[Olympics Fic Sprint Finals] The Masked Avenger

[shantari.livejournal.com]

Title: The Masked Avenger
Genre: Zorro inspired AU
Word Count: 3105
Rating/Warnings: PG. Warning for less than progressive views (from characters, not the writer) on slavery and debutantes. Also sword fights. And possibly historical errors.
Summary: Arthur Kirkland has just been appointed the commissioner of law in a county plagued by the mysterious masked man known as The Masked Avenger.

Arthur Kirkland had just arrived at his new office, and was settling in when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said absently, sorting through the papers on his desk.

“Good afternoon, Sir.” said the man as soon as he entered. “I see you've already made yourself at home here. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Reginald Conner, your attendant.”

“Ah, good.” Arthur stretched his hand out. “Arthur Kirkland. My predecessor spoke well of you, what little we spoke.”

As they shook hands, Arthur looked Reginald in the eyes and was pleased to see that the man seemed as genuine as he had been described. Good, he could use all the help he could get.

“I'm certain that good old Petersen exaggerated a bit. But I am well versed in my tasks here, so I should have no problem helping you to ease into your position.”

“Excellent, I was just about to ask you about something peculiar that I noticed in some of these reports here.”

“Yes Sir?”


“What is this about some Avenger?” Arthur held up several reports that he had put aside for the reason of that basic question. “Is it some form of local term for burglar or criminal or something?”

“Ahh, no, Sir.” Reginald hesitated before continuing. “How much did you speak with your predecessor before coming here?”

“Very briefly, I'm afraid. He seemed quite anxious to have the position filled as soon as possible. I haven't heard the term before in any of my previous lines of work, and quite honestly; incorporating localized terms, as special as silly ones such as this, into official paperwork, strikes me as highly unprofessional.”

“Ahh, yes, well.” The man squirmed a bit, seemingly uncomfortable with the topic they were discussing. “It's just that that is what he calls himself.”

“Who?” Arthur raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“The man who has been running around with a mask and sword, whisking away slaves and stealing fortunes. He has been reported as shouting out that his work as The Masked Avenger has been completed for another night, every time that he has managed to avoid capture.”

The newly appointed commissioner was flabbergasted.
“You mean this foot high pile of reports are all about the actions of one single man, one that has broken the law while shouting out loud, and who no one has managed to capture?”

“Yes,” Reginald grudgingly answered. “It's honestly quite embarrassing for the lot of us. I can see why Petersen may have neglected to mention it, after all, this whole affair is why he retired.”

“I thought he retired for medial reasons.” Arthur slumped in his chair, hoping this was all some silly dream caused by his irrational worries about his new position.
“Yes, well, an ulcer can be quite a nasty business.”


Arthur collapsed himself on his desk, trying to see if his forehead could become one with the desk and take him away from this reality. So that's why there hadn't been any competition for the job. It was probably a well spread rumor already, only Arthur had missed it. Who would want to take a job like this? He'd be a laughing stock for the rest of his career if he ended up chasing after some mad man in a mask. However, perhaps this could work out after all. If he captured the foe that had evaded Petersen all this time, then he could turn this fiasco to his advantage after all.

“Eh, Sir?” Reginald, not being able to see Arthur's mood changing with his face still hidden away, desperately tried to come up with something positive to say, lest he ended up losing this superior officer as well. “I don't know if you were told, but there's going to be a welcome party in your honor tonight, at the Jones estate.”

“The Jones estate?” While Arthur had been informed of the party and already had his dress uniform ready for it, he hadn't been told the location. Really, why had he let his youthful eagerness to start this new stage in his career accept this job with so little information received?

“Why yes, the Jones family is the richest in the area, and Mr and Mrs Jones are some of the most prominent members in high society.”

“Thank you.” Arthur held his hand raised in silence. “I already know. The Jones family is well known outside the county as well, and I made sure to read up on them before coming here. Their mansion is just outside of town, isn't it? Between the forest and the cotton fields, no?”

“Yes, that's right. I'd be happy to show you the way later.”

“That is quite alright, I think I'll manage. You return to your usual tasks for now, I'll be fine.”

Reginald nodded and left the office. As soon as he was alone again, Arthur leaned back in his chair and sighed. He'd much rather stay in his office and read up on this Avenger fellow. He looked at the clock, and reminded himself of the time stated in the invitation. There was still a couple of hours left before he would need to return home to change his clothes. Well then, there was work to be done.


Later that evening...

This kind of high society party didn't really suit him. While he was more than able to affect the kind of smalltalk that people of power and prestige preferred, there was a bit too much music and dancing for his taste. And far too many young ladies with nothing better to do than to gossip behind their fans while throwing meaningful glances around the party. Perhaps he felt the most affected by the latter because of still being new to the place, and therefor quite the hot topic, at least judged by the glances he had been feeling in the back of his head all night. It would help if he knew exactly what they were saying about him, but those dastardly fans hid any facial reactions, and therefor only added to his self consciousness. Luckily for him, there was one man about to arrive at the party that had consistently been the most interesting subject of discussion regardless of any new arrivals.

“It's him!” Arthur heard a girl whisper excitedly.

“Oh my! I dare not have thought that he would come.”

“Deary, if anyone knows to be fashionably late, it's no other than Alfred F Jones.”

At the mention of that name, Arthur's attention was grabbed, and he turned toward the same direction as the gossiping girls. Entering the dance hall was a young man, barely looking old enough to be called as such, with beautiful golden hair and a pair of dainty spectacles. So this was the heir to the Jones family cotton fortune, and the future most powerful person in the county. There was no doubt as to why he was such an endlessly hot topic among a row of debutantes.


While he had already paid his dues toward the host and hostess, it would be negligent if not downright rude to ignore their son. He made his way, greeting other important people along the way, to the center of attention himself. However, he ended up stuck on the outside of a large throng of ladies, trying most desperately not to come off as desperate in getting Jones' attention. He had decided to more or less wait for his turn, when the young man suddenly excused himself to the ladies and made a beeline towards him.

“Arthur Kirkland?” he asked.

“Yes. Alfred F Jones, I hear?” Arthur replied in turn. “I just wanted to thank you for this soiree.”

“You can thank my parents for that.” The boy looked embarrassed for some reason. “I had nothing to do with this.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur started. “I made sure to thank them the first thing I did on arriving. But this is your home as well, so it's just basic courtesy.”

“Oh, so you're only talking to me to be polite, then?” Jones pouted, throwing Arthur completely off.

“Well, ehh, that is.” Damn, too late, Arthur realized that he had walked into a trap. There was no good answer to this question, since he simply didn't know the boy enough to have another reason to talk to him.

“Heh, just kidding,” Jones grinned mischievously. “I don't care why you want to talk to me, since I anyway wanted to talk to you.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“Well, I had heard that you were a lot younger than old man Petersen, but I hadn't realized that you were almost my age. How old are you?”

“I just turned twenty three this last March. But don't think little of me because of my youth. I graduated top of my class from some of the finest schools in the country, and I have been working in the field since I was fifteen, so my lack in numerical age doesn't mean a lack in experience.”

Alfred Jones blinked in confusion, before his eyes began to shine like the stars in the sky.
“That is so incredible! I was already thinking that here's someone who's getting ahead in life, doing something real and awe inspiring!”

Now it was the young commissioner's turn to blink, only his confusion gave way for embarrassment instead.
“Ah, really. Well then, I see. Don't misunderstand. I wasn't saying all those things because I figured you were looking down on me. I just wanted to reassure you as a citizen that you can count on me to protect you from criminals.”

“Protect me, huh? Why, do you think I might be in danger?”


Before Arthur could reply, there was a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he saw that Reginald had arrived, with a grim expression.

“Excuse me, Sir. There is an urgent matter requiring your attention.”

“Yes?” Arthur immediately turned his full attention towards his attendant. If this had anything to do with that Avenger, he would not allow himself to think of anything or anyone else.

“A stable boy reported finding the slave that was lost last week.”

“The one that was taken by The Masked Avenger?” Arthur forced himself to keep his voice from sounding too eager or too loud. This was his chance, served on a silver platter on the very day of his arrival. If that wasn't a good welcome party, then what was? Remembering his manners he turned to excuse himself from Mr Jones, only to find him nowhere to be seen. A sting of disappointment told him that the man was probably amusing himself elsewhere, having grown bored with the conversation. Seems wealth can't buy decency after all.

“Sir?”

“Right, Reginald, lead the way. I want all hands out there, searching the forest.” He walked briskly to the exit, asking for his sword and pistol back before equipping them. The hunt was on.


Sneaking around in the forest, he kept his pistol at the ready. While some part of him was eager to find out if this Avenger was as good a fencer as the reports claimed him to be, he was not going to be a fool who let pride dictate his way. This man was a lawbreaker, it would not do to indulge him in needlessly playing to his strengths. He knew that his duty was first and foremost to secure the runaway slave, but if he had understood those reports right, chances were high that the Avenger would risk a confrontation with the lawmen if it meant securing the slave. That was a bit puzzling however. Why was the Avenger setting these slaves free instead of selling them elsewhere? Did he owe them anything? Or was he one of them? Perhaps that was the reason for his mask.

A sudden sting to his hand made him reflexively open it, letting his pistol fall to the ground. Cursing his own lack of attention, he turned around, his hand on his saber. Only to be stopped by the point of a sword lightly pressing against his chest.

“Uh-uh-uh-uh, you aren't about to do something stupid now, are you?” Said the man the sword belonged to. Arthur looked him up and down in the pale moonlight.

“The Masked Avenger, I presume.” Arthur quipped, but there was really no room to doubt. The man was dressed all in black, high heel boots doing their part to obscure his height, while his knee length cape made it impossible to say if he was skinny or muscular or even fat, at least in this poor lighting. And of course there was the mask, covering his face, adorned with a short brimmed hat on top. The only that Arthur could say for sure about the man in front of him was that his eyes were a clear blue, negating his previous theory on the reason for the mask. “Is it really honorable to face your opponent like this?”


“I don't know, is it honorable to face a swordsman with a pistol?” He punctuated this with a kick to some unseen object in the dark, presumably the pistol in question, without ever taking his sword or eyes away from Arthur. His chance to act had yet to come.

“Can't be too careful with criminals on the loose and all.” Arthur smiled with more confidence than should really be warranted in his situation, though he was starting to doubt the amount of danger he was in. If this Avenger had wanted to kill him, he could have done so already. “Personally, I think you're afraid to face me in a proper duel.”

“Why would I?” The masked man scoffed, but the words had taken their intended effect. He was pulling back his sword, and stepping ever so slightly backwards. “If you think you can take me, then try.”

“I should warn you in all fairness,” he said as he unsheathed his own sword, bringing it up to meet the Avenger's. “I was the top of my class in fencing.”

“Well, you're about to be outclassed.” The Avenger made a lunge for Arthur's arm, which he easily sidestepped.

“Ugh, terrible.” Arthur feinted a strike towards the face of his foe, easily turning his blade away from the instinctive guard the Avenger held, and instead performing a downward slash against his legs, leaving a shallow cut on one of the thighs. “You better hope that your swordplay is better than your wordplay, or I'll have you bleeding on the ground in no time at all.”

“Like you're one to talk.” The Avenger bit out through his obvious pain, before jabbing at Arthur's shoulder, barely nicking it thanks to the commissioner's reflexes. “Say what you want about Petersen, at least he never even bothered to try and match me in jesting.”

“Perhaps because you just weren't a good enough jester to do his own gestures justice.” He recoiled from another strike towards his shoulder. “Hold on, how did you know I was Petersen's replacement?”

“Well, the word travels fast when it isn't busy being played.” The Avenger executed an impressive turn, allowing him to feign another strike against Arthur's arm, before leaving a slightly deeper cut this time in his shoulder. “Besides, your uniform was a subtle clue.”

“There will be nothing subtle about it, once I adorn it with the medals I'll receive for your capture.”

“Unless there are medals for having more holes than a sieve, I'm afraid you'll have to settle for a modest uniform.” He playfully batted Arthur's next strike away, before executing a series of slashes that left several tears to the uniform. “Though I think modesty does suit you better.”

“And I think a prisoner's gown would suit you better than that mask.” Arthur tried a strike against the head, hoping to if not unmask him, then at least knock his hat off. “Did I pull you away from a masquerade ball or something?”

“As a matter of fact, you did. But I think you would fit in perfectly.” Another cut to Arthur's uniform, this time to one of his sleeves. “You'd make a perfect scarecrow.”


“Well someone has to keep pests away. If I scare you so much, why don't you crow to your mother about it?”

“Ooh, ouch. Your poor play on words hurts a lot more than your sword.”

“Whatever tactic works.”

“Indeed.” And he made a lunge aimed for Arthur's midriff, forcing him to pull back, retracting his stomach and losing his balance. He pushed his foot back to support himself, before making an attack of his own, that was never to be as his foot met no resistance from the ground. Helplessly, he fell through the shrubbery for several feet before coming to an abrupt stop. Sitting up he found himself in a pit in the ground, looking up to see the Avenger silhouetted against the moonlight.

“You coward! You call this fighting like a man?” Angrily standing up, he found himself even more enraged at discovering he was too short to reach the opening.

“Hahaha, no,” the man said, his mirth making his voice sound different from before, though Arthur was too angry to notice. “I call this fighting like a crow.”

“Since when do crows lay traps?”

“Hmm, true. Maybe I am fighting like a man, after all.” He laughed some more, leaving his foe to stew in his own rage.

“You come back here, or so help me, I'll hunt you down and flog you and leave you to the crows!! You hear me!”

The response came in form of his own pistol being thrown into the pit with him.

“I think you'll have an easier time getting help with this than by shouting.” Came the far off voice of the Avenger. “It's been fun, but I've got someone else who's earned his rescue far more than you have. Until next time! The Masked Avenger away!”

Reloading his pistol, Arthur swore to himself that he would unmask that miscreant if it so was the last thing he ever did.