Chapter 2.4 - In which Percy babysits a concussed aristocrat

Percy

Month 12, Day 19, Saturday 6:00 p.m.

“The blood isn’t mine,” Percy whispered. “We need to be quiet. The sorcerer could hear us.” He decided on the window. That was a more unexpected exit. “Help me move the bed.” He gestured to the door. “It might help slow the sorcerer down, if he finds us.”

Percy and Tennyson worked together to lift and lever up the entire bed to lean against the door, though Tennyson’s efforts were hindered by his trembling arms. The young man’s face was pale, and he swayed again as they maneuvered the heavy piece of furniture.

“Do you think the mattress can absorb a concussive blast?” Tennyson whispered, his voice again too loud. “Well, better getting hit by a mattress than wood shrapnel!”

They dragged the bedside table beneath the window and Percy climbed up first, pushing open the glass pane as quietly as he could. He looked both ways and, seeing no one, heaved himself up and wriggled out. His ribs shifted, and his mouth pooled with saliva as his body decided that vomiting might be a plausible pain-relief method. He landed on the ground with a muffled whimper, then lay there for a moment.

This wasn’t the worst injury he’d ever received, but it was pretty close. However, he’d learned long ago that even when the world turned against you, training, toughness, and sheer force of will could see you through. His luck might be horrible, but he could still get out of this if he reacted well enough. He gritted his teeth and took a few seconds to force himself upright again.

Tennyson followed, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. As he attempted to hoist himself through the narrow opening, his foot caught on the windowsill. He tumbled forward with a yelp, nearly taking Percy down with him. Somehow, Percy managed to grab him by the shoulders and turn Tennyson’s falling body so that the young man didn’t land on his head.

Tennyson landed on his butt instead, which probably was too bony to cushion him much at all, and rolled around for a good few seconds as he clutched his rear in pain.

“I’m okay,” Tennyson finally gasped out. “Let us get on with our daring escape.”

Percy grabbed Tennyson’s arm and pulled the much taller young man upright, then leaned on him for support as they escaped all too slowly down the empty street.

“I bet they are trying to summon some sort of eldritch horror to terrorize the city,” Tennyson said breathlessly. “Or perhaps they are attempting to open a portal to the Elemental Planes and let the creatures and energies within spill forth to wreak havoc.”

Percy didn’t respond, too busy scanning their surroundings for danger. “Shh,” he reminded absently, squinting to see better through his cracked, dirty glasses.

Tennyson ignored him. “You know, I wouldn’t have even been here if I hadn’t decided to take on Lord Cyr’s challenge. He challenged me to race our new erythreans through the streets, and of course I was going to beat Cyr—I’m quite the accomplished equestrian, you know—but Father has forbidden me from borrowing his destrier, and so my steed was a little…skittish. Bolted as soon as the sirens went off, despite my cool-headed attempts to calm him.”

A sizzling sound approached, and acting on the lightning-quick reflexes honed by a lifetime of practice and bearing the consequences of failure, Percy yanked Tennyson to the side just as a bright red battle spell whizzed past them. It missed by mere inches and left a smoking scorch mark on the wall a few meters in front of them.

Percy lunged into an alley, pulling Tennyson into the relative safety between two buildings.

Tennyson patted himself down, wide-eyed, then looked back at the space the spell had passed through. “Your reflexes are astounding. How did you know that was coming?”

“Training.” Percy steeled himself, then poked his head out for a split-second peek around the corner.

The blood sorcerer was striding toward them, battle wand in hand.

Percy turned and began hobbling further down the alley as quickly as he could move. “We can’t allow him an unbroken line of sight to us. If get caught in the open or trapped in a dead end, he’ll blast us into bits and sprinkle our remains around. Hurry!”

“Don’t worry, Percy,” Tennyson said, his voice trembling slightly and belying his reassurance. “Once we get to the coppers, I’ll send a runner for my father. He’ll have this whole mess sorted out in no time. Perhaps we can even get you a commendation for your bravery!”

Percy glanced at Tennyson. The rich young man’s hands were shaking, and his face was pale beneath the drying blood.

“That’s… That’s great, Tennyson,” Percy said softly, in the same way he might speak to Gideon if the young boy were beside him instead. He swallowed, trying to keep his own voice steady. “But first, we need to focus on getting out of here alive.”

Tennyson cracked a crooked, roguish smile. “Didn’t I say not to worry? This injury is merely the first chapter of my heroic saga. When the dust settles, I will emerge stronger, and the world will remember the name Tennyson Bourgeron.” He straightened, and his eyes flashed with a dangerous light.

For a moment, Percy was almost fooled.

But then Tennyson swayed on his feet, heaved with obvious nausea, and had to swallow down a mouthful of vomit.

With a shudder of sympathetic revulsion, Percy guided Tennyson to the back of another house with a window slightly ajar. They hurried to scramble inside and close the window again behind them.

The signs of the residents’ hasty evacuation was evident in the overturned furniture and scattered belongings. Percy led Tennyson toward the front of the house in a crouch, hoping to escape through the front door as the blood sorcerer followed their trail into the alley. Unfortunately, the front door was already blown in, and someone had spread several organs and chunks of blood jelly.

“I don’t know if I can jump that,” Tennyson admitted. “And if we walk through it, the blood trail will give us away.”

Percy stared at the mess in the doorway, trying to reorient himself in space. Had he gotten turned around? How had the blood sorcerer already gotten to this house? The man had been coming from the other direction when Percy met him. His heart tightened with sudden realization. “There might be multiple blood sorcerers,” he whispered. “At least two.” It made sense. After all, the man had already admitted he was part of an organization. Percy should have guessed this was a possibility from the beginning.

Hurriedly, they retreated to a room on the side of the house.

Percy’s eyes caught the uniform of the coppers on the two men within before his brain fully caught up with the situation, and he had a short moment of surprised relief. The emotion died immediately, since the two coppers at the far side of the room were slumped on the floor, collapsed against each other and clearly unconscious, though still breathing. They had no obvious injuries. On the contrary, empty bottles littered the floor around them, and spilled alcohol had puddled and soaked into their clothing. The smell was strong enough to singe Percy’s nostril hairs.

He stared at the men for a couple of seconds, silent.

“Wow,” Tennyson said. “Drinking on the job? And in such…impressive amounts.”

Percy let out a hollow laugh. These were the people meant to protect them, and yet here they were, incapacitated when they were needed most.

“What shall we do about these poor chaps? I could carry both of them if not for my injuries, but as it is…” Tennyson, who had the build of a slightly starved scarecrow, looked Percy up and down doubtfully. “And, well, you might be very brave, but I doubt you could manage to haul an unconscious man. Perhaps some sort of stretcher?”

Percy took a deep breath, trying to think rationally despite the panic clawing at his chest.“Tennyson,” he began carefully, “I don’t think we can take them with us. We’re both injured, and they’re too heavy. Plus, we don’t know how far we’d have to carry them to find help.”

Tennyson’s face fell. “Even people who get drunk on the job don’t deserve to be murdered in a blood ritual.”

Percy pressed on, “The Red Guard will be here soon. They’re trained for this kind of situation. We can’t carry these men, and we don’t have the time to try to hide them. The best thing we can do for them is get out of this house quickly so that we don’t lead a blood sorcerer right to them.”

Tennyson eyed Percy judgmentally, but agreed.

Unfortunately, the coppers were slumped right beneath the room’s only window, which was once again too high to easily climb through. With no time to move them, they had to scramble over their unconscious bodies instead. Percy winced as he accidentally trod on one man’s hand, then on his shoulder, and finally kicked the man’s head as he pulled himself through the window.

“Sorry!” Percy whispered, though the insensate man didn’t even twitch.

As he and Tennyson emerged onto the street, Percy crouched down, ignoring his protesting knee, and searched for any sign of pursuit. His palms were sweating, which made dried blood coating them uncomfortably tacky.

They hurried on, keeping to the edge of the sidewalk, ready to dodge into the small alleys between houses at the hint of danger. Not all of the houses on this street had their doors blown in.

Suddenly, Tennyson froze, gripping Percy’s arm and dragging him to press into the depressed archway around one house’s door.

Percy squinted through his glasses. In the distance another figure was walking down the street toward them. This person was dressed similarly to the blood sorcerer they had encountered earlier—heavily protected with a mask and goggles. However, they were wearing a thick leather trench coat rather than an apron.

The archway wasn’t deep enough to truly shield the two young men from sight. The sorcerer would notice them if he or she got much closer. Their only hope was that the sorcerer would be distracted with blowing down another doorway, and the two of them could dash away when the person wasn’t looking.

To Percy’s surprise, however, the figure didn’t approach them. Instead, it turned and ran in the opposite direction, moving with a speed that suggested genuine fear.

Tennyson gulped audibly and leaned over to whisper closer to Percy’s ear. “I have just had a horrible premonition, Percy. What could be so terrifying as to make that villain flee?”

Percy looked down the street in the other direction and saw nothing, but that was hardly enough to reassure him. “Let’s go.” Without another word, they both darted forward as fast as they could manage, fleeing until they had left the scene of the ritual far behind.

Author Note: I'll be back on Monday or Tuesday (depending on my availability) with a bonus chapter. :)

Weekly discussion thread on the Alcove: https://alcove.azaleaellis.com/t/chapter-2-4-in-which-percy-babysits-a-concussed-aristocrat/855