judas

The storm shows no mercy, whips and screeches and flings water from its upper depths down at the earth, telling of the Deity's wrath; relent, sinners, stop the evil. But none listen to it, and the castle stands alone as the night rises with its rainsweep.

Splashing water that try to suck in his boots, cold water and somehow burning, burning to make the men feel shame. A hooded figure, pausing at the drawbridge and crossing it, meeting with the guard who did not let him in.

Clanking mail; guard's mail. 'Who be ye, fellow? What face be underneath yer hood?'

The figure extends a hand. Ruby red flashes in the midst of the rain, and it appears as though the red light catches flame.

'Sir Germont, of the First King's Order; seventh Knighted.'

The guard's eyes are shrewd, as though the name brought resentment. Suspicion almost leaks into his voice. 'Ah, sir. I'll have the doors opened for ye, sir.'

He calls to the lad, who undoes the door locks, which sweep inwards to let in the soaking knight, who stands and shivers once inside.

The chancellor is already waiting for him. 'Sir Germont! Good of you to plow here, in the rain! Come in, in where it is warm and where we have a fire lit for you. Oh, no. Not the parlour. Our private quarters, certainly, Germont; The King would need not know you were here.'

He is a tall man, thin but strutting as though he were burly. He leads you into the private quarters up three flights of the marvelously marble staircase, taking care to glare away a chambermaid on the way. Opens the door; lets you in, like a gentleman.

There is a fire; it dances like it holds a tambourine of gold, as though it is a gypsy-witch, and it teases him as it winks. The chancellor sits first, the Knight after. Silence hangs in the air for a moment, and you can feel the merging emotions as though they were the scents of foods: worry, doubt, fear, impatience, and a tad of expectation.

'So. Knight Germont. It is good of you to come, good of you, very good of you. The weather was harsh; we almost thought not to expect you! Nonsense, do you think? We should've had more faith, I know; but you cannot blame us. Great men can cower before nature, even.'

He speaks too much, and the Knight shifts uncomfortably. He does not respond because it does not put an end to the talk.

'And you are among the great men, to come to our little meeting in the rain. Just for our business! Good sir, such fortitude. Without a carriage! You have my admiration.'

Then your admiration is not worth much, you spoiled boar. But the Knight does not voice his thoughts; he is here for business and business alone, and he will not speak until he can see the promised gold.

'Ah, but we dawdle. We are private, very private, in this room. No maids to come in, no aristocrat thinking to host their little tryst in this place. I've made sure of this. I just thought to let you know. To reduce worry, my friend.'

But thankfully, before the Knight can begin to grimace, the chancellor pulls from the pocket of his doublet a hefty-looking sack: it is gray and bulky, full and full of coins.

The Knight leans in.

'50 gold pieces. As was promised. If there is trouble, we shall throw in 20 more.'

So. The business has begun, finally. 'I am not the Fifth Knighted, Lord Chancellor. You know he is the King's most trusted. I cannot tell you as much as he, and you know he shan't shift.'

The chancellor nods sanctimoniously, as though he were that very Knight. 'He is no turncoat.'

There is stiffening, and there is tension.

'Ah. Forgive that. An unnecessary little comment, not at all meant to be taken to offence. Please, forgive that. I shrug it off even now; see? So. 50 pieces. Do you require more?'

'No.'

'We are private here; I don't suppose you'd want to try this any other day?'

'No, sir. It'd be best to have this over quick.'

'Then you will tell us all we need to know? Every last state secret? Every allusion made at the meetings of the King and his Knighted? Every single detail?'

'You put it so crassly.'

The chancellor – the nobleman, the gentleman, the rich and wealthy benefactor of a most filthy conspiracy – sits back and is for a fleeting moment honest. The talkative lunatic is gone, now. 'This is crass work; crassly is the only way to put it. How can we be positive you do not withhold information?'

The Knight smiles for the first time in weeks. He does not smile much anymore, unless it is for something that truly sets his heart alight.

'Why, 10 more pieces and you have yourself a Judas.'

It is gold, in this case.

fin.

- - - - -

Afterthoughts: This fic is not sequential, people. The lady in Oneshot 2 is NOT the lady in Oneshot 1. This is merely a collection of 3 oneshots, 3 different stories with different themes. And they are all anonymous – with the exception of Germont. Think of it as my other piece 'Classic', yes?

I'd also like to know what chapter was your favorite, by the way. Just out of curiosity.

So read and review. And don't mind my present crankiness; 'tis no fault of yours. :virtual hugs for everyone: