Let your guard down

There was an excellent view of the city from the top of the central watchtower. Standrew, or Stan to his friends (which only included his mother and a number of innkeepers) had spent the last hour watching the city and barking orders down the stairs. It had started as a normal shift, delightfully boring. Then things had gotten upsettingly exciting. There had been reports of shambling undead in the holy quarter, then the sun had blinked out of existence, plunging the world into darkness, which of course started riots and all manner of crime waves. If that wasn’t enough, the cathedral of the holy something-or-other burst into flames with reports of a dragon of all things being to blame. Then word came from the palace that the city was to be put on lockdown, “no one in, no one out” because something had been stolen from the royal family. They were not willing to say what was stolen but demanded the watch get it back. So, in summary, they needed to find an unknown valuable, catch the thief, aid in putting out a now rapidly spreading fire, stop a riot, stop a crime wave, possibly slay a dragon (or at least shoo it out of the), possibly return a horde of undead to the grave and organise a full lockdown of all four city gates. Oh, and if there was time, find a way to turn the sun back on.

They were going to need a hero. They were going to need a super cop. They were going to need… someone else. Standrew’s shift had just ended, and it was time to head straight to bed: ‘Straight to Bed’ being his favourite tavern on his way home. As he descended the tower, waving away desperate and panicked watchmen, he considered that this very much felt like the end times. The end of the world was quite a worry, some thought. After all, it’d play bloody murder with his commute.

As he left the tower and began walking through the crowded streets, he considered that his colleagues probably had the situation under control. He stepped over a guard that was crawling away from a brawl that had broken out to his right and nodded to the three large guards to his left that were about to aggressively deliver some swift justice to the aforementioned fight. He strolled at a nice steady pace; he was not in a rush and he could keep this pace all night if he needed to. Old guard habit, never exert yourself more than you needed to. It did leave him looking out of place as everyone else was running about. If the world was ending, you wouldn’t get there any faster by running. So why not stop the smell the cool night air (technically day air, but in the absence of the sun, it was all just semantics).

When he came to a main road, he made sure to look both ways, which was very important. A lot of panicked people were not and Standrew was not surprised when a horse-drawn carriage came hurtling past, knocking down several people. In the carriages driver’s defence, he was violently ringing a bell. It powered on, leaving a trail of injuries and puddles as water sloshed from a number of full buckets that were strapped to the side of a large barrel on the cart. It was a little worrying that the fire brigade was only just heading to the fire now but there had been reports of fire by the palace and they would naturally have priority.

He crossed the road, and sighed. He looked to his left as a clearly inebriated woman stumbled aimlessly in the road. He looked right at a rapidly approaching cloud of dust and hooves. He gently guided the drunk woman, who absolutely should not be out alone in this mess, to relative safety. In the process she had dropped the bottle she had been drinking out of and it was immediately pounded into dust by the cavalrymen that charged by. An indicator as to what would have happened to her, had Standrew not intervened.

She looked at the remains in horror, “You fokin’ dick, I wosn’ done drinkin’ that”, the woman replied. Great, Standrew thought, I’m not even getting payed for this abuse.

“You’re welcome, try not to get murdered, or whatever”, he said as he strolled away. The abuse continued to burst forth from the woman’s mouth, only stopping to allow something else to burst forth all over herself.

Not long now until he could get his hands on that cool amber liquid. He could practically feel the bubbles on his tongue. He pictured the condensation on the glass, the soft caress of the foam on his upper lip. The ‘Straight to Bed’ was just up ahead, but alas between him and it was the focus of the riots, a crossroad filled with angry people. On the left, city watch, angry because they were being attacked, abused and mostly because they actually had to do work instead of lounging around until their shift ended. On the right, denizens of the city, angry because they were confused and scared but mostly because they just always were, that is what happened when you lived in a big city. There was no dramatic standoff and no hesitation. Both sides were very much up for a fight and had clashed immediately. Standrew reached down, grabbed two fistfuls of dirt and strolled into the throng. He tried to stay more toward the left, as guards did not attack guards. The watchmen would hit the citizens until they either ran away or stopped moving and the citizens would hit anyone they could until they found someone better to hit. Standrew ducked and weaved and when a citizen made a move towards him, he would throw some dirt in their eyes, giving the other watchmen ample time to bludgeon them.

He squeezed out of the crowd that continued to scream and crash behind him, dodged a punch thrown at him that then hit someone else, who retaliated, freeing Standrew from the fray. A few steps more and he stopped and stood in horror.

The worst had happened, and it changed everything.

Where the ‘Straight to Bed’ had once stood, now only rubble remained. Something had smashed the building and its neighbour to smithereens. Now it was personal; he would find who had done this, and he would make, them, pay… tomorrow, during his next shift.

He turned and took in the carnage: the riot down the street, the crying child left suspiciously unattended across the road, the broken roof tiles that scattered the street and the ever-present smell of smoke. He sighed. It was time to go back to work… the ‘Back to Work’ was a whole five minutes out of his way but he needed a drink before turning in for the day.

He strolled on into the night (that was actually the sun-devoid day). The streets were less populated here and he could hear music and revelry in the distance, an end-of-the-world party, perhaps. He continued towards the sound and soon found its source. A bard stood on a barrel, playing the lute. No normal lute could produce such sounds and so he assumed it must be magic which was not an uncommon occurrence, these days. A poster on the tavern wall indicated this was the famous Hammer Flintlock, of whom Standrew had never heard but the music was pleasant and it seemed to have a calming effect on everyone. There was no rubble or debris to indicate rioting here and everyone seemed happy. So was Standrew, who while having these thoughts, had apparently acquired a pint of ale evidently acting on autopilot. He savoured the taste, the feel, and warm buzz in his cheeks. He enjoyed every last drop, so much so he quite fancied another, which he already had, having once again ordered on autopilot. If anything, the second pint was even nicer, but not as nice as the third which was practically disgusting compared to the fourth.

Warm cheeked and with warm memories of cool liquid he decided to head to bed. Things were looking up; the sun came back from whatever occult occurrence had obscured it. It gave the city a sickly red glow as its light filtered through the smoke-filled sky. To Standrew, the sickly red light looked practically rosey. People picked each other up and dusted themselves off all around as Strandrew strolled on by. Mothers that were worried sick, hugged lost children and scolded young boys that had run off to act like men (in other words, foolishly). Waggons with cages on the back were filled with criminals and tired guards joked with each other, happy that the worst of it was over. Soot-faced men holding empty buckets walked beside the now empty cart. Streets were cleared, broken windows were boarded up and injuries were tended to. Standrew staggered on, up to bed. What a day, he thought. As he drifted off to sleep, the city kept on going. Its many citizens’ stories continued to be written, this dark chapter coming to an end.  Tomorrow promised a lot of hard work, but for now, Standrew slept and the sounds of the city faded away.

The End