The Dreaming Mark and the Vessel of Fools

Don't bring a knife to a gunfight

"Name," the watch-warden demands, flatly.

"Which one?" demands the armored, red-haired woman on the other side of the interrogation table.

"For our records," spits the watch-warden, as if this answers the question at all.

"Antonia Justine Travaglia," the mercenary utters, with a vocal flourish unexpected of a fighter-for-hire. "Or Ruby. Whichever you think you can spell." She idly adjusts one of the buckles on her vambraces.

The watch-warden's eyes can't be seen through the domino-mask-like visor of his hat, but one could be certain that he is rolling them as he scribbles out just four letters on the parchment. "Occupation?"

"Lestalian Royal Guard," she says, sarcastically, yet somehow 100% truthfully. She watches as he simply strikes through the entire line with his quill.

"Nature of crime committed?"

"You need me to tell you? Is this the honesty test?"

One of the two arresting watchmen on either side of Ruby clears his throat. "Armaments violation, sir. We found her openly carrying at least eight different weapons and destructive devices, and threatening a citizen with two of them."

"Let's go with 'brandishing,' then," the impatient warden said, pausing mid-word as if trying to recall how to write it. "How do you plea?"

"I plead awesome," grins Ruby. "...Innocent. Innocent and awesome."

"I don't suppose you'd explain, for the benefit of myself and the two men who brought you in."

"Got sick of losing fights, so I decided to get versatile."

"Fights that you started?"

"He drew first, damn it. Whole point of what I do is I'm the response to their call."

"Our, uh, witness says he doesn't remember it that way. Says he was just going to sharpen his woodcutting axe."

"I don't remember it being an axe," Ruby declares adamantly. "That man pulled a dagger on me, and I was just responding in turn."

"By pulling out a..." The watch-warden looks at the small crate of surrendered weapons next to his desk again, carefully moving aside the khopesh, the throwing hammer, and the polearm with the torch lashed around the head, drawing out a small device with a winding key and a prominent, hollow, metal rod making up the bulk of it. "Wheel-lock combustion-bow?"

"Doesn't anybody know how to call it a gun around here? God damn, guys."

"Don't you know that there are not one, but several Gods around here? You had best mind how you invoke the Pantheon, sellsword, or else I won't be the worst thing to happen to you around here."

"Nah, y'know what, I know exactly how to respond to this." She reaches into her iron-plated cuirass, but not before glaring at the two watchmen who have both partially drawn their short swords. "I am getting my note paper. I'm not going to fucking kill you with paper."

"What, pray, are you planning to do with paper?" demanded the watch-warden.

She explains as she effortlessly glides a fountain pen over the tiny book. "Writing a strongly worded account of exactly what is going on in this room. As soon as this goes to press and Margrave Calaius learns how you lot are treating one of his esteemed guests, I imagine you're gonna be out in the cold faster than you can say 'police brutality.'"

"The Margrave? Would have you as a guest? Pah!"

"Wanna test that assumption? Pen's mightier than your swords, I betcha." She caps the pen and tucks it back into her little book's binding coil. "Really think he doesn't care about his wife's hired security detail? Wait around and see what happens if I'm gone for more than a couple hours. Let me go now - weapons and all - and maybe this doesn't see print."

The two watchmen pointedly shove their blades the rest of the way back into their scabbards, as the warden leans back in his chair and contemplates sending for a messenger.