Please note that while this story is set in a real location and references historical people, it is entirely a work of fiction written for entertainment.
I welcome any comments or critiques.
The following is an excerpt from "The Star of Ascania":
He snapped the jewelry box shut loudly and waved it at her with his massive right fist.
“I will have the money. But, if you want this brooch... you must give me your necklace also.”
“No,” she refused emphatically.
“That is not part of the deal. If you refuse to accept the contract price there will simply be no exchange.”
He stuffed the brooch back inside of his coat. Then he stepped forward to hulk monstrously over her slinky black leather figure.
“And what is to stop me from simply taking the money and sending you back empty-handed?” he threatened domineeringly.
“That may not be as easy as you think,” she responded intrepidly, clutching the attaché to her side tightly.
Her pluckiness clearly annoyed him.
“Do not waste my time, fräulein. If you do not want to get hurt I suggest that you put your necklace in the bag and hand it over. Now!” he ordered in a booming voice.
She did not cower, nor did she obey his command. Fiery spirit sparkled in her gorgeous sable eyes as she looked up to meet his glare directly, her face framed by the notched collar of her leather coat and the curved brim of her hat.
“Excuse me, mein Herr,” she replied with bold sarcasm.
“I don’t know how you treat other women, but nobody forces me to do anything!”
An ugly frown wrinkled his stern visage.
“Typical American woman,” he spat.
“You need a man to put you in your place!”
He emphasized his chauvinistic insult by smacking her on the butt. The meaty palm of his hand struck her toned, shapely backside with a palpable leathery splat.
“And you need to keep your hands off of me!” she scolded him.
He barely flinched at the stinging blow, but it infuriated him all the more.
“Miststück!” he bellowed.
“You will regret that!”
He lurched forward, reaching for her with hands like bear paws.
She evaded his grasp with ease, gracefully sidestepping as if she was swaying in a foxtrot, and withdrew from him.
“The only thing I regret is putting up with your deplorable behavior,” she retorted.
“We are finished here. I will inform Mr. Liskowiak that you reneged on the agreement. He can deal with you himself if our client agrees to a higher price. But, personally, I am done with you.”
“You are not going anywhere until I have that money!” Herr Schumann fumed.
“Oh yeah?” she shrugged.
“Watch me!”
She turned her back on him with a toss of her lustrous brown hair and descended the stairs from the apse.
“Get back here!” he roared, waving his cane with outrage.
“No one walks away from me without paying what they owe me first!”
She ignored him, briskly sweeping across the choir without another word.
He lumbered after her, grunting, grimacing, and swearing vehemently in German all the while.
She outpaced him with little effort, strutting along with a long, lively stride; her head held high and her splendid bosom thrust prominently forward. Her shiny black leather coat rippled back and forth over her voluptuous figure with the feminine swing of her hips. She nimbly alighted the rood screen steps and continued down the central aisle of the nave, her tall boots flickering in and out of her billowing coat flaps and the sound of her clicking heels resonating within the soaring vaults of the pillared arcade. Veering to the right of the east choir, she paused at the arch leading into the south transept to glance over her shoulder.
Herr Schumann was still at the other end of the nave. He was twice her age and impeded by the infirmities of his gluttonous excesses, but he limped toward her relentlessly, hammering his cane on the flagstones as he went.
“You can run, fräulein, but you won't escape! I will get that money! And I will get you too!” he thundered, letting out a burst of raucous laughter that echoed sinisterly.
She unfastened the lower two buttons of her coat so that she could hurry on her way without any restriction to her movement. Fitted trousers made of smooth black lambskin were tucked inside her knee-high boots, encasing her slim legs entirely in sleek leather.
Bustling through the transept, she passed through a set of massive double doors into the gatehouse corridor and found the glass-paned visitors entrance roped off due to the cathedral closing. A signpost pointed her to a side door through which she immediately exited.
She emerged into the cloister. The outside air felt cold and damp against the exposed skin of her face. Heavy clouds had already blotted out the last rays of the setting sun, shrouding the evening sky in darkness. It had started to rain while she was inside. The drizzling shower was visible in the yellow glow of artificial lights beyond the covered walkway. She didn’t relish getting wet without her umbrella, but she dared not linger.
She turned to leave and halted with a gasp.
She was not alone.
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