The next hour was the longest hour of my life, and I’d once spent eleven hours in a hospital waiting room, so that was saying something.
I positioned myself near the platform, leaning against a post as though I belonged there. The magistrate had doubled the guard as promised. Four men were stationed at the base of the platform steps, with two more at the east gate and another two at the service lane behind the tavern. Eight guards in total. Not bad for a small-town magistrate who’d been given barely an hour’s notice.
Ren was on the platform with Clara and the magistrate. He’d gone back to being charming, smiling and making conversation, but I could tell he was watching the crowd. He was good at it, too. His eyes moved in a pattern, from the east gate to the platform, then to the service lane and back again, scanning and cataloguing everything around him.
I checked Scrivener’s Eye. The golden threads were dense and pulsing, and the entire square looked like a circuit board. The script was building towards something, and I could practically feel it in my teeth.
Then I saw them.
Three figures dressed in dark clothing entered through the east gate, walking in single file. The three goons I’d written. Golden threads ran through all of them, connecting them to the script, the festival, and Ren. I knew exactly what they were going to do because I’d written it myself.
But they weren’t alone.
Two more figures, also dressed in dark clothing, stood apart from the first three. No threads. No golden light. Scrivener’s Eye couldn’t see them because I hadn’t written them.
And behind all five of them, standing near the edge of the gate as though he were watching from a doorway, was the man in the dark coat. He looked at me through the market crowd and smiled as though he recognised me.
Five attackers in total, not counting the man in the dark coat, whose motives remained unknown. The magistrate had eight guards protecting the area. They should’ve been fine.
But I knew it wasn’t going to be fine.
I moved towards the platform. The festival was reaching its peak, the crowd at its thickest and the music at its loudest. The first firework went up, streaking across the sky before exploding in a burst of red light. The crowd gasped and cheered, everyone looking upwards.
The attack began.
The three scripted goons came through the east gate quickly, splitting up to fulfil their assigned roles. One headed straight for the platform, while the other two fanned out, knocking over stalls and shouting to create the diversions I’d written for them. The crowd screamed and scattered, and the guards stationed at the gate moved to intercept them.
The two additional attackers came through the service lane. The guards stationed there were caught off guard. One went down while the other engaged them.
I moved towards Clara, but Ren was already in motion. He was faster than me, which made sense considering I’d designed him that way. He jumped off the platform and disappeared into the crowd in two seconds, intercepting the scripted attacker who’d gone after Clara. The fight unfolded exactly as I’d written it. Ren caught the man’s knife hand, twisted his wrist, disarmed him, and dropped him to the ground.
But the script was breaking.
The two additional attackers had managed to get past the guards at the service lane. One was heading towards the platform, while the other circled around it, approaching from the side Ren wasn’t watching because he was busy dealing with the scripted attacker in front of him.
And the man in the dark coat was moving, too. Not towards the platform from the front, nor towards Ren. He moved calmly around the edge of the square, blending into the crowd while everyone else ran in panic. He was heading towards the back of the platform, towards the steps, where Clara stood alone because Ren had jumped down to fight and the guards had moved to secure the entry points.
I saw it. I saw the angle and the gap.
Ren didn’t.
[Quest Update]
Secondary Objective: Intercept Clara Dale.
Status: CRITICAL.
Warning: Unscripted threat approaching target. Hero is engaged. Window closing.
The man in the dark coat was ten paces from the platform steps. Clara stood near the railing, looking for her father and paying no attention to what was happening behind her. Ren was thirty feet away, fighting and doing exactly what I’d designed him to do. The guards were scattered, and nobody was watching the back of the platform.
Nobody except me.
I ran.