One for my master, one for my Dame, and one for the little girl down the lane.”

Meghan’s singing spurts from her mouth giving a sensation of warmth and safety. It is like her melody spreads from her like caring arms, wrapping themselves about you and cuddling you like a newborn babe. I feel it myself and I see that Katy does to. Her and my eyes widen softly letting the sweet embracing comfort us and let us drift into the tranquility of the song. Smiles appear on both Katy and I, full of ease and hopefully remembrance in Katy.

Katy sits down slowly as the song came to its conclusion. “Mamma?” she asks.

“Yes, Baby.” Meghan sooths. “This is Liam al’Ias not Jean Anslot. I came to him to help me save you. The man you know as John Thatcher killed me, to keep me silent and now he means to sell you into sex slavery and have you end up worse than I did in life, as a whore.”

Katy jumps from the bed and hugs her mother with tears streaming down her cheeks. It takes all of my strength not to lose my hold of Meghan’s hand. Katy’s tears are no longer tears from fear, but tears of joy from seeing her mother again.

“Mother I never will forget you. Every night I sing myself to sleep with the same song you used to sing to me.” Katy says with a few chokes of sheer joy overwhelming her speech.

“Baby. Katy. You need to go with Liam. He will lead you to safety away from all of this. Will you go with him?” Meghan pleads to her child.

Katy looks to me and nods. I see the trust she now has for me build exponentially with the backing from her mother. She smiles wide and happily to me before she speaks. “Yes mother I will. Liam what-----LOOK OUT!” she shouts too late.

I heard just a clap of thunder in my head right after Katy said look out. As I fall to the ground with a gravity heavy thunk, I think I hear broken glass clattering on the floor and the smell of wine. A dark tide starts to wash over me as I lie on the floor of the bedroom. Just before the waters of unconsciousness take me I hear the far off and hollow voice of Katy.

“Callie he was here to help me! Is he alright? Wait! He is starting to stand up! Liam?”

Oddly I am not standing up at all, I am drowning in this cold black tidewater taking me under and I just can’t keep myself awake a moment longer.

((This is so interesting. Popcorn anyone? I can't wait for the next installment while I sit on the edge of my seat.))

The story doesn’t end here, but my Caretaker’s case does. I can add some missing pieces to what happens over the next few days from the last time you saw my Caretaker. Oh did I not introduce myself? My name is Jude. Once I was an apostle of the Lord Savior, Jesus of Nazareth. I am the patron saint of lost souls and causes. God through his angels charged me to help the living and the stranded souls still on earth who are in the most desperate need of help.

I created the Caretaker Tower and placed an agent to run it and be able to move and touch the world below. The ghost Robert has been the assistant to the Caretaker for over two hundred years now. Penance for the life he led. On his death he rose to Purgatory with a soul in balance and there he would stay. I offered him a chance to aid those in need and to do right again as he should have in life. He accepted and is bound to the Tower to aid each Caretaker as they come and go.

I am on my seventh Caretaker, and I will have you know he is the best one I have ever had. He is also the only Caretaker I have had that is still mortal. A unique talent was given him by the Lord at birth to be able to perceive the dead. To be able to touch a stuck soul, a ghost, and give it solidity and feeling again is truly a miracle. He has given many souls aid and the guidance to move on from the earthly plane and reside where they belong after death, Heaven or Hell.

A great toll however this Caretaker pays with this ability. He walks a line between the dead and living and loses sight of his own body that is alive. Deep rooted grief and guilt tear at him from within and it saddens me to no end. I have watched over him and will continue to do so.

The events of this day and night have triggered many ripples in the pond of possibilities and it would be short sighted of me to not at least give you a glimpse of what is to come. Take care now and remember humans have free will to make their choices as they see fit. The Lord gave us this gift when he created us. I warn you, do not forget this nor squander it because there are many that wish to take it away from you or even make you think you did not have it.







“Lord Ponseca! We were defeated. I am the only survivor.” My underling says with an odd roll of the tongue on the P in my surname; who is a poor excuse for a man, as he hobbles up the gangplank towards me on the deck of my liege’s ship.

“La Joven?” I ask already knowing she is not with him.

“The thief who crushed my knee and broke my nose made off with her. He killed Esteban and Alfonso but I didn’t find out where he went after that.” He informs me.

“I see.” I say brusquely. “The ship leaves for Barcelona as soon as you get off the gangplank.” I add.

“My lord?” He questions with confusion on his face plainly.

“I am returning to speak to our liege, Father Borgia. He will not be happy with the outcome of the night’s events. Count yourself lucky you will not be present to feel his wrath. Stay and gather all you can about this thief. I will return with more men and we will extract the Father’s property from whoever holds her. I expect you to be full of useful information when we return.” I inform to the man.

He nods to me and looks to his knee and touches his nose lightly. “Go to the famous Healing tower this Kingdom brags about. You are an official emissary of our King Ferdinand II and Queen Isabella.” I instruct to him as I hand over a sealed scroll of parchment which is signed on the inside declaring the holder to be an emissary of the Kingdom of Spain.

I then hand him my heavy coin purse full of gold coins of Spain and Solurius. “Take this and use it wisely for your endeavors for the Father. If you are caught doing anything that brings attention to the royal court at home, appropriate methods will be taken to erase all evidence of it.” I say with special underlining stress on the words appropriate and erase.

“Yes, my lord, I will do as ordered.” He says taking the coin purse and steps back down off the gangplank.

“El capitán que vela para el hogar.” I order aloud.





“I am sorry yo…” One of the Bishop’s appointed protectors was trying to say before he noticed my eyes thinning when he almost said too much aloud.

“Milady, do you not trust the people in the room?” He asks with a whisper.

I sit on the side of his bed, which sits in a room of many similar beds inside the Healer’s tower of Solurius. I move down to speak in his ear so not to be overheard by prying ears. The three patients of the Tower are all men. Two of which I have met before and one I have never laid eyes on. This new face looks to be asleep in the bed adjacent to my protector’s but I am not going to risk endangering myself anymore.

“I trust only you and another here in the realm until I am able to present myself in front of the King and Queen.” I sweetly whisper to him.

He nods then moves to speak again; the strain of speaking clearly is taking a lot out of him.

“Lady Celeste, this other you trust here, is one of my companion protectors alive and this is why you count two among your circle of trust?” He asks as blood comes out of his mouth with a single cough after he is done.

“Hush now, Jacque, again you say too much aloud.” I say as I move a curl of hair from his cheek.

“Lady, I was able to save this. I took it from Gustave before we were betrayed by the sailors at the dock.” Jacque informs me while he pulls out a bent and wrinkled parchment from the inside of his tunic.

I take it and look upon the seal of the church that binds the scroll shut. “Is it my proof?” I ask with hope.

“Yes.” He answers after coughing up more blood that coats his once clean blue silk tunic. “I just wish I can see you to the King as we were ordered to by the Bishop. My time here is at an end I think. Time to go with God.” He says with a smile.

“I will imagine you at my side, Sir Vasille, I promise.” I pledge to him as his eyes shut forever. I move over him and kiss him on the head. Next, I stand and move across the room to where lays a man who saved my life a couple times in one night. As I walk down the aisle of beds, I look to the man that is between Jacque and Liam. He appears to be sleeping and his injury is easy to spot by the heavy bandages wrapping his knee and some smaller bandages wrapping around his nose. I did not want to be caught looking at him strangely so I hurry to where Liam is unconscious.

I hover over him and run the images of our kiss in my head. The audacity of him thrills me to my very center. They say they are not sure he will live much longer. They are sending for their Commander to help and they aren’t sure she will arrive in time.

“Liam, thank you. Thank you for everything. I do hope we meet again.” I say in a whisper. I was told many tales as a child. Many of these stories spoke of bold knights saving princess and damsels in distress. I smile at this notion now because when I grew older and reality set upon me revealing these stories to be just that, stories. How funny is it that I was saved and received a kiss? One story mentions a prince waking a princess with a kiss. Should I try to kiss him awake? Would a princess wake a sleeping warrior?

I move to the head of the bed and peer to his sleeping face. I trace a finger down his cheek to under his chin and tip his head slightly. I move down close to his face, my red curls fall from my hood and dance across his cheeks. I press my hungry lips to his and simply place a delicate kiss on his lips. Nothing like our first kiss, but the sensation of a kindling fire grows inside me none the less. I pull away from him and hope that his eyes flicker awake, but all I see is peaceful sleep and the same flat smile he had before I kissed him.

I stand upright and take a long last look over Liam. Now, with Jacque dead, Liam is the only man I trust in the Kingdom. It is long past the time that I present myself before the King and Queen and ask for sanctuary. This parchment should be enough for them to grant it to me. First however, I should get a new dress; this one is torn and soiled from last night’s horrid events. Just thinking about the docks reminds me of that dreadful song the sailors from my home country sang aloud as they hunted me in the streets. Little fish, little green fish, where are you? I shudder as I sing it in my head.

A loud cough breaks my thoughts and turn to the source of the cough. The man from earlier when I was talking to Jacque before he died.

“Perdone, señora Celeste.” He apologizes with an odd roll over his d in Perdone. “I will turn so you can continue with Liam.” He adds as he flips over in the bed, putting his back to me.

A shiver runs down my spine as I leave the room. There are ears everywhere. Please wake up Liam.





“Bloody Hell, just shut up already!” I scream at my younger self as I thrust myself out of unconsciousness into being awake.

“Sir, Sir! Calm down!” a female voice shouts to me.

I shake my head to clear my vision. Blinking a few times first before I scan my surroundings to see where I am. A line of cots or beds line the walls of the inside of this room. A few sleeping patients are in comparable beds like my own.

I glance up to the irate woman franticly calling for assistance. Instinctually I reach for my wound I received however many nights ago. I find it wrapped up in bandages and slightly wet from blood seepage.

“Your wound is healing, sir. You must rest and allow it to heal. Please remain still. I will call for the Duchess to explain to you.” The young woman says.

“Bah!” I exclaim as I toss of the sheet that covers me and stand upright with only a little bit of unsteadiness. Looking down I notice that my clothing is gone and only a thin beige garment hides my loins from view.

“Sir, Sit down at once!” She orders forcibly trying to look away from my mostly naked body. I notice that her eyes dart every now and then just to catch a peek.

A chill instantly floods the room and I see the affects of it on the young woman when she shivers as she stands next to me giving me a stern gaze, uncaring now that I am only wearing the bare essentials. Somewhere in this room a ghost is present and the cold is sign. I turn to look down the row of beds again and spot the culprits. More than twenty ghosts hover and walk the spaces between the beds. Most of them paying no mind to me at all, but some turning their heads and staring at me.

I don’t have time for this. I have to find Katy and Callie. This woman though is going to be a problem. I will have to find a way to distract her so I can make my escape. An idea pops in my head from deep inside my head. It might just work but I don’t want to make a habit at doing it or listening to the pretentious sot my gut feeling is.

“Sir, just get back down on the bed. The Duchess will be here soon and I am sure she will not be in a good mood being awaken this early. So…” She says until I interrupt her with a quick pinch on her rump. After I release my pinch, which is a short one, I turn and walk out the nearest door while she jumps in surprise and yelps aloud before she stands there in disbelief to what I just did. I have to go back to the tavern. I need to find out what happened. I grab some folded clothing on a table near my bed as I run out of the room. As I make my way to a staircase I can hear a shout from behind me.

“Someone stop that man!”



I arrive at the Ales N Tales tavern mayhap an hour later after I left the healing building. I promptly open the door and enter with a brisk pace to my stride. I only have to wait seconds until the chill embraces me and any in the room. A few heads turn to my entrance but after realizing I am not someone they know, they go back to their drinks or meal in front of them.

The chill is brought on by the Knight from our ordeal that took place in this tavern. He strides over to me in his armor and once he gets close enough to me he raises his visor on his great helm.

“Liam, it is good to see you have not died. I have been waiting here day and night for your return. I have to tell you something, sir.” The knight says in a deep resounding voice.

“Sir Knight, I need to know what happened to my charge, the young woman named Katy.” I say as I interrupt the Knight before he can say another thing, while I draw a few strange looks from the patrons in the tavern.

“The young woman with you that night has been taken by the City guard along with you on a stretcher. But Liam, I must tell you something else.” The Knight says adamantly.

“Thank you Sir Knight for everything you have done. Thank you for coming to my aid the other night and thank you for giving the information about Katy.” I tell him with true intentions in my heart.

“My steel will always be available to you sir. I must add one last thing, please.” The Knight insists to me.

“I cannot stay, Sir Knight. I have to find her. I need to make sure she is ok.” I say with a quick nod and turn and run out the door as I hear the Knight calling my name. He will have to wait. I have a promise to make sure I keep.





“You will remember everything I taught you, right?” Liam asks me again for the twentieth time.

“Yes, Liam I will. Stop your worrying.” I answer him with a slight annoyance in my voice. “What makes you think that the mother and brother of this dead close friend of yours will buy my story?” I ask.

“The family motto I taught you and the signed scroll you have in your possession will be more than enough proof. His mother loved him dearly and will welcome the only surviving daughter of her eldest son with arms open. This I am certain of.” He passionately expresses to me.

I grip the railing on the ship as a roll in the tide lurches the ship more than my legs accounted for. The journey to England will not be a long one, but I have never been on a ship and I am not looking forward to it. My thoughts turn to my friends. Well, my two friends.

“Liam you are going to find…” I try to say but I am interrupted in mid sentence.

“Yes, I will find her. The dead will not rest until I turn something up. This I vow to you. You are family now.” He says. “Say the family words, Katy, one last time.” He adds

“Nunquam irritum iuramentum nostrum.” I say with a clear tone. Never break our oaths, I say to myself.

“Quo honore primum iuramentis nos?” Liam asks soon after I finished the first part in Latin. Whose oaths do we honor first, I translate in my head.

“Semper honos familiae primum.” I answer finishing the family motto. Family oaths come first. “Is that to your satisfaction, Liam?” I say with a tease in my voice.

“Yes it does.” He says after a good laugh. “You have to leave the name Katy behind now. Remember you are now Lily Marie Cross, daughter of Henry Robert Cross and Rebecca Mirabelle Cross. Your sister’s name was Sophie Ines Cross and you were born in France.” He adds with a serious look but his eyes seem sad.

“You are sure I can’t stay with you Liam? I will not bother you at all. I promise.” I say with hope and sincerity. I love him. How can I not? He saved my life and let me see my mother once again. I can never repay him for the things he has done for me. “Can I stay and be your daughter? I won’t feel safe without being near you.” I ask with tears welling in the corners of my eyes.

He looks to me with a long look and pauses before saying anything at all. The silence between his eyes and mine is deafening. I hold out hope that he really is going to say yes to my offer, but I know deep inside that I can’t stay. He is a lonely man but I don’t fit into what he needs. His duty, whatever it is, is too important to take him away from it. That is exactly what would happen. He will step down and take care of me and I will not let the troubles he could possibly fix be unattended.

“I wish I could say yes Lily, but I…” he begins to say but I interrupt him making sure he will not have say the words.

“Liam, I know, I just… I just had to ask. Lily Cross. It will be nice to have a family again. Will they treat me well?” I ask.

He takes a long time to answer and in his eyes I can see tenderness and wanting. He really must have cared a lot about his friend’s family.

“Lily would be about your age now if she still lived, a young lady of fourteen.” He says out of the blue not really answering my question. His eyes narrow with focus and look to my eyes with resolution.

“Yes, their household will open their arms to you and treat you as you should be, a Lady.” He answers as he gives me a big hug. “I will find our friend and send her to you. I will not break this oath. Family oaths come first.” He says as he backs down the gangplank towards the dock with a serious look in his green eyes.

I watch him walk off back into the city away from the docks. It was not long ago, that fateful night; he swept me away into the darkness of these very streets and save my life. Now, here I am moving to England, protected by Knights of the church until I reach my new family’s estates. How Liam got the church to protect me I will never know.

I roll my fingers across the sealed parchment roll, playfully circling the signet stamp on the wax. I turn the scroll over in my hand until I can look upon the seal. There pressed into the wax is a great antlered stag leaping in front of an emblazoned sun, the symbol of my new family. How Liam has the signet ring for the family I don’t know. What I do know is that every step I take for now on will be one of true freedom from the grips of the man that killed my mother.





“Where the hell is she?” He screams as he trashes a stack of books off a dust riddled tabletop, sending delicate and ancient texts flying across the room and careening into the stone wall of the Tower. He continues his fit of rage by using a longsword as a club and smashes the table in repetition until it finally breaks in the middle and falls in on itself.

“Liam! Please calm down.” I soothingly say to him.

“Not now Robert. I do not want to hear you bleating to me, not one bit!” He rages with his eyes wide with the fires of intense frustration and rage.

“You saved the little girl and guided her mother, Meghan to her afterlife in heaven. I know you made a promise, but give it some time. You will find her. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t make it like Rome two years ago, son.” I try to interject some reason in him.

“Do not call me son, Robert. My father’s name is Richard Edward Cross. You are not him nor will you ever be anything like him!” He snaps at me with barbed words.

“Henry Robert Cross. Bloody Hell! I am not saying that I am your father. Damn it boy! Think a moment and calm down. I am just trying to help.” I say with conflicting emotions brewing in my soul.

“The great and mighty Robert Stephen Cross is telling me to calm down. Did you calm down when you sent our family name into the mud over two hundred years ago? What about our motto. Your damn motto. Semper honos familiae primum!” He moves over to me as he speaks with the words flooding from his mouth. He grabs me and instantly I have substance. His strong grip and the subsequent shove he gives send me to the wall behind me, pinning against it a couple of inches off the floor.

“Where is this belly rage when I want you to have it Henry?” I say as I laugh. “Are you going to keep me hanging in the air all night, kid?” I ask.

He releases me down to the floor and shakes his head with a slight amount of shame. He looks up to me with his green eyes which have a lesser breed of fury in them, then speaks aloud to me.

“Do not call me Henry Robert Cross ever again. That man is dead. He died the very instant his wife and daughters were betrayed by his inability to protect them as a father should to his family. I promised them they would be safe. It was my fault. Family oaths come first! I do not deserve to be a Cross and therefore I am no longer one. I am Liam A. al’Ias or whatever name I choose in whatever Kingdom we end up in.”

I look over my kin, sadness deep in my heart. The more Henry lets go of who he is. The more he becomes more like the spirits he interacts with. He is letting go of life and all of its splendors and its tragedies. He is becoming an empty shell of a man. He sacrifices too much of himself because of our oath. The sacrifices of the family Cross, to sacrifice thy self for or on the cross for family above all else. My only wish is for something or someone to come around and wake the life out of him again. He is the greatest Cross and he has the potential to do far better for the world if he could just come to life again.

“Great, great, great, great, great grandfather I am sorry. You know just as I do. Family is first. You are family and now Katy and Callie are family too. We need to find her.” He says as he pounds lightly on my chest with one of his hands while the other keeps a hold on me.

“We will. The dead will not rest for many nights.” I say with a loud laugh. “Let’s go ruin some eternal sleep!” I add with a sharp wit.

“Indeed.” says my many times great grandson simply. He is the best of my bloodline and much more than I ever was or would have been.



The next glimpse I have for you should only be shown with my point of view. The subject has gone through too much to be able to illustrate her thoughts enough for us to see through her eyes without problems.



The loud uproar of laughter in the next room awakens Callie from sleep in the rickety old bed she has been using for many things over the fourteen sunrises. The bed has been her sleep area, a platform for a daily assault of punches to her body, a place to pin her down for so many different men, mostly French sailors, to rape her violently, and finally a place to soak the tears from her eyes.

She barely has the energy to look over to the left, where a grimy and dirty long mirror hangs broken on the wall. The image that she sees each day makes her want to vomit. She would vomit if they fed her more than once a day, but when she does hurl up anything, it is only stomach acid and bile.

Her hair is barely blonde anymore, the two weeks of rape, sweat, dirt, and horrid sleeping arrangements have left her hair tangled, oily, and an utter mess. Caked layers of film coat her hair changing the coloring of the hair to more like a grayish brown. The wretched state of her hair only frames something far worse than how her hair looks.

Her delicate features she once had are gone. Half her face is either red from fresh smacks and hits to it or dark blue and black blotches of bruising from many beatings she received yesterday or the days before this one. Her right eye is closed by the intense swelling of her cheek, leaving a reddish blue mound overlapping her eye. At first glance a strange would think she had been in a fight. She did fight back at first, but that only angered the sailors more and they increased the amount of force used on her.

Her large and plump lips are chapped and bloody with the upper lip being cut right across the middle. She received that cut when she tried to use her teeth to exact a small revenge on one of her attackers. No one since then has tried to put anything near her mouth. The thought of what she did made her smile slightly which brought tiny fires of pain all across her face.

The singing and laughing from the other room reminds her of how she got to be here. “Little fish! Little Fish come back! Little green fish we will find you.” Three drunken French sailors sang into the night.

She was outside the Ales N Tales Tavern, shouting aloud for help. A man Liam, who that night saved hers and her friend’s lives from the possession of her now ex boss, John Thatcher, had taken a bad wound in his side and was quickly fading towards death. She screamed for help over and over until she noticed three male shaped figures run towards her. Once they were close enough she heard their song calling into the night.

“Little fish, little fish, come back to us. Little green fish please swim into our net. We will hold you and squeeze you until your mouth opens. Only then can the night begin!” The three figures sing out in French accented English.

“Can you help me?” Callie shouted to them. “Are you the City watch?” she asked hopefully.

“Ah, little fish not of green but of gold.” One of the men called out as they approached.

“Where is the green fish do you think brothers?” The man in the middle asked his companions.

“HA! Green fish is inside hovering over a dying man. Has our net brought up us two fish to share?” The third man said after he passed Callie and peered into the window of the tavern.

Not liking these men at all, Callie started to back up towards the door of the tavern. She opened her mouth to call out again, but a large rough salty seawater hand wraps around her mouth muffling her cries of alarm.

“Now, now little gold fish do not bring the sharks.” A voice said from behind her.

Then all three of the men turn their heads to the way they came from. It is then Callie hears something too. Metal rhythmic clanking, the sounds of armored men rushing down the street, echoed the street with their oncoming presence.

“The green fish’s protectors are all dead. No one will believe her story now without any proof. She is as good as dead. Let’s just take the gold fish here back with us to share with our fellow sailors. Months of hard work at sea, we need fine reward and she is more than enough to satisfy us.” The sailor by the window puts forth to the group while he grabs Callie’s rear end.

Callie’s eyes widen and she tried to push away from the grip about her mouth, but as she does so the man behind her wraps his other arm around her waist and pulled her tight to his body pinning her to him.

“Now, fish hold still.” The man behind her said.

“Yes, let’s go before the Watch finds us holding her.” The other man said.

Suddenly she was picked up and thrown over the man’s shoulder that was holding her mouth. She let out a scream of help as loud as she could. In between breathes, she spotted another dark silhouette behind her and her captor lurking in the shadows of the buildings. Two perfect female blue eyes stare at her and did nothing to stop the men from grabbing her. She could see a hint of anticipation and relish at the men taking her away in the eyes that watch her from the shadows. Who is this dark woman and why does it seem she is enjoying every minute of my anguish?

She cries out for help again at the top of her lungs, hoping someone, anyone, would come to her aid. Her eyes still stuck on the cold stare from the shadows. She shivered hard from the stare and it was the last thing she remembers from the night. Shortly after she had spotted the woman in the darkness, one of the sailors hit her over the head with something hard, sending her into darkness.

Since then she has been here, a hovel of a building near the wharf. The smells of salt and sea hang in the air like gulls patrolling the docks for a quick bite do all day. The routine for her has been blurred all together, her body and mind numb and paralyzed from the savage debauchery performed on her against her will.

Her gown torn away from her legs up to her waist, leaving only her naked flesh that used to be a light tan. Now her legs were of a collage of blues, blacks, and yellows from various stages of bruising. Most of the bruises come from slaps, punches thrown, or kicks when she doesn’t comply with want they want from her.

Tufts of her hair can be found strewn about the shabby mattress from overly assertive men pulling on her short hair cut when they take her from behind. They just tossed it down wherever, when they were finished with her.

The upper half of her gown still had half of it left, barely hanging off one of her shoulders. The portion that used to swoop down over the right part of her chest was ripped off the first night she had been imprisoned here. Her ample right breast no longer looked like it did before she was kidnapped, a creamy tan. It was similar in coloring now like her legs, save one difference. It has large red hand prints all over it. The places where the men heartlessly throttled their strong grips on her breast and squeezed it to pain levels bordering on ludicrousness were criss-crossed about her breast. Her nipple was taunt, hard, and very dark purple from abuse as well.

She thinks to herself everyday if she deserved the treatment she was getting. To be a throw away toy for violent men would not be the aim for any woman ever and now this is what she was. Was it punishment by God for past crimes she committed?

Liam came for Katy to save her, and rightly so. Callie had long protected that girl, but only out of guilt at first, but love eventually. She holds a grim secret deep in her heart. So deep inside her it is kept, that this ordeal she has been forced into fits right into her guilt’s wheelhouse of self imposed punishment. I deserve it, she says some nights.

Other nights she rages against her captors, but with the state of her heath as it is, she only wiggles some. Some of the men actually thought she was getting into it and were aroused more. She for days now has been slipping in and out of unconsciousness. The mal treatment she has been given over her imprisonment has taken its toll. She has found herself waking from the darkness to be in mid forced coitus more often than not. The sailors didn’t even seem to care that at times they were pushing against a limp body. Do I deserve this, she asks again to herself?

Cries of alarm from the other room broke her from her inner trance. The sounds of metal hitting metal and cries of flesh being torn fill her ears with a small smoldering of hope.

The door creaks opened and Callie carefully and slowly turns her gaze from the mirror to the door. In the doorway stood a man dressed in black and brandished a long sharp sword in one hand.

“Liam?” Callie croaked so quietly the man gave no sign that he heard her words.

“Liam?” She forced with a whisper aloud.

“Not Liam at all.” A new voice dryly said. His voice is very familiar to her and it caused her to shiver inside. Soon, the owner of the familiar voice walked into the room. Clad in fine leather armor with accented pieces for flair, John Thatcher her former boss strolled over to her and ran his hand through what was left of her hair.

“You will tell me everything that you know about this, Liam.” He purred with a malevolent glee.

I tried to shake my head no to answer the bastard, but suddenly his fingers start to wrap themselves about my throat. He slowly started to squeeze my throat harder and harder, waiting for me to answer him.

“You will tell me everything, just like you did with Meghan, so many years ago.” He lunges with a hurtful truth to her heart.

“No” She breathed. “I will never tell you anything again.” Her raspy voice cracks as she adds.

Thatcher laughed until he was interrupted by a hired thug.

“Sir, what do you want us to do with the injured sailors left?” He asked.

Thatcher motions for the man with the sword by the door to come over to the bed. The man sheathed his blade and ripped what was left from her dress right off her broken and battered body. Next he pushed his arms under her body and easily lifted me up and threw her over his shoulder.

“Kill them. The dead speak to no one.” Thatcher tersely ordered.

The man nodded and moved into the next room. Shortly he left the sounds of metal inserting into flesh filled her ears with dread.

“You will make for a very good piece of bait, Callie. That is one for me, Liam. Soon the mathematics will be in my favor.” Thatcher said with a sneer.

“Am I to take her to manor in the country?” The man asked while carrying the frail body of Callie over his shoulder to Thatcher.

“Yes. Take her far from the city and far from the reach of this insolent Liam.” Thatcher answered.

Callie deep inside her head held onto one flicker candlelight flame of hope. Hope on the belief of the words of that John Thatcher just said. She everyday expected Liam to burst in the door and save her and he has not come. She had thought the worse after a week had gone by, he had taken a wound, and perhaps he was dead. Now, she knew he is alive because Thatcher asked her to tell him everything she knew about him.

When life gives you no exits, make one. That is what Liam said when they were cornered. From today on she will start to make her exit from this new hell. She has endured enough punishment for her betrayal of Meghan. She will try to escape herself, but always look for Liam to save the day. She then swore to hold on to the hope that he will burst in to save her just like he saved Katy. Thatcher doesn’t know this and never will by her lips, but when Liam is around, the dead do speak.









I am sorry I can’t show you more. The choices man makes are theirs to make. I am quite certain many more choices will be made by these souls in the days to come. You may be privy to them and you may not. Evil is moving its pawns onto the game board and a new player pulls the strings of many on the board on both sides of it. I have much to think about and have the faith to believe that good will triumph in the end.