Author's Notes: Hiya Divamercury. Mija is Sailor Mercury, I'm sorry to
say. I just had too much fun imagining Sara with those huge blonde
pigtails.
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"Alpha one, we have another couple heading down the back stairwell by the coat room. Please advise." Dispatch queried.
"I will take care of it." Nottingham adjusted his lapels and checked his cuffs as he wended through the glittering throng to a guarded exit. The motion disguised the fact that he was brushing his hands over hidden weapons, checking their readiness.
The two were probably going to find a quiet corner to make out in, but Nottingham could not take that for granted. Besides, he disliked the idea of individuals roaming unsupervised through the mansion. Only the common areas had surveillance equipment, once they left the camera's eye, they could be up to anything.
The odds were strongly against them setting up to do harm to Kenneth, or to steal some of the smaller objects d'art. That sort would have been weeded out during the investigation process before invitations were ever sent out. Even if they had somehow managed to substitute themselves for the original guests, getting away with anything once they arrived would be far more difficult than they could imagine.
If Nottingham or his security force didn't get them, which was highly unlikely, the house itself might. The mansion was dangerous. Certain rooms were booby-trapped, and some of the artifacts in the trophy room were as likely to kill if handled as a cornered lion. Nottingham didn't understand why Irons kept some of the things; they made him sick just being in the same room with them. He had never wanted to touch them, although Kenneth did, with impunity.
A shrill scream pierced the air, coming from just ahead. Had the two fallen afoul of the house defenses so soon? That shouldn't be possible. They would have had to run full out from the moment they left the camera to be near any of the secure areas. Ian quickened his pace; any thought that he would find only two frightened and chastened lovebirds at the end of his course forgotten.
Only thieves or assassins would have any reason to move so quickly. Ian reached behind him, pulling his sword from the spine sheath on his back. His gun stayed holstered. The sound of shots fired would carry, coming to the attention of anyone else in the area. Besides, Irons would be very put out if Ian shot up part of the mansion unless he had no other choice.
Calling for backup never occurred to him. He could handle far worse than what was waiting for him. He might even have fun for a while. Nottingham smiled for the first time that evening, and it wasn't a pleasant one.
The scream had seemed to come from the antiquities library, where Mr. Irons kept any ancient text that did not relate to the Witchblade or any of it's legends. The room itself was not trapped, but the door was. Kenneth could not conscience a book to be damaged, however inadvertently.
The trap was a subtle thing, set in the doorframe itself. The lock was difficult, exactly what one would expect, right down to the poison needle. The thief that got around it would think himself clever, and never realize that there was a second mechanism. A certain carving on the doorframe must be pressed when opening the door or an airborne virus would be released.
The scent would seem as no more than the strange air that one encounters in an area little used, but it was not. Based on the ancient viruses that claimed many an incautious archeologist's life, it entered the lungs and was revived in its new moist and warm environment.
With a little tweaking, Vorshlag had bioengineered the virus to act faster than it's ancient counterpart. It took minutes instead of days to kill, around five to seven minutes, as a matter of fact. Just long enough for the thief to (hopefully) grab whatever he was after. Irons always wanted to know what they had been commissioned to steal; it helped narrow down who had sent the thieves in the first place.
The timing was wrong for that though, and there should not be anyone to scream in any case. Both intruders would have breathed the virus. Perhaps one had weak lungs, or was already unwell? Any preexisting pulmonary illness would speed the process along. Perhaps that was it?
Nottingham felt a surge of regret. He had been looking forward to a little righteous violence. As he came closer to the library, Ian could hear the shattering of glass. The screamer had apparently gathered their wits enough to finish the theft. He gave the unknown thief marks for professionalism and eased past the half-open door.
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"Alpha one, we have another couple heading down the back stairwell by the coat room. Please advise." Dispatch queried.
"I will take care of it." Nottingham adjusted his lapels and checked his cuffs as he wended through the glittering throng to a guarded exit. The motion disguised the fact that he was brushing his hands over hidden weapons, checking their readiness.
The two were probably going to find a quiet corner to make out in, but Nottingham could not take that for granted. Besides, he disliked the idea of individuals roaming unsupervised through the mansion. Only the common areas had surveillance equipment, once they left the camera's eye, they could be up to anything.
The odds were strongly against them setting up to do harm to Kenneth, or to steal some of the smaller objects d'art. That sort would have been weeded out during the investigation process before invitations were ever sent out. Even if they had somehow managed to substitute themselves for the original guests, getting away with anything once they arrived would be far more difficult than they could imagine.
If Nottingham or his security force didn't get them, which was highly unlikely, the house itself might. The mansion was dangerous. Certain rooms were booby-trapped, and some of the artifacts in the trophy room were as likely to kill if handled as a cornered lion. Nottingham didn't understand why Irons kept some of the things; they made him sick just being in the same room with them. He had never wanted to touch them, although Kenneth did, with impunity.
A shrill scream pierced the air, coming from just ahead. Had the two fallen afoul of the house defenses so soon? That shouldn't be possible. They would have had to run full out from the moment they left the camera to be near any of the secure areas. Ian quickened his pace; any thought that he would find only two frightened and chastened lovebirds at the end of his course forgotten.
Only thieves or assassins would have any reason to move so quickly. Ian reached behind him, pulling his sword from the spine sheath on his back. His gun stayed holstered. The sound of shots fired would carry, coming to the attention of anyone else in the area. Besides, Irons would be very put out if Ian shot up part of the mansion unless he had no other choice.
Calling for backup never occurred to him. He could handle far worse than what was waiting for him. He might even have fun for a while. Nottingham smiled for the first time that evening, and it wasn't a pleasant one.
The scream had seemed to come from the antiquities library, where Mr. Irons kept any ancient text that did not relate to the Witchblade or any of it's legends. The room itself was not trapped, but the door was. Kenneth could not conscience a book to be damaged, however inadvertently.
The trap was a subtle thing, set in the doorframe itself. The lock was difficult, exactly what one would expect, right down to the poison needle. The thief that got around it would think himself clever, and never realize that there was a second mechanism. A certain carving on the doorframe must be pressed when opening the door or an airborne virus would be released.
The scent would seem as no more than the strange air that one encounters in an area little used, but it was not. Based on the ancient viruses that claimed many an incautious archeologist's life, it entered the lungs and was revived in its new moist and warm environment.
With a little tweaking, Vorshlag had bioengineered the virus to act faster than it's ancient counterpart. It took minutes instead of days to kill, around five to seven minutes, as a matter of fact. Just long enough for the thief to (hopefully) grab whatever he was after. Irons always wanted to know what they had been commissioned to steal; it helped narrow down who had sent the thieves in the first place.
The timing was wrong for that though, and there should not be anyone to scream in any case. Both intruders would have breathed the virus. Perhaps one had weak lungs, or was already unwell? Any preexisting pulmonary illness would speed the process along. Perhaps that was it?
Nottingham felt a surge of regret. He had been looking forward to a little righteous violence. As he came closer to the library, Ian could hear the shattering of glass. The screamer had apparently gathered their wits enough to finish the theft. He gave the unknown thief marks for professionalism and eased past the half-open door.