The Reluctant Assassin Boxset

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  When he heard a sound ahead, his head came up. Zayn darted forward, faster than Portia could get her hand out to stop him. He saw the faint warding glyph hanging in the air the moment before he crashed into it, triggering the spell.

  A spray of white gooey liquid splattered onto him from all directions, freezing into place, and before he could take another step, he'd been locked into a crystalline membrane. A giggling laughter echoed down the tunnel at them, clearly a taunt for setting off the trap.

  "I tried to stop you," said Portia, unapologetically.

  "I should have let you go first, you're the scout," said Zayn. "Can you get me out?"

  Portia broke a thin stalactite off his shoulder and gave it a tentative sniff. "Smells like sugar. I'd take a nibble but it could be an illusion."

  She punched the sugary web, freeing Zayn from the membrane. It exploded into white powder, which fell into a dusting on the brown liquid running through the tunnel.

  Zayn was about to run off first again when he remembered that had gotten him into trouble in the first place.

  "After you," he said, directing Portia in front of him.

  She moved quickly, nimbly hopping from side to side in the curved tunnel, avoiding the liquid at the bottom. Zayn matched her motions, though it pained him not to sprint forward with reckless abandon.

  But her patience was rewarded when she stopped, craning her head to the side, and pointed to runes on the ceiling. She disarmed the trap with a couple of gestures.

  When they came to a tunnel, Portia glanced either way. A cackling laughter erupted from the left passage, but she frowned and led him right.

  The faint voice of the instructor wafted into the tunnel like a fog:

  "Sugar and lies

  and everything nice

  that's what I'm made of

  find me or divine me

  but surely don't bind me

  or you'll get nothing at all

  this maze is a test

  and if you're the best

  then you'll win the grand prize of it all."

  Portia squinted behind them where the voice had originated.

  "That was interesting," said Zayn.

  "Yeah," she said absently, clearly focused on figuring out how to navigate the maze. After a moment of examination and spell casting, she once again went in the opposite direction.

  The occasional laughter flitted into the tunnel every few minutes, but Portia followed her own instincts, disarming the various traps she found along the way. When they saw a figure ahead racing towards them, they both brought spells to their lips, only to realize it was Skylar.

  "Where are the others?" asked Zayn.

  Skylar was soaked to the bone in what smelled like some sort of cherry flavored liquid.

  "I fell in a pit, and when I swam out, I was in a different location. I heard Keelan and Vin laughing hysterically moments ago, but I couldn't find where they're at. This place is one crazy-assed maze."

  "I think Instructor Minoan read too much Roald Dahl as a kid," said Zayn.

  The three of them, led by Portia, traversed the tunnels for another hour before they found the other two, who had gotten stuck in a loop with a confusion charm on it.

  "Do we keep searching for the instructor or go back?" asked Zayn.

  Portia crossed her arms. "We've been through every area of this maze, mostly looping back around until I could figure out the counter to the charm. At this point, I'd rather get into some dry and non-sticky clothes and come back later."

  "What about the grand prize?" asked Zayn, thinking about new tools to help him with Varna.

  "I think I'd rather take a bath," said Skylar with nods of agreement from the others.

  When they got back into the kitchen, Zayn went looking for Petri but she was no longer in the house. He thought about messaging her, but realized that if she'd left, it meant that she was not interested in talking about their night and that he should just forget that it'd ever happened.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Second Ward, March 2016

  They brought the house down

  The Orpheum Community Theater was smaller than Zayn had expected, only capable of holding forty people at small tables rather than auditorium seating. The place doubled as a comedy club on the weekend, which explained the smell of old whiskey and the scraps of stale popcorn between the tables.

  Zayn glanced out between the curtains, spying six whole customers, which included the owner, who had been curious about their marionette rigging and had come in from his day off.

  "Why did I think this was a good idea?" asked Zayn, biting his lower lip.

  Vin, wearing dark clothing and a chalky gray makeup to simulate the look of the maetrie, yanked the curtain closed. "You've looked out there a dozen times. It's not going to change."

  "How are you so calm? I feel like I swallowed a rabbit," said Zayn, tugging on his black shirt. They'd tried to put the chalky makeup on him, but it looked like some sort of reverse minstrel show, so they decided not to bother.

  "All the hard work is past. Now we get to shine on stage," said Vin, eyes glittering with anticipation.

  "You okay, cuz?" asked Keelan from the back, doing calf stretches as if it were a football game.

  "Why aren't you nervous?" asked Zayn.

  Keelan popped his head from side to side, cracking it loudly. "Dunno. I always wanted to act. More excited than nervous."

  The theater manager came into the back, tugging on his loose tie. "I think this is about as big a crowd as you're going to get. You can start anytime."

  Zayn held his side. "I think I'm going to throw up."

  Vin patted him on the shoulder. "As soon as you get out there, you'll be fine. You won't even be able to see the audience because of the lights. Don't worry."

  Before they started, Vin gathered them into a circle, and they put their hands in the middle. "I know I've been pushing you all pretty hard this last month, but I think everyone's made a lot of progress. You're all going to make mistakes. Don't worry, just keep going, and everyone else will pick you up."

  With the pep talk, Zayn felt his nervousness reduce from boil to simmer.

  "I hope we make you proud," said Zayn, giving Vin a big smile.

  "Break a leg, everyone!"

  They lifted their hands up.

  "Go team," said Portia.

  Getting into their marionette rigging took a few minutes. They'd built scaffolding over the stage that would allow the ropes to travel across it, while keeping them taut, to complete the illusion of the strings. The scaffolding was hidden by a curtain that hung in the front of the stage, creating a viewing window. Zayn was glad that his character, the narrator, didn't have to wear the rigging.

  The lights flickered on and off twice, giving Zayn the signal to begin the show. He pushed through the curtain, which gave him a scratchy polyester feeling like he was sliding through a membrane until he popped out on stage. The can lights warmed his face, but unlike what Vin had promised, they did nothing to hide the audience from his view.

  "Greetings," began Zayn, his voice cracking. Their ambivalent stares were acid on his skin.

  "Greetings," he said louder. "It is I, Percieus the Sage, who has come to tell you a tale that may serve as a parable to some, or a warning to others. While in this lark, you will hear great deeds and thrilling escapades. You will also know the pain of conflict and the ache of loss."

  He'd rushed through his first lines, but took a moment to breathe and slowed his delivery. Though common in Shakespearian plays, the Announcer was unknown to the maetrie construction of the theater. It was an addition made for human audiences to help them make sense of the strange narrative structure.

  "For today I tell you the story of Kanedari the Young on his liebereisen, which in this tongue means a journey of discovery, for he is a lad of uncommon strength and wit, on his quest to find what fate has in store for him."

  Zayn backed away from the center stage, and in a booming voice, declared
, "Behold, Kanedari the Young comes forth."

  Keelan burst through the curtains, which caught momentarily on the rigging, and for a moment, Zayn thought the whole structure would come down. But the wooden scaffolding held, and Keelan made his grand entrance.

  From the other side of the stage, Portia appeared as the queen in silvery robes, leaning on an ivory cane. They'd dressed her as the Silver Court, even though there was no such thing.

  "Kanedari, my love, you are too young for this journey," said the Silver Queen. "You will not survive."

  "You cannot turn me away," said Kanedari. "I must prove myself before I can take my place in the court, and it is my destiny to take this path, you cannot deny me."

  "No, I cannot, but you are not ready and the Eternal City will gobble you up and spit you out like the bones of a foolish dolgant," said the Silver Queen.

  "I must meet my destiny," said Kanedari.

  "But why must you rush into your liebereisen? Please, my dearest child, wait but a few years," said the Silver Queen.

  "If I could tell you, I would," said Kanedari with his head dipped in sorrow.

  Before she could respond, he marched forward, and the Silver Queen disappeared behind the curtain. The next part involved Kanedari encountering minor obstacles, events designed to give the audience an idea of his character. While Keelan went through his scenes and lines, Zayn watched the audience for clues to how the performance was being received. No one seemed bored so far, but he sensed they didn't know what to make of it either. As he prepared to deliver his next lines, Zayn noticed a figure in the back of the room that he hadn't seen before. The tall figure was hidden by the house lights and wore a dark hood. The hairs on the back of Zayn's neck stood up, but he dismissed it as nervousness.

  "Upon that bridge a figure rose out of the gloom, obsidian black armor gleaming in magelights, eyes glowing with dread," said Zayn in his deepest voice.

  Wearing the obsidian black armor Zayn described, Vin stepped onto the stage, the marionette rigging sliding smoothly for his entrance.

  "This maetrie was known and feared by all who had ever heard his name, the Black Butcher," said Zayn, raising his hands as if the air was vibrating with power.

  Supposedly this maetrie had slaughtered the Ebony Court many years ago, though Zayn thought that story had probably been embellished with time. It was more likely that he was a ghost story for young maetrie, which was why Vin had included it in the narrative.

  During this part, Keelan and Vin mimed a brief battle with "Kanedari" fleeing after being resoundingly beaten. Despondent, he wandered the streets. Only through luck did he survive the creatures he passed, but as he neared the palace, he remembered his declaration.

  Kanedari paused and gave a soliloquy about choices and destiny. Zayn rather liked this part, and he thought Keelan delivered it well, but once again, the audience seemed unmoved.

  At the end of the speech, Kanedari resumed his journey, but as the Eternal City changed with intention, he encountered a different creature on his way out. This time, Skylar, covered in broken concrete with a porcupine back of steel rod, ambled onto the stage on all fours.

  Zayn was so busy watching Keelan's reaction that he didn't see the rigging get caught on a piece of steel rod. When Skylar lurched forward, the whole rigging tipped. Zayn rushed to the side, to support the structure, but he was too slow, and the wooden scaffolding collapsed like a folding chair onto the stage, wrapping the three actors in rope and curtain.

  Miraculously no one got hurt, but by the time they extricated themselves from the mess, the audience had fled, except for the owner and the manager.

  Having removed his Black Butcher visor, Vin had his hands on his head, staring at the destruction with his mouth hanging open, shaking his head almost as if he were an automaton.

  "It worked in all the practices," he said.

  The owner came up to them with his arms crossed. "It was an interesting start. I was intrigued by the story, but it's a shame about the rigging." He paused, a frown tugging the corners of his lips downward. "You will have to reimburse me for any damages, of course."

  "We will," said Zayn, unwrapping a rope from his ankle.

  "What a disaster," said Vin.

  "That was awesome," said Keelan, eyes wide with wonder. "I mean, sorry about the rigging, but the rest of it was amazing."

  "I totally let you down," said Vin.

  "No you didn't," said Zayn. "That's why we scheduled it at the community theater. No one of any import saw it. We can figure out a solution to the rigging problem, and try again in a few weeks. It'll give us time to work on it more."

  "I don't know," said Vin. "This was my best idea. If the rigging doesn't work, then the play is toast. And I was watching the audience from the back. They looked bored."

  Zayn could see that Vin's confidence had been shot. He'd have to work on that before the next practice or it'd bring everyone down.

  "Keelan, can you help Vin with the rigging? Maybe you can find something magical that can do the trick, rather than this slide and pulley system," said Zayn.

  His cousin nodded thoughtfully. "I'll do that."

  "Great, thanks." Zayn turned to Vin, who was squeezing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Don't beat yourself up, Vin. We got the play on stage, and we learned some things."

  "But nobody liked it," he said.

  "Maybe they're the wrong audience. I bet the maetrie will like it," said Zayn.

  "But how do we get them to come if no one cares about the play?" asked Vin.

  "One thing at a time," said Zayn. "And I've got some ideas that might help next time, to ensure a larger audience."

  "That might not be a good idea," said Vin.

  Zayn didn't bother responding, but put his arm around Vin's shoulder. The problem with the play would have to wait a few days. There was another problem he wanted to solve first, which would require a slight detour on his way back to the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tenth Ward, March 2016

  A job for an old friend

  The bodega smelled like grape-seed oil and antiseptic. Zayn let the door slip shut behind him, rattling the little bell on a string. The place hadn't changed much in the last two years. The black, green, and gold cross flag was still plastered to the wall behind the counter, which appeared currently empty.

  From the middle aisle, a smooth voice softly sang a Bob Marley tune. Zayn peeked down the aisle to find Uncle Larice working a mop in big circles along to the beat of the music which seemed to be playing in his head.

  "Uncle Larice, how are you, man?" asked Zayn, feeling the cadence of the Jamaican patois return.

  "Hey, if it isn't my old friend, Zayn," said Uncle Larice, his grin turning his wrinkles into deep valleys.

  They clasped hands and shared a hug. When Larice pulled back, his hazy eyes studied Zayn, while his mouth skewed to the side.

  "I see you survived another few years," said Uncle Larice.

  "I have," said Zayn, finding it was hard not to grin.

  Coming back to the bodega after a few years felt like visiting a high school teacher after graduation to show them how he'd succeeded.

  "I'd tell you some stories, but I don't think we're supposed to," said Zayn.

  Uncle Larice glanced towards the door. "Hey man, it's good to see you, but you know you're not supposed to be coming back around here. Carron likes to use this bodega every few years after everyone's forgotten the last relative. If they see you around, it's going to ruin the game."

  Zayn had forgotten that Instructor Allgood paid Uncle Larice to let the Academy students imbed in his bodega. He didn't take on dangerous mages in his store for charity, but to help make ends meet.

  "I wouldn't come by if it weren't important," said Zayn, reaching to his wallet. "And I'll compensate you for the help."

  "Now you speaking my language," said Uncle Larice with a wink as he accepted the handful of bills.

  "The little callolo, Marley," said
Zayn. "Does he come around here anymore?"

  "Aye, Marley, he does, but not lately," said Uncle Larice.

  "Do you know where he lives?" asked Zayn.

  Uncle Larice nodded. "I've seen him climbing the apartment building across the street. Maybe he lives on the roof, or with a family."

  "Thanks, Uncle Larice," said Zayn. "I appreciate it."

  The old man held up the bills. "If you're bringing this, you can come back anytime."

  Zayn went straight to the apartment building, climbing up the emergency scaffolding in back as quietly as he could. While the callolo had come to his rescue at the warehouse, it'd been a few years since he'd seen him and he didn't know if he'd remember him.

  Pulling himself onto the roof, Zayn surveyed the area for potential nests. A brick maintenance building resisted his attempts to examine the inside, so he hopped onto the roof to find no sign of alternate entry. He was about to get down when he noticed the edge of the roofing material had been cut, and could be peeled back. When he looked inside, he saw a cozy bed of shredded blankets, chocolate bar wrappers, coins, and other baubles.

  "That's definitely Marley's home," said Zayn, hopping down, only to find the callolo a dozen paces away, staring at him intently.

  The chubby orange tabby's paws had morphed into hands, whether in greeting or readying for an attack, Zayn couldn't tell.

  "Hey, Marley. It's me, Zayn. I never got to say thank you for what you did a few years ago. I hope you enjoyed the chocolates at Uncle Larice's."

  Marley ambled forward, crossing the short distance and leaping upward. Zayn had a brief moment of panic but once the callolo was purring in his arms, Zayn knew Marley had missed him too. As Zayn scratched Marley's back, the callolo kneaded his arm with his tiny hands.

  "Thanks, buddy," said Zayn.

  After a few minutes of petting, Marley jumped down, moved back a few paces, and sat on his haunches. The complete attentiveness would have looked strange if Marley were a cat, so it gave Zayn a little visual dislocation, but he knew the creature's supernatural capability.

  "Do you like your home here?" asked Zayn.