Extract from an untitled short
I wrote a short a while back intending to enter it into a compettion, I never did and the main thing was deleted. Only this extract and some notes remain. Thought I might as well use it for something.
Snow fell. It had fallen for days on the city. There were few people left who would go out and frolic in it. Not anymore. The black horses pulled the carriage along, slowly pushing through the snow. The mourners trudged behind, wearing fur upon fur; snowshoes pressing down on the solid sheet of white. The coffin was encased in flags, not only patriotic but keeping the wood from splintering. The Duke had been popular enough in life but most of his associates were either dead, dying or freezing in their various estates. The people of the city mourned the Duke privately, around their fires; muttering quietly to each other. The procession carried on to the small chapel on the other side of the park. Normally a burial like this would be proceeded by a very long ceremony at the city’s main Cathedral. The mourners planned to be gone in as little time as possible. The cold cut through them, a knife of ice through their many layers of clothing. The windows of the houses were hung with rags and blankets, the wooden shutters had been taken for burning long before, occasionally someone would peer round and glance at the procession; but seeing the coffin would withdraw back inside. In the Chapel, no-one came forward to say a final farewell, the Chancellor nodded at the Priest to continue. As he started the death rites the priest looked up, a cough having drawn his attention. The Chancellor was motioning for him to hurry up. He rushed through the rites and sprinkled the body with a tiny amount of oil. There was no point in using any more, the body had frozen solid under the skin and no-one wanted to see lumps of frozen muscle and skin floating in a pool of melted blood. As soon as was respectful, and in a few cases sooner then that people began to leave.
A few hours later, the Chancellor arrived back at his palace. Like his rank and his power it was a hand-me down from the Duke; when he had stepped up to rule the city. Recently the chancellor had taken to avoiding the open streets and making sure all his doors were locked. The Duke had apparently died of natural causes, but since no-one had been able to see the body bar the Privy Council, who had the most to gain from his death. They had a way of discouraging questions. The Chancellor turned to his butler and asked, “Have you bolted the windows?” The butler nodded politely. His family had served the Duke’s for generations, and he wouldn’t question his last order, but bolting the windows? The Chancellor inquired about other defences, ‘had the doors been barred?’ They had. ‘Have the food stores been moved to my quarters.’ Indeed. ‘Have you got my gun?’ No sire, you have that. ‘Ah yes of course. Now I want to thank you for what you’ve done for me, take whatever you want from the treasury and head home early.’ The butler saluted and walked off. The Chancellor sighed with relief. One hand had been on his throwing knife ever since leaving the Chapel. The average Baron had more power and forces then him, let alone the Privy Council. Locking himself in his room was merely a delaying action. They’d get to him eventually. He climbed the stairs and sighed. He had looked forward to the new era, but the damn snow ruined everything. Locking the first door behind him he noticed an open window. His butler never left windows open; dashing over he saw a grappling hook catch the ledge and the rope go taut. He looked down; a man wearing a white cloak, cape, hat and trousers was climbing up. He unhooked the grapple and watched with some satisfaction as the man plummeted into the barrel of frozen ice left there. He smiled and then grimaced. Looking down he saw a small pointed piece of metal coming from his stomach. The pain reached him and he doubled up, a sibilant voice whispered in his ear, “Very good your Grace, but we always find the one we need.” The small piece of metal retracted back through his stomach, tearing the lining with it. “The acid ought to kill you soon. I’ll just close this window so that you die all alone, locked in your own room. It couldn’t be anything but natural causes, could it your Grace?”
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