The Restless Fugitive (Closed)

[Duffy]

The Restless Fugitive

Queens & Dresden.jpg

References events depicted in: Dead Sun Rising, Stairway to Heaven, Little Miss Monocle, Lucian's Call, Night of Debauchery, Across Ocean's Blue, The Hand That Feeds, Two Peas in a Pode, In The Shadow of Oblivion, and much of the Tantalum Troupe's past history.

Oh hear! You are nothing to me,
Not a scratch on the heart, or torn lung, nought.
I crumble at your presence but I know not why, I am bound, tied, tested.

Collect your belongings and flee, flee from the scene,.
I need you not, foul Damascus blade!
Perfect symmetry? Once, it existed between us, it is now shattered.

Like the kaleidoscope of summer, you must soon fade, spent,
I wish to see no more of you, feel no more of you, cry no more for you, be gone!
I am now my own discovery, spending dreams to trade for lovers, dead.

The Closing Line of Lysander's Flock, by Duffy Brandybuck

[Duffy]

Part One

Duffy and Ruby sat in their favourite upmarket bar in Scara Brae. It was literally up market, as it faced north towards the road leading to Market Square. For once in their lives, they had no plans for the day, and nothing much on their minds. They chatted idly, tapped rhythms on the tables, and sipped elaborate cocktails from glasses older than most of the bar’s occupants. Cut crystal shone resplendent whenever they raised them triumphant to their lips.

Eventually, when he became stiff and numb, he turned to Ruby. He lolled his head and grinned from ear to ear. He said precisely what was on his mind. “It’s too nice a day to sit around all the while. What else do you want to do?” He flicked his floppy brown locks from his brow.

“It’s a nice day for a stroll, don’t you think?” Her tone was wistful, and her smile charming. She stretched every inch of her body and nearly fell out of her chair.

“Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?” He leant back into his chair, looked up at the sky blue heavens, and for a moment, regretted suggesting they move. As the gulls flocked inland, the white vespers turned into mythical beasts.

“Not really,” she replied naturally. She set the glass down, now empty, and ran her tongue over her bottom lip. When gin was this expensive, she did not want to waste a single drop. When it was cheap, she took the same philosophy deadly serious.

The bard nodded, but did not rise immediately. He lingered over his bourbon, watched the patrons chat amongst themselves, and cast jealous glances at passers-by. As Ruby readied herself, a motley scattering of sunbeams danced along the road, putting a new perspective on the afternoon flea market in the distance. It was a perfect day for doing nothing.

“You don’t look overly enthusiastic,” she meekly added. She leant closer, to come into his distant, glazed point of view. Her nose glistened with the sun kissed appearance of a slightly sweating homemaker. Her breath smelt like the pigs she kept, but Duffy new to avoid making a comment, at all cost.

“Oh.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry.” He finished his drink, set the glass down boisterously, and slapped his thighs. He pushed himself out of the wrought iron garden chair, which shed lose a cloud of white paint chips, and rocked back and forth on heels with a rush of blood to the head. “I was just thinking how beautiful this city has become.”

Ruby rose after him, considerably more composed, and sober. “It has always been beautiful,” she corrected. It had always been a home worthy of the name. “We’ve just not had the time to just stop, look, and admire it for what it is.”

“True,” he bemoaned. He picked up his cane from against the table, and rested his weight on it. Ruby propped up her parasol and adjusted her neckerchief. Though it was sunny, warm, and bright, the women of Scara Brae had certain standards to uphold. “Shall we?” He held out an arm.

Ruby knew he was offering out of tradition, and not ability. She refused his offer politely. He needed his own strength more than she needed an escort. She walked from the veranda, heels clipping on well-trodden decking, and braved the cobbles of the thoroughfare. She stepped gingerly around a puddle of vomit, and over a sleeping drunk. The bar was upmarket, but its clientele were definitely not.

“Where do you want to go?” he enquired. He followed her with a shuffle of dusty hobnails and stifled grunts. Beneath his black trousers, his white socks were reddening. Though peace had befallen the troupe in a radiant summer, the pain of the past still cursed the bard terribly.

[Duffy]

Ruby imagined all the places she had found comforting over the years. She pictured herself in lounging recliners in parks, palaces, and greenhouses. Her memories were vivid, as if newly lived, and each made her beam a smile as they picked up their stride and made their way north. The vine covered walls of faded into dirty, bustling, and well-lived semi-detached rows. They crossed into the commercial district through a small suburb, and hit a wall of sound and life.

“I think we should find ourselves an apple turnover, waltz through the silk market, and end up at the docks for tea.” Ruby nodded in complete agreement with his suggestion.

“As long as we’re in the Old Harbour come sunset for dinner.” There was no questioning tone to her decision. Duffy had foolishly offered her the reigns, and he had no choice but to giddy as she cracked them. “You’re paying, naturally, my dear sir.”

Duffy frowned, but relented. He was just glad to be able to spend the day with a good friend, without having to worry about saving some world or other. The last thing on his mind was the undercooked prawns he had ordered last time they had gone to the seafront.

“I think I have some silver on me somewhere,” he goaded. He pretended to pat his empty pockets down, just to check. Ruby glared at him, and he stopped. She had that power, and he knew to heed it as a warning. He knew better than to test her, especially after three Old Maids. Especially when made as potently as they were in the Corneal Saloon. People travelled from all over the island to taste them, whenever they could afford it, and had to stumble home for their efforts.

“I am sure you’ll think of something,” she clucked. She quickened her pace to spite him. He hobbled after her, his face grimacing, his heart racing, and his injury bleeding feverishly.

They turned a corner.

“This is not strolling!” The bard snapped. He had to stop, stoop, and rub his leg. The pain would become easier to ignore as time went by, but if he pushed it too far, it would ruin his afternoon. “Ruby, can we please go a little slower?”

The spell singer came to abrupt halt. She turned on her heels, rested her hands on her thighs, and shrugged. Her stance said casual, her eyes said serious. The blue leather bodice of her dress caught the sun, and the backdrop of the bustling market gave her a spurious glamour.

“I always did go too quickly for you,” she teased.

“That’s not what Leopold tells me,” Duffy jibed. The innuendo was not lost on him, despite the stabbing pain in his ribs. He caught his breath at last, and stood upright. His cane found itself taking his weight again.

Ruby raised an eyebrow. It spoke a thousand words of contempt.

“You almost sound jealous, Duffy.” Ruby could not help but smirk.

Duffy puckered his lips, mocked a kiss, and broke into a fit of giggles. It was stirring how laughter could heal. When he stopped, he wobbled, as the pain resurged through his leg. He swore under his breath.

“Leopold is welcome to you, Mrs Winchester. He is the only one, after all, that can keep you sane.” By sane, he meant bat shit crazy. “I will have to do as an escort in his absence, though.” He surged forwards, took her by the arm forcibly, and carried her off with a militaristic stride into the sunny crowd.

[Duffy]

It had been far too long since Ruby and Duffy had been part of a crowd. They had been ‘in’ plenty of crowds. They had fought, tooth and nail, just to get a few feet across cityscapes and towns. That was different to being a ‘part’ of it. Now, arm in arm, they noticed the faces. They saw smiles, conversations, and stories everywhere they looked.

They felt like they were part of a community.

“Is it just me,” Ruby wheezed. She kindly pushed people out of her way as they joyfully bumped into her. “Or is it busy today?”

Market Square was the busiest place not just in the city, but also on the whole island. People came from the duchies to trade here, sometimes travelling the night before in grand, trundling caravans to make their living. Ruby noticed attire from the mining towns to the north, and sea-sewn cloaks in bright green and sea blue from the eastern coast. It was a tapestry of tradition, laced with the foreign and the wondrous.

Duffy had to agree. “It is a little teeming.” He did not have the same amount of patience she had. He pushed a little harder, and caught more than a few bitter stares for the effort. “Perhaps there is a show on?” he offered.

Ruby stopped mid-stride. She pricked her ears. Something sounded exciting.

“What is it?” the bard asked. He was sweating now.

“That sound…” She parsed her lips, as if she were going to explain, but fell silent. Duffy heard it now too. It was a tinkle of bells and a trundle of lazy feet. They recognised it together, and a surprised look struck them both.

“Ruby…it can’t be…can it?” The bard’s look of incredulity formed jowls and frown lines on his face.

The spell singer did not wait to find out. She slipped her fingers free of Duffy’s embrace, and left him to teeter on his cane to stay upright. She wove through the crowd, dress flowing, hair ablaze in sunlight, and heart racing. Her breath became short, tempered, and hurried. Her eyes sparkled with childlike curiosity. Memories from past lives flooded her, threatening to drag her kicking and screaming back into the past.

“Please let it be true…,” she wheezed under her breath. She cursed having tightened her corset so much. It felt as if her rubs were going to crack under the pressure.

“Come back here Ruby!” she heard from behind. Duffy was shouting after her, but she was not going to sway. She had seen his sparkle, she had felt his aura, and she had heard him practically sing at the prospect. All the sounds told them a troupe was about to perform in Scara Brae.

A troupe that was not called The Tantalum.

“Not on your life Bracken,” she spat, pushing and ducking and weaving through the tightening mass of bodies.

People stopped bartering, talking, and walking the closer she came to the large ornamental fountain at the heart of the square. The cobbles underfoot went from dark red to vegetable, laced with a thousand squashed fruits thrown at naughty schoolchildren and minor thieves that had lingered in the stocks. The gulls overhead called their oceanic cry, heard even over the din of the crowd.

“I don’t know Tanta-whatsit were back?” somebody asked. The plucky dialect was Scara Braen through and through. Ruby stopped dead in her tracks and worked out who the speaker was before she approached.

“Excuse me madam,” she enquired. Her common was perfect, though her accent false to not give the game away. If she spoke with her peculiar broads drawl, she would have been immediately identifiable, even with a new body.

[Duffy]

A large, wart-laden homemaker turned away from her lithe, chain-smoking friend. She stared at Ruby’s prim and proper body posture, her dress, and her delicate skin, and instantly put up walls. She folded her well-worked arms over her ample chest and pulled a gruff, man-like expression from nowhere.

“Wots?” she snarled. Her friend nodded behind her, with yellowing teeth on show, as if to repeat the question without having to put any effort into doing so.

“Did you say Tantalum Troupe?” Ruby raised an eyebrow.

Duffy finally caught up, but stopped nervously feet away to watch the tension unfold.

“Rub-” he began to say, before he stopped as she raised a hand to silence him.

“Did you…say…the Tantalum?” she repeated slowly.

Ruby did not move a muscle, in case she gave the woman cause for a fight. She had made the mistake of standing up to ‘Fishtown Widows’ before. They had hardened to the point of being rock like after their husbands had died in the war in Corone. Queen Valeena had renamed the fishmonger district to Widow Springs in their supposed honour.

“Yeah, some artsy types are settin’ summat up.” She jabbed a finger towards the fountain. “We ain’t seen their likes in o’ver a year.”

Ruby made to correct her, but reminded herself of why the former fishmonger district had a new name. The Widows of that part of town sprang people into the air with a well-aimed rolling pin for something as small as sneezing. Ruby had grown to like her current chin.

Duffy walked out from behind Ruby. “My dear sister,” he began. “You gave me quite the fright!” he whelped as he took her by the arm. He looked at the fishwife as he pulled Ruby into his embrace. He flapped his gums for something to say.

“This kind lady was just telling me that there’s a play being staged right here.” She pointed in the same direction. “Just over there in fact!”

“They better be good,” the woman barked, “or I’ll lamp them with a right proper ‘ook.” She turned back to her friend and resumed their small talk before Ruby or Duffy could bother them further.

The pair remained tightly embraced, very tense, and afraid to move for almost a minute. They broke their statuesque vigil to cast one another nervous glances. The wealth of culture around them suddenly found a common spectacle to gawp at, despite their differences in language, needs, and finances.

“Let’s go…,” she whispered, as quietly as she could. Duffy nodded with tiny movements. “Quick, through there,” she gestured. She dragged Duffy through an opening in the pulsating body of people and they stumbled out, with far too much commotion, into the front of the audience.

“Oi, quitcha fuckin’ pushin’!” several people shouted in disgruntled unison.

Duffy righted himself. Ruby had already stood back in the front of the crowd, eyes fixated ahead, and a look of shock plastered over her usually angelic face. What they both saw was not what they expected. Of course, it could not have been the Tantalum Troupe up on the stage. I it had been, Ruby swore she would swipe the smirk off her own face.

The people on the stage were, however, very familiar to the spell singer.

[Duffy]

The small stage appeared in a matter of minutes. The workers came out of nowhere, with planks, banners, hammers, and crates. People had not noticed them at first. They were too oblivious and self-involved to give them the light of day. Since the Tantalum had supposedly retired, the love of the theatre had all but faded from the city streets.

“That’s…” Ruby stopped. It did not seem like she needed to state the obvious. Duffy approached slowly.

“A stage…,” he continued. Unlike Ruby, he felt every bit the need to be obvious.

Several people were crawling up and down the supports. It rose up over three levels. Each was increasingly smaller and set back than its predecessor. It clung to the ancient statue of one of Valeena’s ancestors, using the very foundations of Market Square to give it strength and life. Ruby saw several familiar faces. Two were the tailors that had once given the Tantalum troupe’s plays life. Two were the carpenters that had renewed the dome of the Prima Vista before its eventual destruction.

“That is occupied by people we taught,” Ruby added. She tried very hard to stay her tongue.

“Lisa and Minnelli still look good together,” Duffy said. He fell to compliments for old time’s sake. When he saw Ruby’s scowl, he relented. “For old whores…,” he added, a little bitterly.

“Can you believe their cheek?” she protested. She would have rested her hands on her hips and tapped her foot with disapproval if she had been six. “We see neither hide nor hair of them in over a year, and then they come up with this.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Ruby, we abandoned them to the winds,” Duffy said flatly. He looked at her. “The troupe disbanded. We let them loose. We gave them our blessing to make of their lives what they willed now they were safe from Wainright…”

The spell singer sighed. Duffy was right. It did not mean she was going to let this slide. Ruby Winchester never let it go. He could have highlighted the hypocrisy of having given up her fortune to make sure they got the right start in life free of their nemesis’ terror. It would have shut her up for weeks, but he liked his pride between his legs, and not in his oesophagus.

“I am not standing for it, Duffy,” she snapped. Her tone continued to sour as her lips dried and her tongue parched. She ignored the stares from the crowd and marched up to the foot of the stage. She waited for Lisa to drop down to the bottom level and approach a crate spilling over with dresses and crepe banners. She made to shout very loudly.

“Ruby don’t you dare!” Duffy sniped, hoping to avert disaster.

He was too late.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The bard winced as he had never winced before. All the attention on the stage immediately focussed on Ruby. A hundred whispering voices and gossiping gabs fell silent. The gulls were long gone from the sunny sky by the time the silence faded. Slowly but surely, people began to spread rumours about the rude woman. Who was she, what was she, and why was she here bounced around like Akashiman whispers.

Lisa’s eyes widened. She recognised the spell singer when her accent sparked a memory. She frowned. Looked her over from head to toe, and nodded appreciatively. Lisa was one of the handfuls of people that knew the elder members of the troupe were immortal, and could regenerate.

“That’s right, it’s me, you little-” Duffy nudged her in the side to stop her from going one-step too far. He found just enough strength to lurch up to her before she tarnished the innocence of the children in the crowd.

“Well, this is a surprise…,” the tailor sighed.

[Duffy]

The rest of Lisa’s troupe appeared behind her in a motley arrangement. From behind trap doors and palisades, eight people gathered in total. Ruby looked to each in turn, named the ones she knew, and made it her business to find out who the remaining three were. Their time would come, in the spell singer’s eyes.

“Is that really you Ruby?” Though the spell singer appeared very different to when they had last met, her dress was the same, and her hair as flaxen, and her eyes as scolding. Minnelli, on the other hand, had not changed a bit. She still wore stilettos, ill-fitting floral gowns, and kitsch headbands that had not been stylish for decades.

“Who else would it be, you tramp!” she snapped. She folded her arms across her not so ample chest. She felt the stares intensify and warm the small of her back. When Duffy appeared by her side, looking snivelling and apologetic, the heat seemed tepid in comparison to her rising temper.

“Listen, girls, we do not need to do this right here, and right now,” Duffy cautioned. It was good advice. It was a shame they paid no attention to it.

“Oh, we do this here and now, not where she can explain her way out of it!”

“Ruby, please, calm down,” Lisa and Minnelli said in unison. They stood side by side; arm in arm, and shoulder to shoulder. The crowd was already falling passionately in love with their new leading…women.

“You gave us your blessing,” Lisa began.

“Then you both left,” Minnelli finished. They held hands.

“We did, and that is what I told Ruby, but…” Duffy felt knocked to one side by an outstretched hand.

“I am not angry that you started a troupe,” she shouted. Her eyes sparkled with fury. Nervous feet scuffed the newly cut planks on the stage. The paint dried, and wood expanded with a rhythmic crack in the lull between words. “I am angry that people think your rabble is the Tantalum!”

“Oh…Ruby,” Duffy sighed. He had never felt so disappointed in all his life. The crowd whispered so loud they might as well have shouted their surprise.

“Hear me, ladies, gentlemen, and thespians!” Lisa’s voice was clear as crystal and shone like moonlight. She projected better than Ruby had in her hay day. “I have an announcement to make,” she clapped. Smoke sparked from her fingertips. A bolt of sunlight struck the centre of the stage behind the troupe.

“We are the Fugitive Players,” Minnelli continued. This was clearly a well-rehearsed debut for the group. Ruby had forced them to play their hands early, but in a perverse way, it was going to be even more memorable because of it.

“I am Lisa,” Lisa said. “To my left stands my wife Minnelli.”

“Behind us,” Minnelli continued, “we have Peter and Jane.”

Pete and Jane stepped forwards and bowed. They were plain, but charismatic folk. “Behind us fair citizens; we have John, Derrick, and their son, Kyle!” Someone in the audience clapped. Dozens others followed suit. Derrick’s fame in the district appeared to be for reasons other than his gigantic nose.

There was a brief, but immensely awkward silence.

“Last, but by no means least, I give you our leading man.” The troupe spoke together with a choral resonance.

The crowd baited its breath. This, for Scara Brae, was a turning point.

“We present Pettigrew Jones!”

[Duffy]

“Well this is awkward,” Duffy moaned. He slouched visibly, as if all the strength drained from his body. Beneath his trousers, though his wound was healing, his bandage continued to redden. He was losing the will both to stand, and to fight.

“Beyond belief,” Ruby said sourly. She started to shake with frustration and anger.

The spell singer looked at the troupe in its entirety. It all started to make sense now. Even though the crowd roared enthusiastically, she remained stone-faced and composed. Her anger at the duo abated, swiftly replaced by contempt for the diminutive boy at the back of the gathering. He was the reason. He was the problem. He was the very root of all her woes.

“Pettigrew…”

He had been a snotty nosed orphan when Ruby had been at the height of her fame. She had instructed him herself, and taught him everything she knew. All the tricks of dramaturgy she had gifted, like trinkets, to the boy she thought of as a younger brother. To see him standing at the head of his own troupe brought feelings of contempt and pride to the spell singer. It felt more than just a betrayal. It felt like he had stolen her trust.

“Pete…,” she said. Nobody heard her. “Pete!” she said louder.

The boy approached the front of the stage.

“Good lord,” he proclaimed with mirth.

The first thing she noticed was just how much he had grown in three years. His snotty nose was now a high, noble feature on a bird-like, royal face. He wore a doublet of gold and silver, laced with red roses and spheres. His trousers were puffed at the waist, and brown and crème. His boots polished to within an inch of their lives, and his hands manicured to perfection, he was every bit the man.

“Hello, Miss Ruby,” he said politely. He bowed just enough to appease her.

“Mrs Winchester now, I’ll have you know.” She glared daggers at him.

“You will always be Miss Ruby to me, like I will always be Pete to you.” He meant no harm by the correction. She pursed her lips. “I had not expected to see you again, if I am honest.” He waved over the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, joining our debut performance are two very special guests!”

The crowd quickly hushed their whispers and applause. Paranoia began to run riot through the sweating ranks. There were few people in the city deserving of such an honour. It was clearly not the Queen, nor a member of the Royal Household, because nobody had spat at any guards.

“You wouldn't dare?" Ruby warned.

“They are the esteemed Ruby Winchester and Duffy Bracken. The leads of the former Tantalum Troupe have given us their blessing!” He waved his hands wide, and looked to the back of the crowd at a non-descript point on the distant wall. It was the simplest trick, but it worked wonders for his confidence. Ruby had taught him that during their very first lesson. The irony was not lost on her.

The crowd erupted into excited chatter. There had been whispers of their return for months now, ever since Ruby had returned to prominence in the noble circles of the city’s houses. Nobody had questioned how, or why, he or she looked so different. Duffy had supposed their fame played its part. They had spent their lives in masks and costumes. They could have looked like anybody. They could have been staring at thirty different people on stage, and never known which was the genuine article.

[Duffy]

“It pleases me no end to announce that our first performance in the city of Scara Brae shall be on this fine afternoon.” He turned, bounced, and lurched into a dramatic surge to the rear of the stage. He clambered up a stairway, and ran out to the far side of the second tier. “We have come to tell you about a strange and curious man,” he bowed.

Lisa and Minnelli sprang up the stairway on the far side, and made their way to the third tier. Side by side, they gestured to the sky.

“He comes from a far off land,” the troupe cried together.

“He is called…,” Pete whispered. Somehow, despite his hushed tone, everyone watching heard it in his or her souls. The meaning of the words rattled in the heads of the crowd with vibrancy.

“Nemo…”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. She had almost fallen in for the spectacle. When she realised just how clichéd their performance was, she found herself pressed to be something other than angry.

“Stranger…man with no name,” she translated. Only Duffy heard her. “Is that all they can come up with?” she asked. She turned to the bard. The bard turned to nobody in particular, before he realised there was no way to avoid replying himself.

“I…err, just listen will you?” he snapped. He ruffled his fringe free of his forehead. His black hair plastered to his skin through fatigue and perspiration. He started to regret having a second cocktail in the bar. All the same, he longed for a third. He abandoned all hopes for an apple turnover and a relaxing afternoon.

“For you, Duffy, I’ll give it one more line…” She pursed her lips. She saw that she was not going to get any sympathetic banter, and let it drop. She gritted her teeth.

The troupe all gathered on the third tier, and before Ruby could declare her doubts justified, the motley crew bowed and erupted into flame.

“Ooooh,” sang the crowd in unison. The echo of their cries rang high into the golden skies. Half of the city heard a sudden cheer, and continued to draw people to the square out of curiosity and a need to be entertained.

When the white smoke cleared, the top tier was empty. The stage fell silent. The crowd became electrified, as if struck by lightning not once, twice, or thrive, but four times in quick succession. They all pulled faces that went well with witnessing the impossible.

Duffy, always one to find humour in the darkest of times, broke into a wry smile. He rested his weight on his cane with a satisfied feeling.

“I don’t remember us ever doing that…,” he clucked. The Tantalum had been good, but for their talent, not their showmanship.

“I…” Ruby gave up. She continued to scan the stage for tells of their secrets in silence.

“You have got to hand it to them, though, don’t you…,” he pressed. “That was sure hellfire a good way to make a dramatic entrance.” He raised an eyebrow. He shuffled his feet.

“Cor blimey, look at that!” Someone with a plucky twang to his voice and an unwashed demeanour pointed up. Suddenly, everyone else was pointing up, and the waft of armpit sweat become shortly intoxicating.

Flyers began to rain down across Market Square. As if confetti formed from nothing and wishes, hands reached up to snatch them from their descent. Eyes scanned delicately penned detail, and made plans to be in the square at four o'clock, without fail.

The show promised to be spectacular.

[Duffy]

Duffy and Ruby barely made it out alive. For a few seconds, nobody knew what to do. Eyes turned to the duo, until all of a sudden; there was a feverish scramble to get a flyer. The chaos that followed was a mix of well-placed cane tip, and trusted palms at grubby faces. They had to work together like never before, but somehow they persevered.

“Oh good lord,” she said, veering around a sharp bend into an alleyway.

They slammed together, backs against the wet and slimy wall, and eyes levelled at the entrance into the thoroughfare that ran east from the square to the Novello Slums. They held their breaths. Several hundred people streamed past in a blur of colour, cabbage soup, and screaming. Then there was silence, and peace became restored.

Duffy slumped to the floor. “When I find that little shit…”

Ruby broke into a nervous laugh as dropped to the floor as well. They abandoned hope of looking good in public. Slime, mud, and worse things got on their shoes and buttocks.

“You really don’t need to continue,” she said. He very much thought he did.

“I will tear his face off…”

“The next time you suggest we get a drink, don’t be offended if I tell you to fuck off.”

“Ruby…” Duffy lolled his head to one side. “If I ever suggest we do something normal again, run me through.”

Ruby blinked. “You promise?” she smiled. Duffy nodded. “I will do it gladly.”

They helped each other up. They patted each other down. They stared into one another’s eyes.

“I guess we don’t need to cling to those doubts we have both been having lately.” Ruby said.

“What doubts?” Duffy frowned. He pointed to the far end of the alleyway. “Let’s go that way, through the gardens, and back to the manor.” She set off, too concerned with her own train of thought to suggest a quicker way.

“Doubts about wherever or not retiring were right,” she sighed. “It was the right thing…wasn’t it?” She glanced over her shoulder to check his facial expression.

He curled his lips into a smile, and ran his tongue over his cold steel studs. He was not sure what to say.

“I take that silence as a yes.”

They walked out into the sunlight, and continued east. Arm in arm, they blended into the stream of gentlefolk walking Mrs and mistress through idyllic Scara Brae. They passed ivy trellis and marble arch, walked through aqueduct and temple conclave. The sun streamed through clouds of gnats and butterflies teamed around hanging baskets.

“I thought about it, for so long Ruby…,” he said pensively. He looked up at the roiling clouds. “After a year, it sort of…became unimportant.” He reflected on all the things that had happened to them since: war and peace, love and loss, and death and life.

“Duffy…,” she sighed. Her mind was racing with meeting old friends, and the possibility that her time in the spotlight was over. She was always reflecting on being ‘past it’. She had never expected the moment to arrive.

“Perhaps that is not the right word…,” he mused.

The streets turned into the commercial district. The walls of the gardens rose into three storey department stores. Through peeling frames, Duffy picked out fine silk dresses and expensive hats. They turned a corner into Bakery Boulevard. If he had not been anxious, he would have helped himself to a mountain of cinnamon buns, fancies, and tarts.

“Look at it this way,” he continued, finding the right word at last. “Our time as the Tantalum troupe was always going to run out, however happy. I guess we never thought about the ‘after’.” He pictured Pete, resplendent and cocksure at the top of the makeshift stage. “I never expected it to be Crow…,” he chuckled.

“Not so little a brother now…,” Ruby mused. She taught him dramaturgy as a way to give purpose and direction.

“Well, look at it this way.” Duffy pointed to his favourite baker. “He saw something sweeter, and he worked at it.” He gestured to a flamboyant four-tiered cake laced with so much cream and violet icing Ruby felt sick. All the same, she longed for a slice.