by Travis Peck
The assassin trailed the lurk until the legate and guard must have reached the gardens. He swore he saw a quick flash of light from the area where the legate might be. He could not identify his target from this distance; yet after the flash, the lurk made his way to a bench overlooking a bridge that spanned one of Styr’s numerous canals. Ifo continued walking right by the lurk with no hesitation. At the opposite end of the bridge, the cobbled way split into three; the largest of which proceeded straight to the garden. The other two branches headed west and east along the canal so the people could stroll about with the pleasant view. At the confluence of the three avenues, at the end of the bridge, there stood a row of carts where the owners were shouting and loudly offering their respective wares to any passersby. A fruit vendor caught his eye, and he ambled nonchalantly over to browse the produce. He felt the gaze of the lurk touch upon him briefly as Ifo passed the bench.
Ifo bought a few stonefruits that looked to be ripe and walked back toward the bridge to look out along the canal. A handful of other people were doing the same and he blended right in. He was glad to be operating back in Styr where his dark skin was not remarked upon as being noteworthy. Ifo took his time eating and did his best to enjoy the scenery without the lurk becoming suspicious.
A candle passed, and then another. Ifo stayed where he was as more people came and went. Only three other idlers, other than the lurk and him, remained. Ifo was on the verge of going back toward the legate’s home when he caught a flash of light from the garden. He noticed the lurk make a quick motion as if he were straightening his cloak, and he knew that the man had given the all-clear signal to the guardsman. They must be ready to head home.
He waited to give the legate and guard time to approach, then headed off before the lurk left his bench. He walked slowly and stopped frequently at the storefronts to let them pass him again. He needed to discover how frequently the signal was used so that he could duplicate it without alerting the guard that something was amiss.
It took most of the way back to the legate’s home for Ifo to figure out the pattern. The guard was even more adept at flashing the signal than the lurk was, which was the reason he had failed to notice earlier and had almost been spotted by the trailing man. But now that he knew, Ifo was able to spot the furtive motions. Every four blocks, the guard signaled behind him and waited for the answering reply from the lurk before moving on. Ifo did not know if the duration between signals was always every four blocks, or if they decided that before leaving the legate’s home?
He would discover that soon enough, but he didn’t want to spook the lurk and the guard, so he lengthened his stride and passed them by without a glance. He would come back this evening to follow them again. The legate was known to frequent many of the excellent dining establishments in the area rather than sup at home. Ifo knew that he would be able to stalk him again this night.
On his way back to his own lair, Ifo’s mind raced over likely scenarios of how his attack might play out. The lurk’s presence complicated things. Ideally, he would need to incapacitate two men now, instead of only one, before doing the deed. He would have to complete his assignment at night; there was no possible way he could put the lurk out of action and then slowly stalk his prey in the light of day without notice. None of his information or observations had revealed how much contact the lurk had with the guard before or after leaving the legate’s home—as it had failed to even give mention of the lurk. He was determined to take out the lurk as early as possible before attempting the legate’s demise. Ifo knew he needed to take a step back and let his mind relax. He often found inspiration suddenly when he wasn’t focused so much on the problem at hand.
His old habits forced him to circle back around several blocks and cut through back alleys to find any one tailing him. No one was following him. As he passed a small Merovian garden, he noticed bright yellow drapes across a window that told him that he had a package waiting. He frowned. Normally there was no contact between him and his go-between after the initial contract was finalized and the details about the target had been delivered. This strange development nurtured his growing sense of unease toward his upcoming task. He shrugged away the concern, or rather, delayed it, until he could view what this new package revealed.
Ifo made his way to a short garden wall that had fallen into disrepair. Checking to make sure no one was watching him, he bent down low as if he was re-lacing his boots and pulled a loose stone out from the base of the wall. Reaching his hand in, he felt around in the hidden cavity. His hand grabbed hold of a small silk bag and pulled it out, making it jangle with the familiar sound of coins clinking together. Ifo could feel through the bag that there was a note inside and quickly shoved the bag, and its contents, into his pocket. He would wait until he was back at his sanctuary to delve into its contents in privacy.
Instead of going directly back to his flat, Ifo took the next turn and made his way into the common room of an inn he had once frequented. He found himself needing something to take the edge off this feeling of unease that had grown steadily since returning to Styr. Was it the contract itself causing him to feel this way, or was it the fact that this could be the last contract of his career that had him so off balance?
He picked his way through the crowd and selected a private table where he could keep his back to the wall. This position would allow him to observe anyone entering the common room from outside or from the stairway leading from the rooms above. He didn’t expect trouble, but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to take every precaution with his growing anxiousness.
A barmaid smiled at him while she curtsied, giving him a view of her plump breasts that threatened to burst out from her dress. Ifo gave a smile that did not reach his eyes, and the server blinked at his visage. “Sorry… Long day,” Ifo said, and the server nodded knowingly. “A Merovian, please.” Ifo put a silver coin down on the table; the price of the lager and a generous gratuity to make up for his slip.
“Coming right up.” She smiled more genuinely this time, but did not flaunt herself as she had before.
His table was positioned in the corner of the common room, but he could still make out the conversation that was underway by the men occupying the table next to his. A group of four well-dressed men were in an animated discussion. Several empty tankards were still on the table next to their full ones. Ifo listened, unobtrusively, as he waited for his own tankard.
The man speaking was clean-shaven but for a wide mustache that dominated his face, “…and now we have a special synod before the Quorum. All the legates’ attendance is mandatory, and the queen has moved it up from a month from now, to just three days hence. I have business to attend to. I don’t have time for another synod then the Quorum! I will be stuck here for months! The Taker only knows why we must have a synod to discuss ravinors… Leave it to the general to sort out, I say!” the man exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his full tankard; he was heedless of the contents spilling out onto his fine cloak and splashing his comrades. The other men, who were as oblivious as the speaker was about the sloshing, voiced their agreement with the sentiment. They quieted after that, with each man taking deep draughts of their respective brews. The conversation continued in much lower tones, and Ifo could no longer make out what was being said.
His tankard arrived, and he changed his mind on having another one. Ifo had a sinking feeling about the new instructions he would find in the bag when he got back to his flat, and he wanted his wits about him. He quickly drained the contents, now eager to leave. He tossed a few coppers on the table by way of apology to the server for his early exit and quickly left the common room. Ifo, once again, took a circuitous route back to his quarters. His door was still locked, and there was no sign of an entry, forced or otherwise.
He sat at his small writing desk and dropped the bag onto the table, making the contents jingle. It was a heavy bag. Pulling the drawstring open, the yellow golden glint met his eyes. He whistled softly. This was double the amount he
had agreed to do the contract for, and if he did his job right, he would be receiving more on top of this. He read the note. He did not recognize the handwriting, it was not written in his employer’s hand, but he was more interested in the contents rather than the flowing and flowery script:
Conclude contract no later than sun-up in two days’ time. Once you have completed the contract, you will leave the capital, and you will receive this amount again from the following account at Styric Central, or from any of its local offices. Do NOT attempt to stay in the city. If your payment is drawn from any other offices inside the city, then our contract is VOID. You may return to the capital two weeks after the conclusion of the contract; in which case, you shall receive one more purse with this amount for your full and continued cooperation.
Ifo sat stunned at his desk. He could live at ease the rest of his life for the amount that he would receive if he carried out this contract following the new stipulations. Though his payment had just risen drastically so did his uneasiness. He was already having difficulty accepting taking the life of a legate for no clear reason, but now it seemed that he needed to find out more about this special synod session concerning the ravinor problem. Was it just coincidence that this synod was taking place and his contract deadline had been moved up?
The man at the inn had mentioned that all the legates must attend. One would not be attending if Ifo did his job. But who would that benefit? Had this synod been scheduled before the contract was made, or after? He had never been less certain of what decision he would make than he was at this moment. He began weighing his two options—
Thump. Thump.
Ifo pulled his longknife from its sheath and approached the door. He never had visitors here.
“Who’s there?”
No answer. The hallway outside the door remained quiet, no squeaking floorboards or footfalls that he could discern.
He counted to fifty, slowly, not daring to breathe lest the noise interfere with his hearing. Still no sound. He silently removed his boots so he could approach the door stealthily. Once he reached the entrance, he took a deep calming breath. He wrenched the door open and dropped into a fighting stance with his longknife poised to strike.
The hallway was empty. Not completely empty, he thought as he looked down at his feet. There was another bag identical to the one he had just opened. Picking it up gingerly, he heard the sounds of more coins clanking together in the bag. Ifo stepped swiftly back into his flat and closed the door, bolting all four of his locks on the door—a precaution he had rarely taken.
His heart was calming now, and he wiped the sweat from his brow as he returned to his desk. He set the longknife on the desktop, at the ready.
Ifo opened the drawstring. Once again, his eyes were met with the glint of gold. And another note that read:
Please accept this small token by way of apology for disturbing your privacy. We simply wanted to make clear that your cooperation with ALL our requests is greatly appreciated, and we wanted you to be REWARDED sufficiently.
Ifo knew that he no longer had a choice in the matter. He had to complete the contract, despite his misgivings. He could almost retire without completing the contract if more gold kept showing up like this, but he knew that he would not be able to skip out of Styr, unnoticed. He had been discovered. Ifo wondered if his employer had been paid off as he had been, or if he had to be forced to tell the clients where to find him. He wondered if his client had been able to track him down and why he, or she, or they, did not simply have that person complete the contract? Anyone who could follow him without his knowledge could surely handle two men and the legate.
Although he loathed himself for it, Ifo shifted his plan’s goals. Instead of a complex plan that would allow him to incapacitate, rather than eliminate, the guard and the lurk, he started to formulate one that would best preserve his own skin. He could not afford to be merciful on this one. He sat and thought at his desk as the sun went down. It was his hope that retirement awaited at the other end of this contract, and not his own death as he feared.
***
Ifo woke up early after a miserable night of tossing and turning under his blankets. Despite his poor rest, he woke with a newfound conviction. Though he would attempt to fulfill the terms of the contract, his oft-buried conscience forced him to at least try to determine what the benefit of this legate’s death would be. He must know why this legate had to die.
His life had been scarred too much by the motives of the rich and powerful for him to not harbor any resentment toward such people. Perhaps by discovering the reason why his target had to be eliminated, the answer would serve as his small, and likely insignificant, rebellion against those who would control him and others with no thought of the cost. Even after all his years living in Styr, he only considered one man here to be a friend that he could ask for help. One man who also happened to be part of the synod. Arin Trevan.
He bathed and readied himself quickly and was out of the door before the sun had broken over the horizon. Ifo grabbed a few pastries from a vendor who catered to the early morning crowd, and he made his way to the First, looking for Trevan Way. The assassin used every trick he knew of to evade detection and pursuit and was satisfied that his tail, if he had one, would not be able to track him this time. He did not want to bring trouble to his new friend, but he also desperately wanted to find out more about this synod.
Two candles were gone by the time he made it to the neighborhood of sprawling styricite mansions that took up most of the First. His friend had done better than Ifo had assumed. Trevan Way consisted of only one manor with a manicured garden and lawn that boasted a small decorative canal that coursed through the property. Ifo was stunned that the man who owned all of this actually troubled himself to personally visit his lumber sites when difficulties arose. And to do such surveying alone but for a few horses, even Ifo was impressed.
Ifo walked up to the gate of the iron-wrought fence that separated the Trevan’s property from the semi-public Trevan Way. An usher opened the gate as Ifo arrived without even asking his name. He had either been determined harmless or security at the Trevan manor was lax. Or he had been recognized. Arin Trevan walked out from behind the two massive styricite-clad doors that served as the main entrance.
“I thought that was you!” Arin greeted him with a warm smile on his face.
Ifo found a genuine smile on his own face as he shook hands with his friend. “The Trevan’s have been here a while?” Ifo asked with a grin.
Trevan laughed at receiving his own words back from Ifo. “There may have been a Trevan or two in the early days of the city. So what brings you here? I must confess, I did not think I would see you again.”
“I’ll be leaving the capital in a few days, and I thought I would say my goodbyes,” Ifo answered.
“I’m glad you did. Come inside. You can meet my family,” Arin said as he led Ifo inside the massive structure.
The entryway was larger than the entire building that Ifo’s few small rooms were situated in. There was a fortune displayed in the form of an intricate and gleaming bejeweled chandelier the size of a small wagon that hung suspended from the ceiling by glossy black ropes of kreosk.
“Not my doing,” Arin said as he noticed his friend staring up at the chandelier. “If I had my way, I would take it down and sell it to a ringmaker. He could supply the empire with rings for a generation!” Arin laughed at his joke. Ifo was too stunned to do more than politely smile. “My great-great-great-grandmother had that commissioned. It nearly beggared the family, but she had insisted that it be made and displayed right here,” Trevan explained. “We’ll go to my den. It’s much more…functional than most of the house.”
Before they had gone to the other end of the cavernous entryway, a woman appeared at one of the many openings along the hallway that Ifo presumed led to Arin’s den.
“Beaty!” Trevan said, the affection for his wife plain in his voice. “This is the man I traveled with from Wesin! R
oland. This is my wife, Beatrice.”
“My pleasure.” Ifo bowed and lightly took her offered hand. Ifo was relieved that Arin had used used his assumed name for the introduction. Beatrice, like her husband, surprised Ifo by the lack of pretension the wealthy woman showed. They were both dressed in good quality attire but not unnecessarily decorated. And they both had the enthusiastically honest and open demeanor that Ifo had first admired when he had met Arin in the common room of the Royal Stallion—which now seemed like ages ago.
“No, it is my pleasure,” Beatrice said graciously. “Arin told me a little of what happened on his journey back to us. You saved his life! My children and I are forever indebted to you, Roland.”
Ifo felt his face burn, embarrassed from the genuine thanks of his friend’s wife, and also from his shame that she did not know his real name. “Mistress Trevan, your husband saved my life, too… There is no debt,” he managed to say.
“Nonsense. And call me Beaty, please,” she insisted.
“As you wish…Beaty,” Ifo said. “Where are your two boys?”
“Oh, no! They are off on a little trip to one of our mills, they won’t be back until tomorrow,” Beaty said with unfeigned disappointment.
Ifo raised an eyebrow at his friend.
“You are something of a hero in this house, Roland,” Arin explained. “The boys will be upset that they missed you.”
“Are you two going to the den? I will bring some refreshments for you. Roland, have you broken your fast today?” Beatrice asked.