The Cogman

Vystral wasted no time in hurrying the girl inside, although it wasn't without a quick glance over the street outside. Once the door was bolted firmly between himself and the outside, he felt a weight lift from his chest. He stepped further into the abode, to allow for some breathing room between the three of them. He took a knee before the girl, and reached into her hood to turn her head from side to side. "Not while I live and breathe," He murmured quietly. "But how long that will remain a constant is anybody's guess." He glanced over the hooded head, towards his host.

"I need to apologize for the abrupt intrusion, miss Conway." He let his eyes rake the child for injuries. "There are some secrets that you would be better off not knowing. Deniability, and the like. How is your leg, Anya? How much of the smoke did you breathe?"

Abruptly, the child took a step back, frustrated. "Vystral," She said, firmly. "I am unhurt. Stop your fawning."

With a frown for the child, the Cogman rose, crossing his arms over his chest. "Suffice it to say that there are those that would see my niece in a fresh bed of salt and soil before her time came. Where I'm going, I can't have her following me. She needs a dry roof away from prying eyes. Can I depend on yours?" He fixed Samantha with an intense sort of stare.
 
She was fighting a tumult of anger, the force of which was threatening to breach her defences. The sheer audacity of this visit was just incomprehensible, and Samantha simply didn't know how to react. The maternal instinct to help this poor child was a large portion of the emotions fighting for dominance, there was a generous portion of confusion, along with a sizeable amount of dumb rage. It was to be expected. Very few, even the most philanthropic of the human race, would take kindly to being disturbed in the middle of the night by a dark stranger and his pretty niece.

In any event, Samantha soon answered, "Yes, you do." She replied callously, fully expecting many apologies to come. "I have no desire to be involved with whatever trouble you are in. However, I will shelter your niece for the time being."

More used to affectionately polishing brass than caring for children, Samantha had no real desire to help this child, but she could not just turn her away. Although she never liked to get involved with the dangerous, she was not cold hearted enough to simply ignore something as dire as this. She had always been awkward around children, she never knew where to find the middleground between harsh words and patronisation. But if this girl was no fool, which in the short time she had been here, she did not seem to be, then she would not have any quibbles about this emergency guardian or her meagre offering of a home.
 
Vystral gave his the young girl a long-suffering look once more, before turning his attention in full towards the tinker. "My word as a Cogman is a bare thing indeed, lady Conway. But you have it that in due time you'll be repaid tenfold for your kindness." A hand rose to the inner-breast pocket of his duster, and he produced a folded sheet of parchment slightly yellowed with age. "Bring this to any banker in the Inner City, and it will be good for two hundred Merchants should you need. More will come." He offered the paper to the woman between two soot-darkened fingers.

Anya had, during this exchange, begun to examine the tools of Samantha's trade. She was careful to look only, with her hands folded delicately at her waist. She had the bearing of a noble's child, which again posed the question; what was she doing in the charge of a Cogman?

Whether Samantha took the envelope or not, Vystral let his hand fall to his side. "Precious child," He said to Anya, who turned to look upon him with an encouraging smile. "Be kind and be good. I will return as I am able, and with a creamcake for your patience."

With a fond smile, the girl waved her hand at him. "I'm sure your tinker will take good care of me, uncle." To Samantha she turned, and spoke directly for the first time since entering. "Thank you, miss Conway."
 
Now that it was decided how this situation would be handled, Samantha really just wanted to get back to sleep. It would most likely be a trying visit, whether that be for the young girl or the tinker. Perhaps the child would struggle to cope with such meagre lodgings, she was clearly well born, and although she seemed to have some dubious relation in this Cogman, Samantha found the connection dubious at best. Even so, it had been decided, so whatever was being hidden would just have to remain buried for the duration of the womans involvement, for she had no desire to wade any further into this quagmire.

"I can't take that." Samantha spoke quickly, not quite affronted by the offer but still refusing to take any money from Vystral, despite the fact that some sort of service was most definitely being rendered. Samantha simply stood, slightly on edge, though she managed not to show this too much in her expression. The two saying their goodbyes was a welcome distraction, which the woman used as time to compose herself.

Once the girl spoke to her, Samantha smiled ever so slightly, "It is nothing." And with that, she began rummaging through a pile of bed clothes, most of which were musty and stale. They weren't the most inviting of things, but it would do for however long the girl stayed. "You are welcome to my bed. Is there anything else you need?" She gestured to the small bed in the corner. It was clean enough, perhaps not what the girl was used to, but it was hardly a time to be complaining, and the child hardly seemed the type to do so anyway.
 
Vystral took a last glance at the merchant. He let out a sigh of resignation, and moved to let himself out. (after some fiddling with the securities in place) Closing the door behind him, he quickly vanished into the night.

Anya lifted her little hands to push back her hood, and then to release the clasp of her cloak. Beneath it was a pretty blue dress of humble fabric, but finely cut. It fell to her ankles, and was fastened with buttons right up to her throat. It's sleeves were long, although smudged with dirty handprints that looked to be of a size with the Cogman's. Her feet were shod with plain, sturdy boots that disappeared beneath the hem of her skirts.

She was a beautiful child, with hair a shade of burnished gold that fell in ringlets about her heart-shaped face, down to the small of her back. "I'm afraid that we left in something of a hurry," She admitted. "I hate to impose on you any farther than I already have, but I am quite without nightclothes. Do you have a spare blouse, or shift that I could sleep in?" She folded the cloak as she spoke, stepping over to the bed briskly.
 
No. This child had no business here. Samantha doubted any explanation would be forthcoming, and that was the way it should remain. The less she knew about this odd turn of events, the better. Perhaps it was cowardly to bury ones head in the sand like that, but at least it did sometimes work. So, as Anya revealed yet more of herself, her clothes so out of place in this drab room. There was quality to the girl, something that exuded class but remained humble enough not to overpower the woman in the room that just had no clue how to behave with this child.

The mention of nightclothes sent the woman into a flurry of movement. At once she was digging through yet more drifts of what might have been junk, but did at least contain some treasures, such as the plainly fashioned blouse that would have to do as the girls attire for the night. Once upon a time it had been white, but of course, without the time or means to scrub all her clothes, the shirt had become more of an off-white, grubby colour that was at least no dirtier than any of the other clothes Samantha wore on a day to day basis.

"Here. I apologise, I have nothing more suitable." This was spoken hastily, followed up with a yawn that was poorly disguised. "If there is nothing else, I really should be getting some sleep, and I daresay you ought to as well." Samantha assumed there couldn't be much more to do tonight, and began arranging her blankets on the floor, hoping there would be enough layers to protect against the hard wooden floor. It wasn't for long, and at least it would make her appreciate the bed once she was resident in it again.
 
Anya nodded her thanks, and accepted the blouse. She changed with as much modesty as she was able to in the small abode, and spoke quietly as she did. "You've no need to apologize. It suits sleeping very well." She gathered her discarded clothing in her arms once she'd finished, as well as her shoes, as she approached the bed. Without hesitation, (or even so much as a grimace of distaste) the girl slipped into the bedsheets. Gathering them around her, she curled herself up with her back to the wall.

"Good night, miss Conway."

________________________________________________________________

Come morning, Vystral wasn't back. Nor did he return the next day, or the next. Four days in whole passed, and with each the lovely sun-haired child grew more reserved. Concern for her mysterious Cogman was obvious. It was one such day as these, that she was sitting idle in Samantha's home, that a knock came to the door late one evening.

The girl sprang to her feet, propriety forgotten. Even noble children could forget their manners sometimes. She raced across the little house in her appropriated nightshirt, her bare feet hammering the floorboards. The girl began fussing anxiously with the locks and bolts, calling through the door as she did. "Vystral! I knew you'd come-" As she swung the door open, a figure stepped inside forcing her back by proximity. It was a man shorter than the Cogman, with an oft-broken nose, and sunken knuckles that spoke of a brawler. "-back..." She finished, her words trailing off.

He smelled of sour ale, and his scalp was shorn close to the scalp, leaving only a wiry bristle of hair in a balding pattern, ringing his greasy head. He had a cudgel on his hip, and a vile grin on his face. "Your Cogman's gone swimmin' princess," He breathed.

She let out a squeal and darted farther into the little home, with the man hot on her heels.
 
Samantha was pleased over the next few days to see that her charge was indeed no trouble at all. The girl seldom asked for anything, and on the occassion that she did make a request, it was invariably something essential, rather than frivolous. However, it was not pleasant to watch the vivacious young girl withdraw into herself as day by day, the Cogman seemed further and further away. Even so, the tinker endeavoured to remain positive, not nurturing any worry that might be in the child, instead choosing to carry on her market days as normal, encouraging the girl to partake in the various elements of her work. If she was occupied with this, then perhaps her fears for her dearly loved companion would not rise to the surface so quickly.

In the evenings, Samantha continued to work on mostly junk. When the girl rose so suddenly to the sound of knocking, the tinker was attempting to disembowel the remnants of some contraption that was so damaged it was unrecognisable. She maintained hope that within the object there would remain some relatively unscathed pieces, and so worked carefully to extract what little profit she could from this battered thing. She left her work immediately when Anya ran for the door, also assuming that Vystral had returned.

The moment it became apparent that this man was most certainly not the Cogman, Samantha became fiercely protective. Needless to say, she did not take kindly to brutes such as this one in her home, and the words she heard spoken did nothing to calm her anger. The woman met Anya as the girl fled, ensuring the bright girl remained safely behind her as the elder stood firm in between the thug and her charge. The alarm had been great, and it was for this reason that Samantha held a small gun at the ready. It was almost small enough for a childs hands, designed as such to ensure it would remain undetected on Samantha's person. Although it was small, the shot within it would still cause sufficient damage to this intruder, should he encourage her to fire.

Not thinking about the ramifications of revealing such an obviously illegal weapon, Samantha simply spoke coldly, "If you have any sense, you will leave now. You will not return." Her eyes met those of the nameless man, piercing and strong, challenging him to defy her. Of course, there was the good chance that if she did fire, she would miss, as she had not actuallly had opportunity to practice firing, but he didn't know that. Samantha just had to hope this would not come down to a battle of strength, as it was blindingly obvious who would win that one.
 
The goon froze in the hallway, his beady little eyes fixing on the firearm as Anya darted behind the tinker. A grimace sprang up on the man's face, as he weighed the likelihood of getting shot, against the reward he'd get for bringing back the girl. "Don't be an idiot missy," He said, lifting his hands in a placating gesture, taking another step nearer. "You don't want to go 'splainin' a body in your sittin' room to the magistrate. That girl there's more trouble'n she's worth. Whatever they're payin' you to keep 'er, I can double, easy." He grinned, revealing teeth dark from the effects of Ballum, an addictive sea weed that -when refined- served as an anesthetic.

Anya -for her part- was having none of it. Knowing better than to cling, and hobble her defenders, she hurried to the workbench to find a makeshift weapon. She came up with a star-point screwdriver, and hid it in the folds of her nightshirt as she turned to face the man in her doorway once again. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her knees felt like jelly. "He's a liar," The girl said, her voice tremulous despite her efforts to keep it calm. "He can't have any witnesses."

The balding man grimaced, and snarled at the girl. "Shut your mouth, and it'll go better for you." Back to the gun-toting woman, his eyes swung. His wicked mirth was gone. "Look, the little witch doesn't know what's what. She's been took by a Cogman. They're all witches, you know. Got powers. They can get in yer head." One thick finger rose to tap his temple. "Fill it with lies. She's missed, and there are folks as want 'er back real bad. They'd be willing to pay a small fortune for 'er safe return."
 
There was little to be said for standing up for oneself. At the present time it seemed far more trouble than it was worth. However, Samantha had made her decision to protect this girl, and would not back down so easily. She remained focused on the oaf of a man, eyes not wavering for even a second, though her hand did ever so slightly betray her. As bold as the young woman was, adrenaline was still pumping through her body, forcing minute tremors that caused her outstretched arm to tremble a little. It was hardly a massive shake, but it was still not the best display of control in the world.

"You will not have her, no matter how much you offer." Samantha retorted, quite affronted by the insinuation that she would be swayed so easily by greed. "The girl is no prisoner, she will return if and when she chooses to." She chose not to ponder too much on the mans words of witchcraft and manipulation, feeling that it was a moot point given the present situation. Instead, she simply stuck to her guns, feeling that it was best to keep things simple. Intruder equals bad. Anya equals good. Protect the good. It was caveman stuff, but it seemed to be serving her well enough at the present time.

The tinker took a step forward, attempting to intimidate the man, though there was a strong possibility that he would only laugh in her face. "You have one more chance. Leave, or I shoot you where you stand. I'm more than happy to risk the magistrate if it means you leave Anya be." This was no bluff. Samantha had promised to keep the girl safe, and she would do so, no matter the cost. Even if Samantha was dragged screaming to her punishment, the girl would at least have a safehouse. But hopefully it would not come to that, stranger things have happened.
 
The wide brawler grimaced chewing over his options as the slip of a tinker stepped forward, brandishing her gun. "Be reasonable," He said, his knuckles cracking as his meaty hands curled into fists. "There'll be trouble for you. We knows where she is now, and you've got to sleep some time. She's nothin' to you but a mouth to feed, and worse besides." He was playing for time. Stalling. But for what?

When Samantha reached behind herself, Anya slipped her tiny hand into the tinker's, and she gave it a squeeze. She peeked out from behind her guardian, one big, blue eye. Her eyes widened, and her grip on Samantha's hand tightened.

An eerie silence pervaded the night. No insects, no hiss of gas lamps. Only the sounds of breathing filled the air. Oblivious, the grunt continued. "You can't coop up all day, every day. My mum says the stick an' the carrot work well. We've tried the carrot missy, and you don't want to see the stick."

A shadow loomed in the open doorway behind the thug. The shadow of a tall man. Silently, as if the night had come alive to step through Samantha's doorway, the shadow looped an arm 'round the beady-eyed man's throat, quick as a snake. The man tensed, and reached for his bludgeon. Something gave him pause however. Metal glinted, as shadow melted away from the figure, revealing the grim face of the Cogman. He was sopping wet, and dripping on the floor. His feet were oddly bare, and his left pantleg was tainted red from calf to heel. A turn of light flashed silver from a blade he'd held in his free hand, tucked just under the wider man's arm along his ribcage. Seven inches of narrow steel.

"We're going for a walk," He whispered into the thug's ear, backpedaling from the women. When they got to the doorway, he turned about to put himself between the tough and his charge. He'd lost the duster somewhere along the way, as well as his gunbelt. "Not a sound."
 
It was probable that each of the females were receiving an equal amount of fortitude from one another, which perhaps wasn't the most ideal situation, though thankfully it seemed that the elder was holding herself together relatively well, even if she was entirely playing this by ear. Samantha almost lost it when the shadowed figure made himself known. Just another ounce of pressure on the trigger and quite a hole may have been blown in someone. Quite who, it was impossible to say, but that was beside the point. Gunshot tended to send men into a frenzy, and it was likely that more than just one of them would have been killed, had the tinker not recognised Vystral so quickly.

As it was, Samantha remained stock still, slightly stunned by the appearance of the Cogman. Somehow she had almost forgotten entirely about his existence, although now that he had returned the woman was extremely glad of it. He was injured, clearly, but did not seem to be in a terribly bad way, despite the ordeal he had obviously been through. For the time being it didn't matter, the man had some semblance of control, and was dealing with the thug far more expediently and successfully than Samantha had been doing.

As the two men left, one of the two under considerable duress, Samantha turned to the girl, crouching down to her level. "Vystral will return, we must wait for him here." Samantha had faith that he would. Afterall, he had come back tonight, and she assumed he would deal with that awful creature before returning to them. "Help me gather some supplies for him." She assumed he would need bandaging up, perhaps a rudimentary attempt at stitches too. He would also need clothes. Of course, that would be an issue, considering she was a woman living alone, but she did still have her fathers old greatcoat.
 
Anya's heart leaped into her throat, as the Cogman seized the thug, and began to escort him from the abode. She very nearly went after him, when Samantha spoke. Big, blue eyes swung up to the tinker's face, and she nodded briskly. "Of course," She murmured, and she turned to replace the star-point screwdriver on a nearby table. She took a few calming breaths, and set herself to the task of gathering anything that Samantha indicated for her to gather.

As it turned out, the women wouldn't have long to wait on the Cogman. He approached the now-closed door quietly, although not with the eerie silence that had heralded his arrival earlier. His feet were still bare, but a pair of boots dangled from one of his hands. Doubtless those of the thug that he'd carried off into the night. The knife was tucked into a scabbard attached to his belt at the small of his back. His clothing was no worse for wear than when he'd left, which was to say that they were sopping and blood-stained.

He knocked on the frame once again, half-turning to observe the street as he waited for it to open. Anya glanced up from her work gathering the amenities that they'd need to see to Vystral. For a moment, panic gripped her. Had the bald man overpowered the Cogman somehow? Had he come back to take her away? Wide, blue eyes darted to Samantha. Her fear melted however, as Vystral's voice came through the door. "Precious child, I've returned. Are you well? Is the tinker?"
 
Clearing a space on her workbench, Samantha arranged the various items somewhat neatly, taking solace in this task. It was still an upward struggle, fighting off the worry that sat heavy in her gut, but at least the edge was taken off the emotion. She also remained attentive to the girl, not fussing over her, but remaining close by in case of any downward spiral the young thing might experience. There was no need for this, the girl was of a strong character, and was also somewhat stoic alot of the time, so there was very little need to remain anxious.

A short while later, the knock on the door caused the tinker to jump almost out of her skin. Tonight had been somewhat stressful, as most would understand. However, the woman soon composed herself, rushing to the safely locked entrance and granting entry to the Cogman. She hurried him in, as if he might have hesitated. Once the man was inside, Samantha bolted the door again, checking twice that it was indeed secure. She would be forgiven for her intense fear of more intruders, it had been one hell of a few days.

"Out of those clothes. You can change into what's on the workbench." The tinker spoke plainly, feeling that it was far more important to be practical, rather than worry about finding out how Vystral was, or what had gone on over the last few days. "When you are changed, I will see to your wound. Is it just your leg?"

Although Samantha remained curious about the reason behind the violence of this evening, she saw no reason to hurry into that discussion, or even to raise it at all. She knew that she was already in far deeper than was safe to be - in fact she was rapidly heading out of her depth - but perhaps it was not too late to turn and head for shore. It was more than likely that this was wishful thinking, and in her heart the tinker knew that, it was just a joy to hold onto for just a little bit longer.
 
Vystral wasted no time in stepping inside, eager to reduce the chances of exposing the women to any greater danger than they were already in. His eyes flew to Anya first. Once he was satisfied that she'd not been hurt, he nodded his head briskly to make his way to the workbench. The little home didn't afford for much privacy, but then Vystral wasn't a terribly shy fellow. His sopping shirt came undone button after button, and he pulled it from his trousers without so much as a glance at the women. He had the decency to keep his back to them as he changed. He was a handsome man, and well built for his height. He had shoulders not too broad, but very decidedly masculine and muscular besides. He sported few scars, though none of them appeared to be disfiguring or horrific.

His belt came away next, although it remained close at hand along with the long narrow blade fastened to it. His trousers gave him the most trouble, with the flesh around the left calf as ginger as it was. Down he slid the slacks, doing his best not to let the fabric cling to his wound. The result was a graceless lot of hopping, cursing, and grunting.

His smallclothes he'd keep, unless there were an unlikely set provided, before donning whatever else the woman had to spare. As he dressed, Anya spoke. "I'm so glad you're back. I thought you'd died." To that, the Cogman shot a short, fierce smile over his shoulder. He spoke, but to Samantha rather than the child. "I've got one that needs attendance, but it's not life-threatening. Just a graze."

To Anya, he said, "And I told you I'd be back. But here I am, with no creamcake. Which I intend to remedy in full come morning." Back to the tinker his eyes turned. "I only intend to stay as long as the morning, to be sure the fellow didn't have any other companions that think it might be a good idea to come looking."
 
In favour of worrying about public decency, Samantha simply turned to the stove where she intended to boil a small amount of water with which to clean the wound. Thankfully it was a quick job, hopefully allowing time for it to cool sufficiently before being applied to the wound. Samantha fussed over the pot for a while longer than was strictly necessary, allowing the Cogman to change into the dry clothes without prying eyes - not that Samantha had intended to watch - she just knew that sometimes when there was nothing else to do, the eyes did have a tendency to wander to inappropriate places. It was same the world over. If a fire broke out, which wasn't a terribly rare occurence, most would stand and stare rather than doing anything to remedy the situation.

"Sit. Give me your leg." Samantha finally spoke, once Anya and her protector had finished conversing with one another. She had no desire to intrude upon the two. The tinker dropped to her knees, wringing out a cloth in the still hot water. It would undoubtedly sting, but it was better to ensure any infectious agents were swept from the wound. Without warning, Samantha applied the cloth, wiping down the wound in smooth but firm movements, being as gentle as she could, but not exactly pulling any punches.

As she did this, she had to speak to Vystral, "How much danger is she in?" Samantha had to admit, she was slightly fond of the girl, and although the level of threat posed to the girl directly correlated to her own safety, there was genuine concern in there. She also fretted for the Cogman, though to a lesser extent. He could clearly handle himself. Whilst waiting for her answer, Samantha began to dry and then bind the wound, leaving the flesh to knit itself back together, rather than attempting to stitch it herself. It didn't appear to be necessary at this stage.
 
Vystral didn't dally about with dressing himself, and he buckled the belt around his hips once again. When directed to sit, he levered himself up onto the workbench where he'd found the clothes, bending to drag the pantleg up from his wound. The question posed by the tinker gave him pause. It was obvious that he couldn't just tell the woman that it was safer not knowing. It wasn't. "More danger than any little girl ought to be in." He murmured. "The people who sent the bruisers won't stop now that their hirelings have gone missing. I don't think there are any left that know where your home is," He admitted, "But I could be wrong."

He stopped speaking when the cloth touched down on the wound. It put a bit of stiffness in his back, and drew a grunt from him, but otherwise resulted only in a tightening of his hands on the edge of the workdesk. Anya smiled at the man, although there was concern overshadowing her expression. "Does it hurt, Vystral?" She stood a few feet off, near enough to satisfy her desire to stay close to the safety that her Cogman promised, while not getting in Samantha's way.

The man grinned at the little girl. "It's just a scratch. No worse than a skinned knee." Rolling his eyes expressively, he let himself relax when the tinker set to binding the wound. "Miss Conway, I won't lie to you. Things may very well be more dangerous from here out. I suspect that I owe you something more of an explanation, but once you hear it there'll be no turning back. I can tell you the whole, unembellished truth, or I can take my niece tonight and you'll never see us again."
 
So, it hadn't just been a lone thug. It was perhaps not surprising that this was the case, but the tinker was grateful to have this confirmed. She also noticed that they had all apparently gone missing. She thought that it was probably best not to ponder on where they had ended up. She had no clue if Vystral was the type of man to kill so easily, for she really had no clue of who he was in general. He was an enigma, though not one that was antirely disconcerting, it was more the men who pursued him that were cause for concern. So far, the tinker trusted this man, however misplaced this may or may not be.

She let the two proceed with their words, not doubting that the two were close in some way. She still had no idea what their true relation was, but the bond between them was all that really mattered. It was admirable, really, though it was still an extremely difficult situation to understand. But thankfully, the Cogman did soon offer some explanation, though with caveats in place. Samantha might have once jumped at the idea of learning the truth, but today she was hesitant, clearly mulling the idea over carefully. Although she did indeed wish to aid this girl in whichever way it was possible to do so, there was still her own safety to consider.

However, a mixture of compassion for the girl and her protector, as well as plain old curiosity soon made the decision. "Tell me the truth." Samantha decided, standing as she spoke, now having finished the wrapping of the wound. "Anya, you do not object?" Should the girl wish for their secrets to remain their own, the tinker would not press. To a degree it would be a blessing, should that be the case, though perhaps a niggling would always remain.
 
Anya shook her head slowly from side to side to indicate that she did not in fact object. She did however draw closer to the Cogman, who lifted a hand to stroke the girl's golden curls fondly. "As you know," He began, watching the face of the tinker sternly. "Five years gone, there was a coup that overthrew the Straste royal line. Maybe for better, maybe for worse."

Down to the sun-haired child he looked again, his expression softening. "And five years ago a child was thrust into my arms, as I fled through passageways dark and secret from the fires of revolution. It is my honor present you, Samantha Conway, to Onyares Straste. Blessed under the Gods, Lady of the Seven Peaks, Warden of the Western Sea, and one true heir to the throne." The smile he turned on the tinker was bitter.

"You'll curse me for the knowledge soon enough, I'm sure. If anybody so much as thought you knew about Anya, they wouldn't hesitate to clap you in irons, and they'd lose no sleep in sending for an inquisitor." He let out a gentle sigh. "There's more to the tale of course, but it can wait 'til you've had some much needed rest. It would be prudent to get a move on in the morning. There are still some loyalists in the city that will turn a kind eye on us, just so long as I can find them. You two get some sleep. We'll have an early start come morning."
 
Samantha waited respectfully for the story to begin, and was somewhat taken aback by the mention of the now almost forgotten Royal line. Of course, many still privately knew them, but in public there was never a mention of the long since gone era. For a moment the woman simply reeled at the mention of the name, although of course she quickly went back to listening to what was being said. Unsurprisingly, the revelation of the girls true heritage was a shock, and did make it clear just how dire the situation was. A surviving heir to the throne, that was most definitely not something the current government would allow to continue.

No doubt, there were many questions to be asked, but Vystral was right. The hour was late, and they were in great need of some well earned rest. So, owing to this fact, the tinker resisted asking all the many burning questions, instead speaking slowly, "Perhaps, but thankyou for your honesty." Even now, it must be difficult to trust. Although Samantha had proven some semblance of loyalty, there was always the chance that she could turn, instead reporting the presence of the girl to the authorities. Many in her position might have done, but thankfully this woman had a little more integrity, and perhaps an unhealthy helping of foolishness.

"You also need sleep, you cannot continue indefinitely." She spoke with a kind concern, although she had no doubt that the man had already decided which course of action he was going to take. He most likely had a plan for the coming days ahead, it was the only way such people coiuld survive. They had to be several steps ahead, particularly with such noble and almost blasphemous charges.
 
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