A Most Generous Offer

[Cinnabar]

While the horror might understand the situation, the Constables are not without some idea of what's going on. Which is perhaps why they are suddenly a great deal more concerned with removing themselves from this mismatched confrontation than they are in launching any kind of assault on the creature.

The younger man, Gale, staggers back as the chains are withdrawn, fumbling with something at his throat. His right arm is useless, battered or perhaps broken by the first strike of the lashing chain, and he moves at a stumbling run for the relative shelter of the ruined Meetinghouse, ducking behind a heap of charred and collapsed timbers; blackened wood explodes into splinters under the chain's impact, but the Constable seems to have found shelter of a sort - for now, at least.

Briggs is scrambling to his feet, helmet dented and askew, staring at the cloaked figure with scarce-disguised fear. It might be luck that guides his unsteady movements, or it might be the benefit of long experience, but as the chain pulls back and whips out again he lurches to one side; it spares him the full force of the blow, which strikes sparks from the cobblestones, but the lashing end of the chain catches the back of his calf with wicked force. He can only give a wordless shout of pain as he falls once more, still trying to scrabble clear of those rattling lengths of metal.

It is at this point that from within the wreckage of the Meetinghouse comes a shrill whistling, short but vigorous blasts played upon some simple instrument of tin. A very few seconds later it is joined by a similar sound, only this time coming from somewhere close by to the east. And another, slightly further beyond that, but echoing that desperate piping. And another, perhaps a street distant to the south.

Soon the air is filled with the approaching sound of tin whistles, and then shouts and running feet.