Lieutenant Mosley is a character I wish could have been seen more in the Thief series. I like how she is a practitioner of law, but she is also not staunchly by-the-book. She will accomplish what she feels is right, even if she does have to break the law to do so. Not to say I am completely in agreement with her methods, but it does show that she has a bit of moxie.
A soft breeze rippled the free strands of Mosley's hair, causing her to wince as they tickled her skin. The ceremonial black was replaced by the more mundane blue for tonight's patrol. At last, the tyrant had been removed, and the Watch had fallen to her jurisdiction. The dawn would bring evaluations and paperwork held off from today.
She had been the one to give the eulogy for that fop who masqueraded as a gentleman. And sold it Mosley had, her dramatic pauses and smacking of her fist off of the surface of the podium bringing the room of uniformed men and women to stunned silence. For Truart's underlings, the bandits who wore the city blue, she put on the show. Her loyalists followed along with salutes and embittered exclamations of "Amen!"
The wood nymph's counsel to seek out the assistance of a Mr. Garrett had been sound, with Hagen locked in the bowels of Shoalsgate. It served him right after playing Truart's lap dog, Mosley decided, giving a casual nod toward a watchman posted before a narrow alley. Following the sheer amount of damage Hagen had done in blind devotion to him, she would have much to repair. The crown did not come cheap.
That was to say nothing of her key ring. Mosley's eyes flicked to the left and right. It had been foolhardy to hand it over with her emblem in plain view, but she had needed the nymph's trust. The pagans would desire release, or at the very least, proper treatment. The former, sadly, was too monumental a task at the moment, given the consistency of Truart's iron-fisted policies. However, she could certainly provide blankets, and decent provisions.
She had rats working under her charge, and sad to say, she needed them now. If she were to turn her direction south of her predecessor's allies outside of the Watch, she would need her necessary evils. The marketplace fountain gurgled to itself, and Mosley longed to dunk her head in it. Had it not been for the love of her garden, she would not have found kinship with the Pagans. She stopped herself there. Yes, it was a selfish reason as to why she intended to help this persecuted sect, but the ends were altruistic.
But if she were found out… Anyone could pick up this letter. The bulb upon the lamp post's top burned. Mosley's mouth dried, and her skin grew cold. A perspective visual formed in her mind of herself dangling from it, a rope around her neck. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, her tongue wagging out from her dropped jaw. One step more, one step closer to the gallows. Clack, clack, clack over the cobblestones. To what end would this night bring her? She closed her eyes, bowing her head before her own disfigured apparition. Clack, clack, clack.
The envelope whispered as it hit the ground.