City of IF

[D-Lotus]

Story so far: The setting: Early 1800's. Four passengers in a stage coach tell stories, some tell their own. First one about pilgrims in Spain, then a noblewoman in France, then a Finnish soldier and now the last passenger (Burnwick, the melancholy business man) tells his own story.

This is a storygame: You read, give your opinion, and vote.

Warning: This story is for everyone who can appreciate it. If you cannot handle it, please don't read. You are warned.



“I was a young man, and she was young as well. A dusty tavern and a charred counter marked our romantic meetings. Her tender smile made me forget it all. The creaking chairs blended into royal sofas where we lay upon the soft pillows for hours. It was Italy, and she was my Italian girl. She was a bar-maid, and I was an ambitious financer. I forget the exact details of the business that brought me there, but I must have regarded it important enough to make the journey. I was supposed to meet with an Italian landowner who wanted to sell part of his property, and then transact the legal papers to one of my clients; one who I’d lent money to. As I said, I do not remember the exact details of my original intentions, but in the end, I bought the parcel of land for myself. I sent a notice to England stating that there had been problems with the transaction, and that the Italian landowner seemed to have sold the property to someone else before I could do anything about it. I didn’t lie; he had sold it to me, and there was nothing I could have done to stop myself. After taking care of business, I returned to my beloved. At first, the bartender had not been happy to see his bar-maid waste time at work, but Italian bills seemed to have a positive effect on his past opinion of me as a Don Juan. From then on, he greeted me with a wide smile.

The tavern itself was small and dirty. It lay to the side of the road leading from Milan to Marseille. It must have prospered many years ago until the main road was moved through a more direct route. At day, the tavern was deserted, except for the occasional traveler, and at night, it was filled with the local drunks and villagers who spent their money on beer and wine. My own reason for stopping there on the way to my destination was only due to my unfamiliarity of the region. I was to arrive the next day in the appointed place the Italian landowner had indicated, which was only a day’s journey to the south of the road I was on. I was riding through the eastern section of Lombardy, and my objective was south west, near the Mediterranean coast. I stopped to ask for directions at the tavern, and then purchased a semi-cold beer. I was drinking quickly, ready to resume my journey, when I caught sight of her.

She was beautiful, of course. If she weren’t beautiful, I would have gone my way. I would have drunk the insipid beer and left. But instead, I called her and ordered something to eat. She smiled at me over the counter. I have never been very good at describing people, but I’ll give it my best effort.

She was dark haired and olive-skinned, and her penetrating eyes made my heart flutter as I looked at her. She had a Mediterranean face, long and supple. It watched me, amused. There was something superior but comfortable about her demeanor. Not arrogant, but knowing. I asked for her name, and she laughed.

“Why won’t you tell me?” I asked, grinning slightly at the game.

“Maybe I don’t have one.” She answered, laughing again.

The noise brought the attention of the bar-keeper. The girl glanced at him and asked for my order again. I asked for nothing, apologized, and left. As I mounted my horse outside, I pondered. I rode a few kilometers to an inn, dispatched a messenger to the Italian landowner so as to delay our meeting, and went to sleep.

The next day I returned, and ordered something from the girl again. I inquired for her name, but she reputed me again with a smile. I asked where she came from, to try my luck. This time she answered, and told me she originally came from Rome. She had run away from home, and fortune had led her there. I commented that maybe fortune had brought me there as well, but she shrugged and didn’t answer any more of my questions.

The third day I returned, but it was her day off, so instead I sought her name from the bar-keeper, who regarded me suspiciously. Her name was Bianca. I thanked him and left. I spent the rest of the day exploring the nearby town where I was sure Bianca lived, but I did neither see her nor find anything worth mentioning.

“Bianca,” I said the next day “How are you doing?”

“I am fine, Mr. Burnwick.” She answered as she swept the floor, casually eyeing me.

I smiled, astonished by her wit. I hadn’t told her my name, but she had found out, and I had been caught off guard. But I wasn’t ready to give up.

“You can call me Edward.”

She continued sweeping as I took a seat, and then rested the broom on the counter.

“What will you take today, Edward?”

“Some red wine, please.”

She grabbed a bottle from the counter behind and poured some out. As she did so, I asked her to get another glass out and pour some wine in it too. Then she picked her broom up again and continued sweeping.

“Wouldn’t you like to take a break?” I asked.

She shook her head and laughed. “If I do, I’ll linger too much, like you.”

I wasn’t fazed, and laughed. After much prompting, she finally relented and sat down opposite me, on the other side of the counter. We smiled as we drank. I asked her what time she got out of work. She said she was very busy, but I insisted, so she gave me a late hour. I called the bar-keeper, and he appeared, grumbling. I asked him what time the girl got out of work, and he gave me the same time, responding gruffly. I reached in my pocket for money.

“She leaves at six.”

The bar-keeper looked at me, surprised, but nodded his approval.

“Could I accompany you home?” I asked Bianca.

“Yes, if you want” She said, smiling.

I left, and came back at six. I waited, but she wasn’t there. The bar-keeper told me she had left half an hour ago. I cursed, but decided to have one last try. I rallied my strength and rode to the village. I knocked on every house until someone pointed me in the direction of where the girl lived. I knocked on the door of the house and an old woman answered. I asked for Bianca, and she went inside to call her out, somewhat mistrusting me. I guessed Bianca was paying some sort of rent to the old lady. Suddenly she appeared on the doorway, dressed in white, her eyes penetrating deep into my heart. I dropped the reins of my horse and she watched me, perplexed.

“Bianca, you are beautiful.” I said.

“Did you come here only to tell me that?” She said, still guessing at what my real purpose was.

I dropped to my knees and held her hand. Her eyes sparkled in understanding.

“Bianca, will you marry me?”

She sighed and leaned against the doorway.

“I love you.” I said, hoping it would help.

She bit on her thumb and glanced at the sky.

“Bianca, marry me…Don’t destroy me in this way.”

I stood on my knees, my hands trembling.

“Yes.” She said.

I fainted.
___________________


Afterwards I bought the property from the Italian landowner and constructed myself a small villa there. It was all sun, sweet flowers and music. I learned more about my wife, although she always kept a part of her history obscure; from when she ran away to when she arrived at the tavern. She revealed that she had tried to travel to Austria, but failed.

But the past mattered little in Italy. We lived in harmony and in peace. My wife took to her new life immediately. Everyday we took walks along the flat plateau behind our home. In town, we were acquainted with everyone; the butcher, the baker, and even the candlestick maker. He was a quaint fellow who earned little but somehow managed to live happily. We had two young women who attended us. They arrived in the morning and left at noon. They were my wife’s source of news and gossip. For an hour everyday, I dedicated myself to writing a book. At night, we watched the stars.



It would seem that by now I would have been ruined and bankrupt, but I had left my partner to take care of the business. His name was Joseph Bowler. He was in his fifties, and I had known him for as long as I can remember. He had started out under my father as a young man, and escalated to the top. My father made him his partner after twenty years of hard work. This is extremely remarkable, and you would understand if you had known my father.

He came to visit me every two months or so, to confirm large business transactions and to see how I was doing. He always wore the same dusty frock coat, and the same dusty pants. He was missing most of his hair, and was never seen to be smiling. However, he was in good shape for a man his age, and I never quite understood how he conserved himself that way, unless it came from all that walking back and forth.

It was one day when he was pacing the room as I described, and his severe face was staring at me through somber lenses, when he asked me something peculiar.

“Mr. Burnwick (as he always addressed me and had addressed my father), I feel I must warn you. You must stop this foolishness and return to England before long.”

I laughed, and it seemed strange to me at the moment.

“And why should I do that, when I’m happy here?” I questioned.

“Mr. Burnwick,” he said “a man has a right to a family. I respect that. But the true work ethic is what satisfies him to his full extent. Discipline is the key. Without work, a man tends to go soft, Mr. Burnwick.”

“Men work to be able to live; they don’t live to be able to work.” I said, irritated.

“Mr. Burnwick, I lie to you not. How is a man to live without knowing he counts with the respect and sympathy of his fellow workers as his hard earned reward? Will he not shrink in disgrace? Can anything compare to social respect?”

“Yes,” I said “love.”

He frowned and grew melancholy.

“Before long, Mr. Burnwick, you will find that love is not trustworthy. Perhaps you must learn the hard way. I won’t say you’ve let me down, Mr. Burnwick, but I expected better of you.”

I laughed his warning away.

_________________________


Only a few months later, I received a message from some relations in England. Apparently some deceased uncle had left something in his will for me, and my presence was required there.

This presented a problem for me. Mainly, the problem was crossing through France. I had been somewhat isolated from everything that was occurring, even though we lived near the French border. Mr. Bowler had not come for his usual visits for some time. Traveling was nearly impossible. It was the French Revolution. Napoleon had defeated the coalition, driven them out of France and was at that moment turning his intelligent beady eyes towards other countries.

I was at that moment somewhat unaware of this situation; all I had time to think about was my isolated life with my wife and my book. I was foolish enough to decide to make the journey, but at least I had the sense to tell my wife to wait for me at home. The journey was too dangerous for her, and I thought she would be safer at home. I asked the two servants to take very good care of her, and I hired a watchman (a baker-watchman) called Giuseppe to watch at nights.

I also decided to make a round-about journey to England through Austria and Prussia, thinking it would be safer. I kissed my wife and waved goodbye as the stage coach bore me away the day I left.

__________________________


I managed to make it into Germany, which was quite an accomplishment. We were riding towards Munich, when we reached a block in the road. We stopped to ask the soldiers stationed there to let us go through. The driver translated for me, but the sergeant there shook his head and pointed at me. The driver turned to me and shrugged.

“He says we have to stay here…the French are invading the country.”

I despaired, and tried to get the driver to turn around, but the sergeant shouted at us again. I asked the driver what the matter was.

“He says we have to stay here for the time being, else we’ll be in danger.”

“But that’s impossible; I can’t!”

The driver shrugged again and explained to the sergeant. In response, he called another soldier up and ordered him to escort us to the wooden cabin stationed near by.

The war dragged on, and day by day, I grew feverish to leave. Everyday I thought about my wife, in possible danger. Writing letters was useless; I couldn’t find a willing messenger, not even for money. We were like prisoners, never able to leave the small compound the soldiers built. I insisted on leaving, but the sergeant must have thought me crazy, and for my own good, retained me there. I had forgotten about the dead relative; I wanted to see my wife again. A month after I had arrived at the location, I was finally released.
_________________


As I reached Italy, I saw strange signs of destruction. Villages pillaged, burned down buildings, pleading children; I was feeling very apprehensive when I crossed the border into the country that had adopted me.

The stage coach rumbled through the streets of the town where I had befriended so many people. I watched with a heavy heart the razed buildings. Down-cast eyes stared at the stage-coach horses…hungrily. I watched a man bury his children; anger burned in his eyes behind the melancholy, and I felt the whole village consumed in the fires of hate.

The fields were consumed, the flowers trampled on, and the path to my villa heavy with mud. I got closer now, and suddenly my hope rose as I clearly saw a figure sitting on the hilltop. As I got closer, I saw it was not my wife; it was the watchman I had hired, Giuseppe. I was near to tears as I called the driver to stop in front of the figure. I looked at him hopefully.

He cast his eyes down.

“I couldn’t let the body rot, so I buried her near the well.”

I didn’t reply. I walked composedly to the driver and paid him. Then I turned and walked to the villa. Once I was out of sight, I began to run. I shouted and cursed and punched the air as I ran, breathing hard and choking in my tears. When I got to the well, I only had enough energy left to fall upon the mound of earth and cry. Half an hour later, I got up, composed once again. Someone was going to pay for her death. That someone was Napoleon. But how? The villagers could help. And he had some money. Maybe he could organize a small force that would constantly strike and run. What other options did he have?

Now is the moment to decide on the course of action based on Burnwick's (the narrator) personality. What do you think he would, could do? Once we have determined some actions, we will vote and that will be the basis for the next chapter.

Anyway, give me comments on what you think, as well.

[Chinaren]

A good tale, very sad.

What's the use in trying to take revenge? You are up against an army! Maybe you could join the enemy army and fight them?

Nicely written D.

[Chinaren]

Forgot to say: The Title sounds like a Pizza! ;)

[D-Lotus]

I see your point, but this guy is just really mad. It's like he wants to try and assasinate Napoleon. It's certainly possible, but has to be planned out.

As you said, he could join the Austrian army. That could be a choice.

[Key]

Joining the army is good. I also like the idea of him trying to assassinate Napoleon, and being unable to get close to him, and so ending up taking out his revenge on some minor French soldier who's not really guilty of anything.

[Shady Stoat]

Good chapter. Poignant :)

I'm not sure what he could do. War stories aren't really my strong point. :? I do think poisoning or some other such subtlety should be used, though, not a crossbow bolt through the heart. Much better chance of success with the assassin's tools, rather than the killer's.

However, I think he should be close to success, after many years of tortuous planning and patience. Then, when he's on the brink of being able to carry out the deed, I like the idea of some sort of revelation that restores him to sanity. A vision of his wife, perhaps. A realisation that no matter what he does, he can never bring her back? The knowledge that he hasn't actually thought of his dead wife for months now, and that revenge has taken the place where love used to be?

I don't know... it would make for a nice twist in the story though :D

[Chinaren]

Quote: However, I think he should be close to success, after many years of tortuous planning and patience. Then, when he's on the brink of being able to carry out the deed, I like the idea of some sort of revelation that restores him to sanity. A vision of his wife, perhaps. A realisation that no matter what he does, he can never bring her back? The knowledge that he hasn't actually thought of his dead wife for months now, and that revenge has taken the place where love used to be?

"No good at war stuff" she says, then lays out the entire plot!!! :shock: ;)

[Shady Stoat]

chinaren wrote:
"No good at war stuff" she says, then lays out the entire plot!!! :shock: ;)

That's 'people stuff' not 'war stuff'! I can figure out individuals, just not groups of 'em :P

[Smee]

Hey Dani,

I'd lost track of this one since the first chapter, but today I've started from the beginning again and caught up.

I don't think he's got much chance of raising the village into any useful force. They're defeated and distraught peasants, not fighting men. However, he may find a handful of men equally filled with the lust for revenge that may be able to achive something.

Are you wanting ideas for where the watch comes into the story, or do you have that worked out? (not that I have any, just wondering)

Maybe making his way to England is a better idea - could he attempt the journey by ship? My knowledge of the Napoleonic wars is severely limited, but if Napoleon is concentrating inland, then that might mean his fleet is yet to be built/sail. Surely passage could be bought from Italy somewhere? The vision that Stoat mentioned (excellent idea) could occur during the voyage?

Once in England he could join the army, recruit some help - whatever his revenge demands and pocket can afford.

Interesting writing Dani, I'm impressed. :)

[Ravenwing]

Nice to see you broke writers' block, D. Like said above, a well-said sad tale of sorrow.

First of all, Burnwick should not go after his wife's killer himself. Maybe he can take revenge on the French by joining on the armies against the French. I think that is the best idea we have so far. Again, great writing, D. :cool:

[D-Lotus]

Hey, thanks, y'all!

Answering some questions here:

Quote: Are you wanting ideas for where the watch comes into the story, or do you have that worked out? (not that I have any, just wondering)

Actually, I have an idea. It's ok, but it's not great, so anything anyone would be willing to volunteer would be helpful.

Quote: I'm not sure what he could do. War stories aren't really my strong point. I do think poisoning or some other such subtlety should be used, though, not a crossbow bolt through the heart. Much better chance of success with the assassin's tools, rather than the killer's.

However, I think he should be close to success, after many years of tortuous planning and patience. Then, when he's on the brink of being able to carry out the deed, I like the idea of some sort of revelation that restores him to sanity. A vision of his wife, perhaps. A realisation that no matter what he does, he can never bring her back? The knowledge that he hasn't actually thought of his dead wife for months now, and that revenge has taken the place where love used to be?

Hehe, you're all in for some big surprises. The twist is actually much better than all this. However, you can forget "years of tortous planning"...Napoleon could possibly be defeated by then! Poison, etc., sounds posible. Crossbow through the heart (although probably they would use guns) is possible, if he can infiltrate in the French army, and get close enough.

Quote: Joining the army is good. I also like the idea of him trying to assassinate Napoleon, and being unable to get close to him, and so ending up taking out his revenge on some minor French soldier who's not really guilty of anything.

Joining the closest enemies of the French (In this case, the Austrians) is a good possibility. Taking it out on someone else is possible too, if he does not succeed in killing Napoleon, but I just don't see him as that kind of person.

Quote: I don't think he's got much chance of raising the village into any useful force. They're defeated and distraught peasants, not fighting men. However, he may find a handful of men equally filled with the lust for revenge that may be able to achive something.

Oh, yes...I didn't put this in the story, because at the moment, Burnwick doesn't know it's going on, but there is a group of sailors that arrived shortly after Burnwick left in his journey, and they are in the port town. They survived the attack, or raid.

Quote: Maybe making his way to England is a better idea - could he attempt the journey by ship? My knowledge of the Napoleonic wars is severely limited, but if Napoleon is concentrating inland, then that might mean his fleet is yet to be built/sail. Surely passage could be bought from Italy somewhere? The vision that Stoat mentioned (excellent idea) could occur during the voyage?

Travelling, especially to England...is rare. This is before the battle of Trafalgar, when the English secured the seas. I'm pretty sure Napoleon would have set some block at the strait of Gibraltar, since it's the easiest place to control the mediterranean from.


Anyway, thank you all for the compliments...everyday I learn more and more... ;)

[Ravenwing]

Whether Burnwick joins the army, or gets a whole village behind him, I think he will and would exact revenge on those who killed his family. Of course he could get his revenge, but in the end feel the adrenaline that pushed him to revenge die out.

[D-Lotus]

Oh, by the way, to clarify the exact time period, etc:

Somewhere in 1796-1797. Napoleon is defeating the Austrians in a brilliant campaign, and pushing them out of Italy. It will not be until later on when the Austrians ally with Napoleon...and then join the second coalition against him...and then join him again...and then join the third coalition to destroy him (they had some problems with loyalty). This is before the battle of Trafalgar, so France is still a major sea power. Uhh...that's about it... :cool:

[Smee]

Thanks Dani - useful info :)

[D-Lotus]

Ok, I assume these are our options:

1. Join the Austrians against Napoleon
2. Infiltrate French army to try and kill Napoleon (through sublety or phisical attack.)
3. Try to sniper Napoleon.


Any more options (especially those having to do with the sailors)?

[Ravenwing]

I think the another idea was to gather support through the villagers.

Do we know that it is Napoleon himself that killed the family? Or was it one of his men? 'Cause I personally thin Burnwick should infilitrate Napoleon's army and kill the guy that killed his wife, and children. And that is the end of that.

Now if it it was the short general we all know of, I understand joining the army and going against him.

[D-Lotus]

Poll's up!

Happy voting.... :-o

[Smee]

I voted for Infiltration.

As rave mentioned, if we can find the specific solider who ordered, or carried out the killing then the revenge will be that much more satisfying.

Happy Writing. :)

[Ravenwing]

Smee has beaten me to the vote. Oh well. I go with what I said, and Smee has mentioned. Let us kill the man, who sent the orders for the kill. The whole army could have done it, but there was only one man that decided to send out those orders.

[Warmaster Daizo]

The main problem with enlisting in Napoleon's army is the language: he is an Englishman who has been living in Italy for several years, and other French soldiers are going to know that through his accent, assuming he even knows French. Then he might face the prospect of being sent to sea to fight the English.

Since Italians have traditionally been known for their loyalty to family, he should probably try to gather support among not only the vilagers, but relatives of those deceased. This also supports him staying rather than trying to return to England.

-----

When facing an enemy of significantly greater strength, the best is to engage in guerilla tactics.

[D-Lotus]

You're right about that, and I didn't realize it until I'd posted the poll, but I don't think it'll be a problem, since there must be other Italians who don't speak French who joined Napoleon's army. Also, he does understand some french, being a business man.

By the way, I don't think Napoleon is too worried about sending anyone to England at this moment; he had enough problems defending himself, and he would need his whole army (which is partly in Italy) to invade such a powerful country. He tries that later on (to invade England) and it brings his eventual downfall.

Anyway, welcome to my story, Daizo, I hope you like it.

Oh, also: I have an essay to write over the weekend and into Thursday, but I'll start writing after that.

[Ravenwing]

I don't think there will be a problem with language. I would think most languages would be pretty much related, especially French and Italian since they both are Latin derived. I am sure people would be able to understand each other a little. :cool:

[Warmaster Daizo]

Spanish and Romanian are also derived from Latin; how well do you think either one would transfer over to French or Italian?

[D-Lotus]

As I said, if he can understand a few simple command, he will be all right.

[Suneila]

Actually, I know a Romanian girl who could speak almost flawless Italian after only a few lessons on the differences between the two languages. And all the Latino people I know don't have too hard a time understanding Italian or Portuguese. And (again) everyone I've ever met who can speak both Spanish and French say that Spanish was much easier to learn after having already learned French (or vice versa). Furthermore (for the sake of using a different word) Italian is related closer to French than Spanish is to French. Therefore: language wouldn't be a big problem.

~sunny

[Ravenwing]

Thank you Suneila. That was exactly my point. Since French, Spanish, and other languages are derived from the same root, Latin, understanding a little is possible no matter how far the differences reach. And even if you don't understand the words, you can probably interpret the gestures that may go with the words.

[Warmaster Daizo]

...and if all else fails, just do what everyone else does.

[D-Lotus]

Well, just in case, I'm going to write something that will leave no doubts about how he'll communicate. Poll is closed. The decision was to infiltrate the French army (which is weird, because the day I posted the poll I was totally sure everybody wanted to join the enemy army). I have already written 1/3 of the chapter (I somehow found time).

Happy Waiting! :D