Patience has its limits. Take it too far, and it's cowardice.
- George Jackson (1941 - 1971)


His thumb's tapping against the rumpled note nestled in middle of his palm matched his deliberate pacing across the room. The passing exchange with the Detective replayed in his mind as the Barrister retraced his steps around his office, hands clasped behind his back.

A knock against his door pulled him from his musings. Lucien glanced up from his unfocused study of the rug to see Gwyr lead in a young lad...one of the street rats, who he's come to rely on for their reconnaissance as well as their underestimated network. The young boy strode right up the Barrister and held out his hand expectedly. A crooked grin hinted at the corner of Lucien's mouth and he handed over the rumpled note to the youth.

Not a word was exchanged between the two and the young boy strode out from the Barrister's residence and headed to the West End, to deliver the note to the Detective.

Braeden was used to being ignored. That was his strength. All of his short life, he'd been considered nothing but a nuisance. When he garnered attention, it was rarely for anything good. People expected nothing more from a street rat.

When the Baron addressed him, the young lad (who hadn't seen more than ten winters, if that) marched up to the man's desk and gave Alain a long, hard assessment. The boy then nodded and reached into his pocket for the crumpled note he'd gotten from the Barrister and set it on the Baron's desk. Braedon didn't say a word, but he tipped his cap to Alain before leaving the man's office.

The note the boy left on the Baron's desk was written in Lucien's hand, included an address to a warehouse in the West End and read simply..."Time to steer the ship in a new path."

The warehouse was located amid the eclectic clutter of buildings near the south edge of the West End. The structure was worn and rather unremarkable. It boasted no special architectural detailing, such as the intricate carvings that frames the windows and doors of its neighbor, nor did it mark any advertisement, as the shops that its other neighbor advertised. It was a building that could have easily housed a thriving business or equally a den for thieves. It was a building that could be easily overlooked and forgotten, drawing no notice if it were razed or rebuilt.

The oversized windows were boarded or blacked out and all but one entrance that face the street were chained and locked. The outer gate was swung open and the single door was left unlocked and ajar. Thunk, thunk, thunk...a whisper of measured noise sounded at the door, whichr opened to a corridor with a ceiling that seemed to high for the space that made it feel narrower than it actually was. A few lanterns lit the way, lined with several other doors, each which was boarded up, except for one, midway down, off to the right.

Faint fingers of light crept out from around the door, that was also left ajar. The rhythmic sound of metal against wood, that lingered at the front door, pressed against the otherwise heavy hush surrounding the building, snaking out with the light, sounding louder and louder.

*****

Behind the door, Lucien stood in the middle of large space that was empty save for the stack of wood cluttered around the room. The axe rose and fell in good tempo, working through the thick timber, each swing of the axe evenly timed, liked the tick of a watch's second hand.

The lights scattered around the cluttered room, glinted off the edge of the axe that was stayed in mid swing, above the Barrister's head as the Detective's remark cut through the quiet. Lucien dropped the axe head down and leaned it against the piece of timber he was working on. He wiped his hands on a rag that was draped over his shoulders and offered Alain his hand in welcome. "Good to see you, Alain."

Lucien chuckled as he looked around the room cluttered with scraps of wood. "Well, this isn't the actual ship yard. Although we've used it for temporary storage." The Barrister nodded to the axe he had been weilding. "This is where I come to let off steam." There was an underlying measure to his tone with his last admission.

"I thought about having you meet me at the shipyard," Lucien continued as he picked his way through the room. "However, I can't ever be sure who is watching the comings and goings there." He stopped speaking briefly and waved his hand over a cluster of three stumps of wood, murmuring something arcane under his breath. The wood faded to reveal an opened trap door in the floor. The Barrister glanced over at Alain. "There was no sense in making things too easy now," he remarked with a grin, the conversational tone of his voice picking up where he left off. With a nod to the Detective, Lucien started down the stairs.

*****

The stairs lead down to a subterranean tunnel that cut under the streets and other buildings above. The walls of the tunnel were lined with brick and mortar and lit with lanterns hung along the arched ceiling of the tunnel. He remained silent as he led the way down the damp and winding path, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to check Alain's progress.

Lucien climbed up the stairs that anchored the other end of the tunnel, which opened into an makeshift office in a large warehouse. The warehouse was silent and through the open door, hulls and boats in various stages of construction could be seen. Unlike the other space, the building was well lit and kept orderly. The Barrister stepped out onto the warehouse floor and smiled, slipping his hands into his pockets and looking over the shipyard. He glanced over at Alain and grinned. "Now we can speak about business."

"I've been thinking about what you said that night at the inn," Lucien began, reaching into his pocket and offering Alain the note the Baron had slipped into his hand that night. "I'm tired of waiting for them to make the first move." The Barrister didn't elaborate any further, trusting the man would know who he referred to. "We were on better footing when we struck them as hard as they hit us...Perhaps it is time to give the cameras something more than a conversation to record." There was an underlying edge to his tone that hung between the men.

Lucien moved over to one of the half-finished hulls and ran a calloused and inspecting hand over the wooden form. "But something has been bothering me. Something Howe...," he practically spat out the name, as if trying to eliminate the offensive taste it left in his mouth, "...said that night outside the Inn has been troublesome. And I am hoping that you might be able to help me make some sense of it first."

He leaned against the hull and faced Alain fully, hands slipping into his pockets. "What the hell did he mean when he said the Blood healers fixed him up?"

"...and they made a deal..."

Blood red haze rose up like a wave and washed over the faces that flooded his vision. Worried whispers and confused murmurings, earth shattering explosions and frightened screams, echoed in his ears. And through it all, the memory of Howe's arrogant smile and smug laughter sliced like a knife.

Calloused hands were run over his face, falling to his side in tightly curled fists. Rage burned like an inferno, rooting him where he stood as cold fingers of betrayal gripped at his heart and pressed a weight upon his chest. He drew several deep breaths, barely containing roiling emotions behind a stoic mien.

The Partners had been defeated, rendered helpless. The stain of their cursed existence ready to be washed from the face of Rhydin. And they were given another chance...by Corywn himself. Fingers tapped in agitated staccato against his leg as Lucien desperately tried to make some sense of it. In the end, it was all he could do just to shake his head with incredulous disbelief.

Gaze of ice blue followed Alain's pacing, witnessing tightly controlled emotions mirrored in the man. The Barrister pushed up from his lean against the hull and nodded to the Baron. "To hell with the other Houses. What do you need from me?"

Finger continued tapped its tumultuous rhythm against the Barrister's leg. The Baron's recount of the spell book resurrected memories of conversations Lucien had with Belial and with the Ancient, over another ancient book and scroll. Lips pressed to a thin line as the apocalyptic vision Sid shared so many years came rushing back to him.

Nevertheless, restrained rage continued to burn, not red, but white behind the Barrister's cool gaze. He bore silent witness to the flicker of magick in Alain's eyes as he voiced his confession. Then he spoke her name....Mab.

Lucien began to pace along side the half finished hull as her name hung heavily between the men. Fingers drummed a light trace along the edge of the wooden seam as he moved to and fro. Murmuring voices, whispering memories, and muted faced rarely overwhelmed him any longer, instead they rose in controlled procession. Amid the humming stream of thoughts and recollections, their names swirled...Howe...Mab...Corwyn.

"So far I've indicated an interest in her offer... I was hoping you would, too."

The very air in the warehouse thrummed as the shadows wicked up the walls, whispered murmurings vibrating the very structure. The Barrister glanced to the Baron to see the flare in the man's eyes. Vague familiarity swept over him and Lucien reached out to brace himself against the hull, eyes of cold blue closing shut.

The slow nod of his head came even before he opened his eyes and turned his attention back to Alain. He nodded his head once again, easing his hold of the hull and slipping his hand back into his pocket. "I'll do it."

Perhaps it was the change in the Baron. Perhaps it was the shadows stilling. Perhaps it was Lucien's own resolve settling. Perhaps it was the handshake. Whatever it was, the Barrister further tempered his rage with a deep breath and a nod.

He slipped his hands into his pocket and follower Alain out of the warehouse. He observed the man cast an assessing look over the facilities. The hulls and ships under construction had a distinct Norwegian influence upon them, the mark of the Barrister's expert partner in the endeavor.

A grin ghosted at the corner of his mouth at Alain's query. "It'll vary of course, depending on the type and size of the ships you need. One such as that," Lucien pointed out a vessel approximately 17 meters in length with a single mast, "would take about three months. Just let us know what you need. I've no doubt we can come to an amenable business arrangement."