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Hello, I have been writing fiction off and on for many years now. I have never finished a story set in my ideas, or universes I construct. I have a few bubbling around in my head currently. This one I will present to you is an older idea, I started it a few years ago but lost steam and set it aside for another idea that popped up. This story was built around a spy or espionage theme set in 17th century Spain during the climax of the age of religious wars, a team of English spies are in Madrid gathering intelligence for their employers back in England. I did not plan out a story arc or anything beyond the next scene, this was a very spontaneous project. Any critique or suggestion is greatly appreciated, I am excited to be able to share my writing with like-minded people. It is very rough around the edges, I goofed on some of the language bits and plot/ logic left holes here and there I'm sure. This is in no way done, just on the backburner. The Blackhearts Some men are born with astounding tact and can bend any situation with their words like any master blacksmith shapes his craft-work with forge and hammer, and no matter how much humility the world has beaten into me, it is hard not to think myself one of those men. If the world is indeed a stage, and all men and women are merely players, then I am the devilish rogue. And as sure as Christ on the cross gives us life, I take it away with the sword. Part I I was prepared for a night filled with great many things when my comrades and I stepped into the well-lit establishment of sin, I was not however expecting the barrel of a gun to be thrust into my face while I was doing some thrusting of my own. I was on top of a whore when the man entered our room and shouting could be heard from the other rooms. And before I could reach for my blade which lay sheathed on the night table he drew a pistol from his belt. Apprehensively I looked down the cold barrel and then up to the face of my assailant, the rugged man's smirk drained off his face as a sharp sword pieced him from behind and the blade came outwards below his ribs. As the steel was drawn back blood sprayed from the wound and onto my face. The man fell to his knees and behind him stood Anselm Chesley,wearing nothing but a bunched bed sheet around his waist, he held it against his hip with one hand and with the other wielded his bloody sword. “I'm glad to see you've kept your sense of decency” I said to him, “In a brothel of all places”. “A Spanish brothel” Chesley added as he looked out the door, there was a gunshot and the clattering sound of dishes and silverware hitting the floor and he abruptly pulled it shut, “Methinks it's best we leave” he said. “I gathered that” I replied while struggling into my breeches and doublet. I looked down at my shoes lying next to the bed but decided there was no time and I took my sword from the nightstand and the pistol for the groaning man on the floor. “Where's Blake?” I asked. “I thought he was with...” Chesley trailed off. “With who?” “Well, you” he gave me an embarrassed look. I gave him a puzzled look, “Why would he be with me?” “I got the impression the pair of you were going to double-up with her” Chesley nodded towards the whore on the bed, who was currently passed out. I was about to answer when voices came from the other side of the door, Chesley immediately braced himself against it. Whoever was on the other side rammed the door with some wooden object, and when the door didn’t give way they battered against it again. I took a step towards the door, motioned with my head to Chesley to open it and readied my pistol. The assailants rammed the door once more and were about to do it a fourth time when it opened. It was a trio men, the one in the fore had a pair of ugly sideburns and an astonished look on his face when he caught sight of the pistol. I pulled the trigger, the weapon cracked and belched out black smoke, and through it I saw him toppled backwards holding his face. The other two shouted as the acrid smoke fumed out the doorway, I allowed them no time to repose. I leap through the smokey opening and thrust my rapier into the nearest man's neck and felt the strike meet flesh. Crimson jetted as he fell back and grasped my blade with his hands, I yanked my sword free and kicked him back sending him to crash through the flimsy railing and onto the first floor. I dodged the ornate vase the final man threw, kicked him in his groin, and as he bent low grabbed him by the collar. “Now answer me this, amigo” I had my arm held back with the tip of my blade pressed under his throat. I sensed his hands fumbling at his belt and I pushed my weapon against his skin to make him stop. “What on God's green earth could possibly drive a group of men to attack another, hmmm?” I asked and pressed him against the bannister behind. “In a brothel!” Chesley exclaimed as he rummaged in the room behind me. I smiled darkly, “Yes, of all places” I answered never letting my gaze wander from my captive. “I know not his name senior!” the man in my grip cried, “he gave us four reals each and time and place, he gave no name” It was blatantly obvious, to me at least, we had been betrayed by our erstwhile comrade Blake after we searched the frantic premises for him. I cursed our luck and let the last brigand scamper off. The owner of the establishment was both enraged and frightened by the whole incident, as we had run off his evening clientele and left a half-dozen corpses in our wake. “You're not leaving without paying for the damage” he shouted at us with a thick Spanish accent from the first floor. I had gathered the purses of the ruffians who were moments earlier without mortal wounds upon their persons and tossed them to the man. He aptly caught only one, the rest spilled their contents around his boots. “This is hardly enough!” there was a hint of despair in his voice. Chesley and I descended the staircase and the owner flinched back as I patted him on the shoulder, “Sometimes, dear entrepreneur, you find life wanting”. “And sometimes I'll call the watch!” he flared, pulling away from my touch. His sudden defiance caught me off guard, luckily Chesley, always the diplomat, bashed a vase against the back of his head and he fell to the floor. “Was that was necessary?” I asked. Chesley gave me a determined nod, “Entirely”. Part II The brothel escapade dually worsened our situation in Spain and brought some light on some earlier misfortunes. Born in secrecy, the trio we comprised of, now a duo, was sent into Hapsburg Spain to disrupt enemy intelligence and gather our own. Despite the fondness between the English and Spanish royal courts, there were still those in England who wanted to see the Habsburg threat dealt with, particularly our employer, the Duke of Warwick. But no matter how ingenious our schemes seemed, nor how secretive they were carried out the Spanish always seemed to be one-step-ahead. This was all the doing of Blake, by my estimation. I know not when he betrayed the cause, but somewhere along our travels he became a turncoat, and there's nothing I despise more than a turncoat. By God, we had nearly been killed on more than one occasion in the dark alleys of Madrid. No doubt word of the 'Whorehouse Massacre' would speed up the coast of France and into the ears of our employer, perhaps even more worrying was that Blake was still at-large. He could easily spread vicious lies, it was imperative we find him and settle the affair like gentlemen, gentlemen with pistols. But Madrid was a large city, and a place where Spanish agents had many places to hide. Luckily no matter how old Spain was, she always had even older enemies. Part III Information was our trade, and we were very proficient at obtaining it. But there was such a man in this city that our skills paled in comparison, a Berber man we knew only as Amalu. Chesley and I traveled out of the main quarters of the city sticking to the alleys and lesser traveled streets, with hands resting on our concealed pistols. I tipped my hat at passer-byes and sent a few winks to those of the women I recognized from the brothel. Amalu was a strange man, his base of operations was a floor above a bakery and our discussions always left me hungry. The fresh scent of bread wafted through the alley and my mouth began to water as we neared the store front. The bakery itself was simple, a stone oven in the middle of a small opening between the buildings covered with an orange cloth canopy. Then behind the oven and shelves were the stairs leading up to Amalu. Our Berber friend was not without his precautions though, and if we simply tried enter without him knowing we would be shot, so there was a routine we had to do, a secret code if you will. I approached the baker who was shuffling dough in his thick hands and removed my purse from my belt. “My good man, a loaf of your finest bread please” I said in a grandiose fashion. He eyed me with one brow raised and pulled a loaf from the cooling-rack. He handed it to me and with his other hand reaching out for payment. I pulled some coins out of my purse and dropped them into his palm still pasty with dough. Then came the rather complex part, after the exchange the baker watched me closely. If Chesley and I were in direct mortal danger, as if being chased by enemies, I would take one bite from the loaf and spit it onto the ground. If we were not in mortal danger but the matter still had urgency, I would be required to bite twice. And the third situation was if we were just visiting, I would bite thrice. I sunk my teeth into the fresh loaf once, and a second time, then coughed it out with a fake look of disgust on my face. “Mother of Christ!” I exclaimed, “This bread is terrible, I demand compensation for such horrific quality and taste!” The act I was putting on was all for naught, as it was just Chesley, the baker and I in the small clearing. Still, protocol was protocol. “You should discuss this with the owner then, sir” the baker replied as he slipped the coins into his apron. The man told us to wait for a moment and then headed up the stairs and behind a door. I looked around the small yard, a skinny dog slept in one corner on a dusty woven mat. The only entrance was the way we came, sunlight fluttered through the canvas above us. “Do you think he'll know where Blake is?” Chesley asked with his palm resting on the hilt of his sword. “I doubt so, but I just spent some coin so we might as well follow through” I said before taking a bite from the loaf in my hand. Ahead of us the door creaked open and the baker's head poked out and he motioned with it for us to come. We stood at the foot of the stairs and waited him to reach the bottom and then we began our ascent. Before we entered the darkened room we removed our hats and I brushed my short hair with my hand to rid it of dust. As said before the room was dark and cool, a nice change from outside. A bubbling, burnished sheesha was in the center of the room on a rug with smoke wisping from it. Amalu sat on the opposite side of the sheesha of us on the floor with one hose of the instrument in his hand. He blew a smoke ring and smiled as we entered. “Marhaban, my English friends” he said and gestured to us to sit with him. “Alim conveys to me you are in trouble?” I sat across from Amalu and nodded while my hands fumbled with my hat, “More than you know, good sir” I responded. Amalu's smile faded as his eyes looked around the room behind us, “Where is your third man?” Chesley wiped his face with his hand downwards, “This is the problem” he said quietly. “Dead?” the Berber's eyes widened slightly. I shook my head, “No, I know not when but someone made him a better offer than ours. I believe he is in league with the Spaniards now”. Amalu nodded slowly and began stroking his beard with his other hand, “You are sure of this?” “We were attacked two nights ago, he was no where to be found after the attack. He is a capable fighter and the men we dispatched were no professionals. I very much doubt they captured or killed him” Chesley said. The Berber took another puff from the shisha and eyed me, “I unfortunately know nothing of his whereabouts now. But if he has indeed turned, my network is also in jeopardy”. As if to reiterate his words shouting could be heard from the courtyard outside. The three of us stood and looked out the dirty windows. Alim the baker was exchanging heated words with a pair of men wearing Spanish military garb. Chesley and I had already drawn our pistols from our belts when one of the Spaniards grabbed Alim by the collar and shoved him aside. The baker clattered through several bread racks and fell onto the ground among bags of flour. “Only two?” Chesley asked apprehensively. “No” I shook my head, “Seven more, from what I can see, on the top of the buildings with muskets, a dozen or so at the entrance in the alley” I said as I pointed them out. The other men wore a mixture of clothing, mostly of Spanish fashion, but all were equipped with breastplates and morion helmets. “Christ” Chesley cursed and slipped his sword from his scabbard. I turned around to see what the old Amalu's reaction was, but he was no longer behind us. I saw a flicker of light in the next room and Chesley and I jumped as Amalu's musket roared. Smoke plumed out of the room but as I turned I saw the shape of a man tumble off the top of a building and into the courtyard below. “I cannot reload this old gun very fast” Amalu shouted to us, “Would you be so kind to occupy them while I do?” he said as he poured a pouch of gunpowder into the barrel. I gave Chesley a look of determination and he nodded with me, we turned to the door where several silhouettes were gathering behind. I kicked the door open and sent four men staggering backwards and rolling off and down the stairway. A fifth soldier who was not directly by the door fumbled with his blade at his belt but I grabbed him by one shoulder and shoved my sword into his guts. An officer in the courtyard shouted for his men to shoot me, I grabbed the soldier in front of me and held him against me as the shots rang off. Blood sprayed out as the bullets hit my meat-shield. At the end of the volley I pushed the blood soaked body off me and down into the courtyard. Chesley grabbed a fallen musket and fired it at the men on the roofs. A pair of soldiers with broadswords came charging up the stairs. I swiped the first blade with my own and shot its wielder in the face with my pistol. As he crumpled back against the man behind him I jumped off to the side and sunk my blade into an unprepared soldier's neck. Amalu shot another man down from above and he landed in the alley with a sickening crunch. I was parrying blows from three soldiers, two with halberds and one of the officers with a rapier who was bullying Alim earlier. Chesley shot one of the halberdiers in the back with his pistol and I kicked the other in the groin. The officer swung wildly at my neck but his technique left much to be desired. I backhanded him across the face with my sword-arm and pulled his pistol from his belt with the other. The halberdier dropped his polearm and tackled me to the ground with his burly arms. For a moment I was looking up into the sky, and I saw one of the rooftop musketeers aiming his weapon down at me. With great effort I grabbed the man wrestling with me and kneed him in the gut. The musketeer fired and the bullet whizzed into the cobblestone next to my head. The projectile blasted the stone apart and sent shards flying upwards. One shard must have hit the man above because he let go and grabbed his face with his free hand. I took the opportunity to wiggle my hand with the pistol free from under him and shoved the barrel in his open mouth. I fired and brains burst out the other side of his skull. The man on me slumped backwards on his knees and I heaved his corpse off as I returned to my feet. The officer I backhanded earlier came at me again with a thrust and I jumped back just in time to dodge the tip of the sword. I was without a weapon myself and I leap out of the way of his clumsy attacks as I searched for my own sword. He took another careless thrust and I grabbed him by the arm and threw him past me and crashing into a rack of cooling bread. Chesley was the most skilled swordsman in our retinue, only surpassed by Blake. So I was not surprised to see that he had easily dispatched every foe that came at him. He danced around the soldiers stabbing and slicing like an artist waving a paintbrush. My mind switched back to the dealings of my own personal security and finally found my sword on the dusty cobblestones. Chesley had fought his way back to me and a stillness fell over the courtyard. The men on the rooftops had abandoned their posts and had regrouped with their fellows on the ground. Alim, now covered in white flour, hid behind the both of us. Before us stood the last five soldiers, only a few were without wounds and blood spattered on their cloths. After reaching down and retrieving the blade the second officer, a shorter man than I with graying hair and a purple plume in his morion, who had kept silent during his dealing with Alim the baker, stood before me. He held his sword ready and had his feet positioned like a proper swordsman. A single, jagged scar ran across his face that was beginning to wrinkle with age. Behind him was the other officer who held his arm and looked at me with scorn. “We were warned of your skill, Senhor Quentin” the foremost officer told me. I motioned around to his dead soldiers, “And still you came?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “I suppose I had to see for myself, what kind of men would cause so much fear in our informant” He said in a cold fashion. “And where is that rogue?” I raised my sword and pointed it at the officer, “I have more quarrel with him than you, Amigo”. He tilted his head slightly and kept his blade ready, “I cannot disclose his whereabouts to you” he sounded almost remorseful. “You say that as if you dislike him as much as I do” I said eyeing the soldiers behind him, they were exhausted and bloodied, Chesley and I could have easily dispatched them right there. But Chesley, always the diplomat, stepped forward and placed his hand on my sword arm. “I think you would agree, Señor, that we have seen enough bloodshed this afternoon” he said looking at the aging officer. “And just what would you have in mind? We lower our swords and let you leave?” He laughed and took a step forward. “Not quite” Chesley answered and raised his own sword in a threatening manner, the officer stepped backwards. The second officer, a younger man with long black hair raised his blade to answer Chesley, “Surrender now, Anglican hounds” he snarled, “You can't kill us all!” “The dead and dying men 'round this yard beg to differ” I growled. Amalu stepped out from his out pointed his musket, “You also forget I have a loaded musket aimed at your head, friend. And the fuse is running short”. The older of the officers spat on the ground and sheathed his blade. The men behind did the same, the last being the younger officer who seemed all too reluctant. “What are your terms?” he sighed as he removed his helmet and held it at his side. I looked at Chesley, astonished at what had just happened, moments before I had thought this whole ordeal was to end in more blood. “First tell me your name” I demanded. “Patricio Diogo Evora, capitão of these few men behind me, and of those who lay around us”. I raised an eyebrow and lowered my blade, “You're not Spanish?” Patricio grunted a laugh, “No, Senhor, we are Portuguese”. Part IV We relinquished our arms to Patricio and his men before the city watch arrived in full force, no doubt drawn to the neighborhood by the cacophony of battle which had lasted for a good ten minutes or so. The captain of the watch stood before two ranks of arquebusiers with weapons aimed at us with arms crossed and an annoyed expression on his face. “One gunshot is not uncommon in this part of the city” he spoke, “but more than that is a cause of particular alarm. Explain yourselves!” Chesley and I were on our knees with our hands behind our backs, we kept our faces down as Patricio approached the captain. “Sincerest apologies, Captain” He bowed slightly, “I am Patricio Diogo Evora, capitão of the men behind me. I have been contracted to apprehend the two devils on the ground over there. This scuffle was a result of that contract” he said as he pointed at us. The guard captain looked around the blood-stained courtyard, “This was no scuffle” he hissed, “under whose jurisdiction do you apprehend these men for?” Patricio looked back at us for a moment and smiled, “I am glad you asked that” he pulled a folded piece of parchment sealed with a crimson wax stamp from within his breastplate, “I am sure that if you have further enquiries, you will direct them to him” he said with a smile. The guard captain ripped the letter from Patricio and hastily opened it, he scanned the words and his expression changed from frustration to fear. He looked at the broken wax seal which seemed to emphasize the gravity of the situation and handed the letter back in a much gentler fashion. The captain walked over to his men and told them something, from this distance I could not hear, but they immediately lowered their muskets and fanned into the courtyard. He returned to Patricio, “My apologies Señor for my earlier demeanor, if there is anything we can do to aid you, please let us know”. With that we were placed in chains and lead away from the bakery in a small wagon. I knew Chesley was not pleased, and there was the chance that I could have just lead us both to our deaths with this ruse. But I figured the Portuguese captain a man of his word, and just prayed to God I was right. “Well here we are in shackles” Chesley sighed, “You had better be sure about this” Looking back, it is easy to acknowledge my judgment was clouded by the prospect of vengeance, which I had been craving even since I convinced myself that Blake had betrayed us. The rest of the wagon-ride was spent in silence and I stared out the small barred window contemplating our next steps. Beyond finding Blake and killing him, there was much that had to be done. Tavern gossip told the tale of the Spanish siege of Breda, a important protestant stronghold in the Low Countries, it was said it was close to falling, something I hoped was just simple hearsay and nothing more. The occasional missing cobble in the road would jolt the wagon and shift my thoughts to other matters, perhaps a matter I spent too much thought on, but otherwise hard to forget Part V There are many types of people in this world, and most live in harmony. But there are two types of men whose interests clash with one another more often that not, men of the Church and men such as I, who care not for conviction or kindness but for the purse of gold hanging at the end of a sword. But there is a obscure line between a man of the cloth and a man who disguises himself as one with political motivations. And most of these schemers hide their intentions very, very well. It was by one of these devils that I earned the title blackheart. It was an unusual contract to begin with, I never expected to be sought-out by a church page-boy in the middle of a smoke-filled and rowdy brothel. He spoke little and was obviously scarred-for life by the language that was thrown his way in the short time he was there, but he managed to hand me a letter sealed with wax and scurried out before I was able to pay him. I made my leave and opened the letter in a empty hallway and read it to myself amid the cacophony of love-making in the rooms adjoining. My eyes instantly scanned the fine penmanship for a price or bounty amount, a bad habit of mine, and the payment detailed a down-payment of fifty gold crowns, and another one-hundred-fifty upon completion. The amount struck my mind like a crossbow bolt, I began fantasizing about bedding the most exquisite whores, drinking the finest wines and flaunting my wealth around for months-on-end. But reality aptly set in as I began to read the rest of the letter. Three men were to be killed with utmost discretion, one scene in particular was to be made to look like a mugging gone awry. But these were no commoners, perhaps men who wronged someone in a position of power. Of course they were not named in the letter itself, but written at the end of the message were instructions to someone who would give me them. 'In the field of night, where the dead lay down, yet one still stands. To there will you will find more. Time is of essence, you have 2 days” it read. If there was anything I hated more than a traitor, it was needlessly cryptic messages. I was all but sure of the location it was describing so later that evening I set out from the city and arrived at a small cemetery which I had assumed was the one. Stony paths formed a crude cross with patches of graves and headstones filling the four corners of the field if seen from above. In the center of the cross stood a solitary statue, depicting a man whose name had been worn off from the statue by weather and wind long ago, that or vandals had pried off the commemorative plaque and melted it down into counterfeit coinage. Footsteps upon the gravel came from behind and I turned around with my hand resting on the hilt of my sword, the man before me had the appearance of a grave-keeper. A lame grin crawled across his dirty face and he rested his shovel over his shoulder, no matter how clumsy and unkempt he appeared I remained defensive. He stepped closer and my grip on my sword tightened “Perchance I ask you something, my lord?” he yawned. I took a step back, “You already have”. His grin faded and he looked to the ground with a look of puzzlement on his face, “I already did what?” “Asked me a question” I replied, this confused him further. It was then I figured him to be rather slow and I let go of my sword. “Where you injured as a lad?” “Mule” he said simply, a bit of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth, “How did you know?” “It's barely noticeable” I said assuredly. “Then it is a sharp pair of eyes you have, my lord”
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Nov 8, 2014 08:44
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Well, as long as I'm here. Although I must say I'm uncomfortable with this from the get-go, and therefore I'll limit myself to that get-go.quote:Some men are born with astounding tact and can bend any situation with their words like any master blacksmith shapes his craft-work with forge and hammer, and no matter how much humility the world has beaten into me, it is hard not to think myself one of those men. If the world is indeed a stage, and all men and women are merely players, then I am the devilish rogue. And as sure as Christ on the cross gives us life, I take it away with the sword. quote:I was prepared for a night filled with great many things when my comrades and I stepped into the well-lit establishment of sin, I was not however expecting the barrel of a gun to be thrust into my face while I was doing some thrusting of my own. Anyway, maybe the genre is not for me, but as I said I didn't like it from the start. The protagonist is an unsympathetic douchebag without any unique qualities to make him an appealing anti-hero. The dialog is cringe-inducingly theatrical. 17th century Spaniards didn't talk like that, we don't talk like that. Maybe some subgenre of comedy has talked or talks like that... Thinking about it, you may be trying to emulate Shakespeare or his contemporaries, except in prose. Well, if that's the case, you won't get many readers here. Gritty realism (or pop-culture references) seems to be the favorite, and I support that, in fact. My reply sounds rough, but I figured I'd give you what I have, otherwise you'd stay without responses, and for me no response is always worse than scathing criticism. At least the latter gives you something to think about.
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Nov 13, 2014 05:36
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Holy run-on sentences, Batman. There's a lot of issues (I'll come back and do a full thing later) but by far the biggest is your rampant comma abuse. quote:Some men are born with astounding tact and can bend any situation with their words like any master blacksmith shapes his craft-work with forge and hammer, and no matter how much humility the world has beaten into me, it is hard not to think myself one of those men. quote:Some men are born with astounding tact. They can bend any situation with their words like any master blacksmith shapes his craft-work with forge and hammer. No matter how much humility the world has beaten into me, it is hard not to think myself one of those men.
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Nov 13, 2014 09:26
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Thanks for the replies! I appreciate that you took time to post. Yes I agree that the narrator is really generic, and the shakespearean dialogue makes what they are saying very vague. I usually focus on events and the big picture when I start thinking of a new story, and I am inexperienced character designer, and I am not formally trained in writing with any degrees. Thanks for your input, I never really thought about character elements in that way.
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Nov 16, 2014 09:37
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Nobody in Shakespeare's time actually talked like one of his plays. He intentionally made his dialogue full of archaic and unusual words to make it seem like the audience were leaving their boring peasant lives and entering this cool magical kindgom. People in the 17th century talked in a very similar way that we do, plus or minus a bunch of slang. All the 'thees' and 'thous' and 'wenches' are really out of place. Check out Cervantes or Dumas: they'll give you a better idea of what the language is like, and also hopefully help give you some ideas as well.
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Nov 17, 2014 06:25
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