Fantasy 1

[Explanation:  This is mostly just me fooling around.  
Like all bad writers, I have the habit of getting distracted from what I'm actually writing by looking way too far ahead on other projects.
This would have been a sequel of sorts to my original story.  Or actually the sequel to the sequel.
The idea was that if the original story was supposed to be a re-telling of The Paris Commune, the sequel would be a re-telling of the terrorism and assassinations from the 1880s and 1890s, including the assassination of Tsar Alexander II. 
My idea was that a small number of students would survive the Paris Commune-esque incident, including Abel (because the Duke forgave him) and Vera (because she snuck through the dragnet).
The survivors would form a terrorist group, and Vera would be responsible for assassinating the Duke.  (Just like her namesake Vera Figner had assassinated Tsar Alexander II).
That would have been the sequel.

I also had ideas for yet another book, a sequel to that sequel.    
I was reading about some of the "shared universe" science-fiction books, which took all the heroes from Victorian fiction and put them all together into one novel.  (Books like Anno Dracula, for example).  And I thought that sounded like so much fun that I wanted to play around with it myself.  So I decided that after writing the book on terrorism/assassination, I would do a book that incorporated all the archetypes of Victorian fiction.
Since I was writing in my own universe, I couldn't take the characters directly.  (Sherlock Holmes wouldn't fit in my own universe, since he was clearly supposed to live in the real world in Victorian England).  But I could easily take the character types.
Thus, the Red Blade is a Scarlet Pimpernel type.
William is a Sherlock Holmes type.
Henry is a Watson type.
Because I was bored one night, I sketched what might be the beginning of this story.  It only gets a few paragraphs in, but had I continued, I would have tried to integrate many more character types from Victorian pulp fiction.
This story fragment would have taken place after the sequel--i.e., after the assassination of the Duke.
Dagon (Orpheus's roommate from the first story) is now a prison guard.  "The Maiden of Terror" --i.e. Vera--has somehow been captured, and is his prisoner.]

Dagon pulled out his book of matches and fumbled with his numb hands as he tried to strike one against the back. After all he had done, he still couldn't believe he had risen in the ranks no further than this monotonous sentry duty. He was convinced his talents were being grievously overlooked.

But then again, tonight even he had to admit the prisoner they were guarding was important. They had caught her at last, the "maiden of terror." Tonight would be her last night on this earth before she met the hangman's noose. And then tomorrow night the devil would guard her in hell.

Finally he managed to strike a light, which his blue fingers brought trembling up to his cigarette. With one hand he cupped the precious flame from the wind while his other hand held the match. The cigarette was placed between his cracked lips, and he took in deep breaths until he got it light.

He flicked the match away and watched the flame make and arc in the air before it hit the wet ground and promptly went out. "Reminds me of my career," he thought. Still, he was young enough to make a comeback. He just needed one more success.

The air seemed to grow darker, and when he looked up at the sky he saw that the moon was being gobbled up by the clouds. At least they still had the torches around the prison walls to give light.

He called out to the other guard, "Hey, you want one of these smokes?" Only he didn't take the cigarette out of his mouth as he spoke, so it came out, "ey! Ou an un o ese mokes?" With the cold night air like it was, it seemed like a huge waste to take a hand out of a warm pocket just for the sake of speaking clearly.

The other guard nodded, and jogged over, his hands also deep in his pockets. Dagon made the effort of getting out his cigarette pack, shaking it until a loose cigarette tumbled into his hand, passed it off to the other guard, and then they performed the smoker's kiss until the flame had passed from one cigarette to the other.

The other guard, who hadn't removed his hands from his pockets this whole time, puffed on the new cigarette with a contented air. He leaned his head back, and seemed about to say something when a voice came out of the shadows. "Don't move a muscle!"

The other guard's cigarette dropped out of his open mouth. Dagon immediately reached for his gun. But, no sooner had he brought the gun out of its holster than a sword came down on his wrist. It was a glancing blow, barely enough to draw blood, but the sword then flicked sideways and knocked the gun out of his hand before he even knew what was happening.

Without pausing to think over what had just happened, Dagon immediately reached for his sword. He managed to get the sword out of his sheath, and even crossed blades once or twice with the stranger before the stranger knocked his sword away with the same ease in which he had disposed of the gun. The stranger then held his sword right up to Dagon's neck, and let him feel the sharpness. Dagon instinctively backed away from the blade, but the stranger stepped forward to keep the blade close. After only a few steps, Dagon felt his back against the cold stone of the prison wall.

The other guard had remained frozen watching. All of this had happened so quickly that perhaps he didn't have time to decide what to do. He was apparently one of those people who react to surprise by freezing up. "Last time I waste one of my cigarettes on you," Dagon thought.

While keeping the blade against Dagon's throat, the stranger withdrew his revolver with his left hand and aimed it at the other guard. "The first one who gives the alarm is a dead man," he said in a surprisingly calm voice. "I implore you gentleman, do not force me to do violence. I have no wish to harm either of you."

Having lost both his gun and sword, and being backed up against the wall on top of it, Dagon made no further attempts to resist. His military Cadet training subsided, and for the first time he allowed the analytical part of his brain to take notice of the stranger's appearance.

His clothing at first looked black, but that was only because everything looks black in the dead of night. In the flickering light of the torches, Dagon saw that it was actually more of a dark red or scarlet. And his entire outfit was covered in this dark red: his hats, his shirt, his pants. In fact, only his boots looked to be truly black.

Dagon never did get a good look at the face, because a strip of cloth was tied around his eyes. There were two holes for the stranger to see out of, but in the darkness Dagon couldn't see in. "Who are you?" he asked.

"You can call me the Red Blade. But I'll be asking the questions from now on. Which one of you holds the keys?"

Dagon remained defiantly silent. The Red Blade looked over at the other guard. There was a clicking sound as the Red Blade clicked his gun. Once the other guard heard this sound, his nerve broke down completely, and he pointed at Dagon. Dagon sighed.

"Good," the Red Blade answered. "Take them out of his pocket and hand them to me." [Unfinished]

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When I arrived at his apartment, he was already in the middle of a violin session. "William, welcome," he called out. "And what brings you here so early?"

"I must confess," I answered. "I'm slightly surprised to see you awake so early."

He shrugged his shoulders slightly as he sat down the violin. "I couldn't sleep," he explained. "There's nothing to be done about it I'm afraid. But you, dear doctor, what is your excuse for coming here so early? Is newly married life not to your liking? I warned you about women, you remember."

"On the contrary, Henry, I assure you I could not be happier, as much as I do miss our bachelor days together. No, it is merely to see an old friend that I have decided to drop by."

"I have no doubt of your affections, my good doctor," he said as he dropped into his chair. "But surely there is no harm in admitting among friends that you have an ulterior motive for this visit."

"I can see once again that I can keep no secrets from you."

"Oh, but dear doctor, you make it altogether too easy for me. The early hour at which you called, when you yourself admitted you thought not to find me awake, is enough of an indication by itself. Further proof, if any were needed, could easily be found by the lack of food stains on your clothing. On anyone else that would be entirely unremarkable, but to someone as I who knows your habits and your tendency to spill your food, it would