…give the current floor a more thorough search.

Reasoning that the night is young, you decide to give the lower floor a more thorough look. You think of the things that the rooms could contain; secret staircases and hidden rooms, peep holes and cracks to listen through, weapons more fit to the task at hand. More than likely it would just be dust and darkness, and so you decide to make this quick. Completeness has always had a certain allure to you; you just hope you’re using it, rather than it using you. You pat your neat bun at the back of your head unthinkingly, checking every hair is locked inside as they should be, before pulling your clothes straight and standing up, walking back through the door you came in by.

If you’re going to start your search then best to start down the corridor you skipped. By your reckoning, you skipped a good chunk of the mansion after the cellar, and as both the nearest and the most unexplored place it would be logical to start there. Before you do though, you walk past the dark and uninviting path you saw previously, past the light of the cellar and back into the kitchen. It’s still empty, so you pickup one of the brighter lanterns and return to the dark corridor. You open the first door and find a small storage room. You close it and go to the next. The second shows a large empty room with a vast table in its centre that could have been a games room in happier times. You close the door and go to the next. The third shows a small empty room whose purpose is now as empty as its contents. You close the door and go to the next. As you approach the forth room, you start to hear a noise from down the corridor. It’s unknown to you; an irregular beat combined with a strange and inconsistent sound. You skip several rooms until you come to the one that contains it.

Not wanting to lose the flame from your oil lantern, you open a nearby door across the hall to a room with many shelves and cases -an empty library of some kind- and you put the lantern on a shelf that keeps its light from the door.

Returning to the hallway, you see a faint yellow light flickering under the door which hides the strange noises, and up its side as well as you near, the latch broken and the door only pushed to. Prepared to run if the hinges squeak, you push the door open enough to see inside, spying first a single lantern sitting on a table in the room’s middle, dimly illuminating what looks to have been a sitting room of some kind. The noise loses its muffled quality immediately, yet its source remains unknown; a dim drumbeat that thumps out a regular rhythm. You quietly sneak inside, staying low and ready to bolt. Apart from the plain, low table in the middle of the room and a beautifully painted screen near the wall closest to you, everything is covered in dusty white sheets. The oddly shaped ghosts are not the source of the noise however and as you approach, you notice the darkness move against one of the far walls. You freeze, looking into the shifting gloom. Seeing the movement stay where it is and with the noise unchanging, you reason that it hasn’t seen you and you slowly creep behind the ornate screen to try and get a better look.

A dust sheet currently lies in a heap at the paper screens base, but it has done its job well. The screen bright painting of twin birds resting on a tree branch remains as vivid as the day it was painted. It stands in four large connected sections, zigzagging along for a good distance. The space between the screen and the wall is enough to sit comfortably and the cracks between the screens are enough to view the room and its other occupant. The sound, a soft banging and squeaking, is now accompanied by twin sets of heavy breathing, and as your eyes adjust, you’re embarrassed to see a man and a woman standing up against the wall, facing each other but clearly love making. The man wears red and white while the woman is wearing the same short brown maid’s dress you saw earlier, currently razed where their hips meet. Much of her thighs are on display, ghostly pale in the dark, one down and one lifted, wrapping about the man and allowing his entrance between her legs. Each thrust of his hips causes a soft bang of her behind against the wall, the old wall squeaking in response.

Well this is embarrassing.

You’re about to leave the couple to their business when you hear a new and unwelcome noise; a muffled cry. You focus your adapting eyes to the couple once more and notice something out of place; his right hand is over her mouth and his left holds up her creamy leg, not just holding it to him, but pushing her hard against the wall. You were wrong, there’s no love here. Another long and pained moan comes out of the poor woman’s mouth as the uncaring man forces himself into her. You draw your stiletto as you watch the injustice, ready gut the pig. As vile as this all is, you couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity; his back is to you, making for an easy kill, and their heavy breathing and squeaking will mask all but the loudest floorboards, making your approach much easier; and your prize will be a thankful woman, who knows the layout of the manor and probably the location of its residents as well. Not to sound like some mercenary (justice, and punishing acts like this very one are why you’re here) but she should be very grateful to be saved from ****, and more than happy to help in your mission. You know you would be.

You prepare to end his disgusting violation, creeping to the far end of the screen, most in his blind spot. She gives another moan of displeasure and you stop as you see the man move, watching as he takes his hand from the poor woman’s mouth and uses it to grab one of her clawing hands, slamming it against the wall above her head. She takes advantage of her freed mouth, loudly crying out.

“Ahhhh! Hhhh! You boy loving bastard! You call that a fuck? Harder! Harder! Make me feel it!”

You pause your attack.

What?

You see him pick up the tempo, wrenching more squeaks and squeals from the wall, mixing with the moans from her mouth.

“Ohhhh yes. Yes! That’s it sugar! Ahh!”

Well, this you did not expect. You see his hand release hers and wrap around her neck, clearly pressing hard and cutting off her air, finally letting you hear more than just his strained grunts and panting.

“Ahh. You, mf, you talk too much, y-ah, you slut.”

You expect to see pain or shock on her face. It turns bright red with lack of air, yet all she does is give a wide blissful open mouthed smile as his hard slamming thrusts sends jolts through her.

You were right that there was no love here, but you’re not sure what this is.

You start to move back to the other end of the screen, looking to leave through the door while they’re ... distracted, by each other. Halfway down, you hear a gasping from her, a scuffle, and a slam. You look through the screens central gap and see them both in the middle of the room, the woman, who you see clearly now in the lantern light, is alone, bent to all fours on the low table. She has long jet black hair and a fine figure, narrow and willowy, yet wide in the attractive areas. You shift and see the man stepping up behind her, wearing a red bandanna on his head, with a thin brown moustache and a small patch of hair just under his lips. His face is hard but young, and his body is lean yet muscular. They sparkle in the light, beads of sweat coating their faces and droplets ruining down both chest and legs, reflecting with inordinate brightness. He fully steps out of his dropped trousers, briefly revealing his fully erect, glistening manhood. Your face goes a deeper shade of red at seeing it, hidden away as you are like some perverted peeper. It quickly disappears. He positions himself between her legs and slams himself between her legs, continuing his hard pounding from behind and rocking her, pulling her with every push, until she gets the rhythm. She starts to rock back and forth in time with him, deepening his thrusts and evidently her own pleasure as her open smiling mouth produces another moan of delight.

You’ve seen more than enough and much more than you should, and you continue moving to the screens other side, towards the door. Before you reach it though, you see a problem. The distance between the screen and the door isn’t much, but the couple now face it directly. He swings a hard, open palmed slap against her rump, eliciting a loud crack and pleased yelp from the woman; they are distracted to be sure, but they would have to be blind not to see you in the open space before the exit, let alone not see the door swing open and closed. The man pulls one of laces at the back of the woman’s brown dress, loosening it before he pulls it down hard, revealing her round breasts to the room and allowing them to slightly jiggle and sway beneath her. She pants out, voice jerked by his pounding,

“Hah, hah, ahhhh, come on, ah, you-herk!”

Her voice is cut off as he reaches an arm down and grabs the front of her neck again, pulling her up off her hands and keeping her upright as he continues to push up under her rump.

Her face reddens once more under his grip and her tongue sticks out of her wide open mouth. Her eyes close, expression serene, transfixed in a state of lustful bliss. Her breasts jiggle before her, pink nipples erect, until the man’s hand reaches around and begins to squeeze one of them hard, causing its flesh to bulge around his fingers. His face is an odd mask of concentration, as through not lost in some passion, but delivering it with great effort, but it doesn’t last and soon begins a subtly shifting into something else; some state more akin to the woman’s unfettered bliss. You see something pass over the two as their hips lock together, their mouths opening wide and their eyes closing tight. A long cry of pleasure comes of the man and another manages to **** its way out of the woman constricted throat with a squealing wheeze. Jolts run through there body’s, passing between them in a moment that seems to stretch on, and you watch with fascination despite yourself. ‘Just like a pervert’. The thought leaves your face as red as hers and you turn away, the last sight burned in your mind’s eye: there expressions of pure carnal pleasure, something you have only ever seen once before and never felt yourself.

You crouch down and wait for the two to finish and leave, lamenting the time that’s been wasted here. Perhaps exploring all the rooms is a waste of time; you’ll have to decide for sure when you’re finally free of these two weirdo’s violent display. Your face is still flushed by what you have seen and your mind is still very much confused. How could she like that? He was literally hitting and **** her! There was no gentleness, no beauty, yet they both seemed to take such pleasure in each other. You can only wait and listen to the two as their senses return, still panting hard as they both stand. You hear the twin rustling of fabric sliding over skin and deem it safe to look.

They’re both now dressed, thank the gods, and the woman is turned from you, hands tying up the back of her dress. The man, topped and tailed, takes off his bandanna, revealing a mess of brown hair, to wipe his brow and the rest of his face. The lantern is still on the table and can be seen between the woman’s legs, its light reflecting on the ample wetness running down her half covered calves to far below her knees. She walks up to one of the dust sheets and lifts it, using its clean side to wipe herself.

The man walks up to her and grab her by the neck again, pulling her upright but not actively strangling her.

“You want to cuddle?” she says in a mocking voice.

“You’re gonna piss off and do your job” he growls in return, with as little love as he showed throughout (save perhaps his concentration). This seems to get some genuine shock from her; she evidently thought that this...whatever it was, would continue for some time yet. She opens her mouth, likely to mock again, when he squeezes her neck slightly, continuing.

“Now now, don’t worry. I’m gonna give you a couple of parting gifts.”

He puts his thumb on her chin and opens her mouth, and, to your disgust, he then spits directly in before closing it. You may have been imagining it but you’re sure you saw her swallow. He then let’s go of her neck before delivering a huge smack to the side of her face that sends her staggering. You see her face go from shock to a playful pout before she turns and drops into a deep curtsy, lifting the skirt high to the point of **** reveal. Apart from that, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a royal palace.

She turns and walks out the door. You don’t think you will ever understand some people.

It’s just the man now, standing in the middle of the room, still a little bit out of breath.

“So how long have you been watching?”

Everything in your body tenses, ready to run. You see through the gap between the screens and his eyes meet yours. Too late. You judge the distance and realise you would both reach the door at the same time. He looks calm, like a coiled spring.

With no escape and no hiding, you have ****.

“Not long,” you answer, with more confidence and significantly less embarrassment than you actually feel. You slowly start moving out from behind the screen, putting you closer to the door, remaining in the dark.

“Did Wendigo send you?” he asks. An interesting question.

“Why would Wendigo send me?” you say back, coolly.

“No reason. Guess I should ask what you’re doing here then.” He stands a full head and a quarter taller than you and looks at you with a flat expression much different to the one he wore earlier.

After a moment you say, “I was just leaving,” and he fires back near instantly,

“So was I. Where are you going?”

Still shadowed at the end of the screen, you pause. Neither of you move towards the door.

“Why so interested?” you ask, sensing a dangerous end to his line of questioning.

“No reason,” he responds. He tucks the bandanna he was holding into his pocket but doesn’t pull his hand back out. You hand reaches for the split you made in your own trousers, likely reaching for the same thing as he; the kind of sharp and pointy thing people strap to their thigh. You both look into each other’s eyes, trying to gauge each other’s ability’s. You know that if you’re going to strike you should do so know, before he has fully recovered from his recent exercise. You would guess he’s about five to ten years older than you, with a definite height and strength advantage. You move further towards the door, slipping further from the shadow of the screen.

His eyes narrow and a bead of sweat rolls down his face, grating through the stubble on his cheeks. You feel droplets of your own forming on your brow as the silence stretches. He starts. You dagger slips out its loop, but at the last moment, you keep it concealed in the material of your trousers. Rather than action, a flash of genuine confusion runs through his eyes.

“Wait a second...have I seen you before?”

What? Is this a trick to by some time? You look at his face anew and try to place it but nothing comes to mind.

“I-I don’t think so”, you respond.

He clicks his fingers, as though striking spark stone for his memory. He suddenly points at you.

“You’re a government thief catcher!”

Now he has to die.

You tense as your hand finishes its pull, your stiletto coming free and glinting in the half light. He quickly pulls his hands out of his pockets and holds them out before him, empty.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, stop, relax, honour digger. I’m a bounty hunter.” He holds out his hands as though in some grand reveal, saying it as though you’re old friends or as if it were something to be proud of. You look into his wide eyes for signs of deception, but if such signs are there then they are well hidden.

Thinking quickly, it would be an odd move to admit it; if you were a pirate, you’ve have even more contempt for bounty hunters than you do now. And it’s not impossible; there is a rather considerable bounty on the island and you can’t be the only one going for it. You’ve also only heard bounty hunters refer to your profession as ‘honour diggers’; you always preferred ‘Loyal agent of the right honourable principalities’ thank you very much. Only the honourless see such Agents as something like fools digging in the dirt for something that doesn’t exist.

He continues, taking the fresh memories as they come, clicking his fingers and licking his lips in thought.

“I think I saw youuuuuuu,” he pauses, memory running marathons, “-at, er, at… in the east district of Lilia! You were rubbing shoulders with the guards about a year ago! Never forget a face.” He claps his hands with a satisfied smile. “Damn useful in my job.”

He’s probably referring to the big Wyverns Rest case that happened in that area at about that time. You were in and out of the guards command house every other day with fresh evidence from your investigation. You keep gripping the daggers hilt, eyes narrowed.

“Evidently, I do forget faces. I don’t recognise you at all.”

He smiles wider. “That was the point. I grew this...”, he runs his fingers across his moustache and little lip beard, “...and cut this down...”, his hand now runs over his short mess of deep brown hair, “It was long top and back with short side, remember?”

You try to picture him with long hair and nothing on his face and you can just about see it. A half remembered bounty hunter who was a bit too cocksure and arrogant.

You keep a healthy amount of suspicion but otherwise find yourself excepting his story. If it’s a lie, it’s a bloody good one.

“Say I believe you, what are you doing here?”

He gives you a smile that pulls one side of his mouth more than the other.

“Same as you. Looking to kill the bitch, grab a necklace and get gone.” His smile fades. “But I didn’t lie before, I’m leaving.”

You let your blade drift back into your pocket, finding and threading the loop at your leg. Perhaps you may get a good source of information from this room after all.

“Why?”

He gives you a bitter, sulky explanation.

“Too hot. I’ve been on that boat for four months and they already suspect me. Tonight’s my last night and it’s no good; she’s meeting with your Captain Roland for all of it, and I can’t take them both at once, not as mention any guards that come running. Pretty sure they got folks searchin for me as well, so I’m not keen on waitin.” He rubs his neck. “If it’s back to the Gull, I’ll be swinging from the rafters tomorrow for sure, so I’m going to steal one of the boats and get gone before then. You’re welcome to come with if you like.”

It’s plausible enough, you suppose. You consider the new information and start planning your next move, idly correcting his assumptions as you think.

“Actually I swam here. I’ve never seen Captain Roland before.” He looks at you with a little astonishment before snorting.

“Makes more sense than coming in on Roland’s boat I guess. Heard they don’t treat their women too right.”

“Where are they now?”

“Upstairs, in the main room at the top of the stair case. The woman you saw me, er...interrogate, was very specific.” You hold back your questions about the woman. That was like no ‘interrogation’ you have ever seen. An idea comes to you.

“You know, together we may have a chance. It would be two on two, with the element of surprise on our side.” You say it half-heartedly to gauge his reaction while you think.

“Are you crazy?! They’re both killers, skilled fighters, and you don’t exactly look seasoned. It would be safer to just cut our losses and go. Think about it, even if you managed to do it then you would still have to escape and that’s going to be hard enough with us working together.”

His reaction is strong but you sense that he could be convinced; that he wants to be convinced. You could probably get him to come with you with minimal cajoling. Your thoughts blossom into a plan. It’s a risky plan, not just in execution but in siding with an honourless bounty hunter. It may be safer to leave him and go it alone to at least confirm what he says. But if he is right then there’s nothing you can do on your own, and you’ll have to get pretty close to the fire to confirm it.

The one thing he’s definitely right about is that it’s safer to cut your losses. It was always a bit foolish to think you could walk across this island and kill the most hated and feared woman in the archipelago, if not all of Coronac. You don’t want to just give up, but you have to except certain realities. Perhaps now, with someone older and more experienced, who tried and failed for the last four months at the very thing you’re trying to do in one night, telling you to turn back, your pride may just allow it.

This is a big decision either way.