by Mark Robson
‘Reynik has never been a gladiator and has no intentions of becoming one. What makes you think he might one day wish to kill you?’ Femke asked curiously.
Serrius laughed again. ‘Don’t try to play your games with me, Femke. I’ve observed men: their posture, their movement and their fighting styles, for years. I knew the moment you entered that Reynik was a Legionnaire. His whole bearing screams “military”. So why do you want me to teach him, and what makes you think I will do for him what I have steadfastly refused to do for any other?’
‘You didn’t answer my question, but I suppose it is only fair to give you an explanation. The Emperor needs him to possess certain skills for a mission he is to undertake. One of those skills is to wield a sword in a credible fashion. His military training has been adequate. He knows the basics, but he will need to be better than average if he is to complete his mission. If all goes well, he should not have to wield a sword in anger, but if called upon to demonstrate sword play, then it’s essential that his fighting style be different from that of a regular soldier.’
Serrius fell silent for a moment, looking first at Femke, then at Reynik and finally back to Femke again. Reynik held his breath. To be taught sword skills by the deadliest gladiator the Shandrim arena had ever seen was a dream that many young swordsmen harboured. It would be an amazing opportunity.
‘I sense there’s much that you’re not telling me here, Femke. Your secrecy does you no favours. I feel no more inclined to teach him than I have any other who has approached me. What makes you think I’ll teach now, when I’ve always refused to teach in the past?’
‘You’ll do it because you need a reason to exist, Serrius. If you don’t take this job, or another like it, the temptation to return to the arena will be too great. You’ll go back and you will die at the hands of some unknown fighter, who will gain brief status by killing you. Someone more skilled will then kill him, further reducing the perception of your ability. The legend you created will die. Strangely, your reputation was dented little by your loss to the Thrandorian fighter. The fact that you ran each other through was viewed by most as an honourable draw. He only “won” because he remained standing longer than you did. The public have seen nothing of either of you since that day. Most think you both died after the bout, but if you were to go out in public, then you would be seen as the survivor. The official announcement that the Thrandorian had died was necessary to hide his disappearance. Any public appearance by you would cause your reputation to soar once more.’
‘You don’t pull any punches, do you?’ Serrius said with a sad smile. ‘Your words ring with a truth I cannot deny. It’s madness, but the draw is already growing in me to return to the arena. Despite knowing I would die there, and telling myself over and over that it would be sheer folly to return, I can feel the pull strengthening in my heart. If I accept your proposal, how long will I have to work with Reynik?’
‘Three weeks.’
‘Three weeks! That’s preposterous! Nobody could learn to be a swordsman in that time.’
‘I’m not asking you to make a swordsman of him. I simply want you to change his fighting style sufficiently that it does not instantly brand him as military. Also, you won’t have him all day, every day, as he will have other lessons to attend.’
Serrius sighed. ‘Perhaps it is good that it’s only three weeks. I should know by then whether I’m up to this change. There is a suitable fee, I presume?’
‘I will ensure the Imperial Treasury is generous,’ Femke replied, allowing none of her inner elation to show. ‘The mission is important, so the Emperor will be sure to throw resources at it.’
‘Very well. We had better begin then, Reynik. Come with me.’ Serrius beckoned Reynik towards the door to the empty, mirrored room.
‘I’ll collect him at the second bell this afternoon, Serrius. I’ll then bring him back again at the seventh bell for another session. Is that all right?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘No,’ Femke grinned, ‘but I thought I’d be polite about it.’
Serrius gave a snort of amusement and led Reynik through the door. Femke watched the door close behind them. She raised her glass in silent salute towards the closed door before turning and making her way back through to the hall. Aneki was waiting. He led her to the door and politely thanked her for visiting.
She strode purposefully back towards the city centre. There was much to organise and little time in which to do it.
Her first visit was to the seamstress, Rikala. The dumpy little woman was as businesslike as ever. Rikala had only ever met Femke when she was in the guise of the self-centred Lady Alyssa, yet it was clear from her expression that the seamstress recognised her straight away. Femke was impressed. There were not many who would have looked at a young woman in a mid-thigh length leather skirt, matching leather boots and a plain, collarless shirt and seen a spoilt young Lady hiding underneath. Rikala was clearly one who noticed fine detail. Femke stored away that snippet of knowledge. If she were to deal with the dressmaker in future, then it was clear that she could only do so as Lady Alyssa, or her occupation would quickly become obvious.
If the dressmaker was surprised by Femke’s appearance, or the manner of her request, she did not show it. She did, however, raise one eyebrow in a quizzical manner as she eyed Femke up and down.
‘Where did you get those clothes, Lady Alyssa?’ she asked, making no attempt to hide her contempt for the tailoring as she fingered the seam on Femke’s sleeve. ‘I’ll make you the clothes you require for the young gentleman, but it seems that I’d better make you some more clothes at the same time. No matter how you want to look, there’s no excuse for poor stitching, and by the look of the needlework on that top, the seamstress does not deserve the title. Bring him in tomorrow at the eighth bell for measuring. I should be able to complete the work by the end of the week.’
‘Thank you, Rikala. Oh, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention anything about this,’ Femke replied, looking around in an exaggeratedly conspiratal fashion. ‘It wouldn’t be good for my image if it were known that I sometimes walked through town dressed as a commoner.’
‘Your secret is safe with me, Lady Alyssa. Actually, despite the appalling quality of that shirt, I think I prefer you dressed this way. You’re much easier to communicate with when you’re not acting all high and mighty.’
Femke smiled and left.
Arranging a good set of throwing knives for Reynik was easy enough. As the Legions did not train their soldiers to throw knives, it would take some considerable effort to make Reynik sufficiently adept at this skill in such a short time period, but she knew that it would be essential to his overall persona. Femke was excellent at throwing knives, but not the best. A visit to see her friend, Derryn, gained her another instructor.
Derryn was an ageing, highly talented street entertainer who had made his living throwing knives and juggling all manner of objects for many years. He had performed all over the Shandese Empire, amazing folk with his dexterity and accuracy wherever he went. These days he preferred to remain in Shandrim. However, as with any show, people were not so generous once they had seen it a few times. Extra money from any source was always welcome, so he was delighted to gain a temporary teaching job that would pay well. Femke arranged for him to give Reynik a lesson every day.
There were so many skills that an effective assassin should master, it was impossible to address them all. Ideally, Reynik should be a marksman with a crossbow. Not all assassins used this weapon, but it was universally accepted that for a heavily guarded target, it was sometimes necessary to kill from a distance. Femke was realistic enough to accept that the degree of skill required at this discipline for Reynik to be convincing was not achievable in the timescale. Having acknowledged this, she was left with the debate of whether to even attempt to improve his skill with the weapon. He would have used one before, as all Legionnaires were given training in their use. Crossbows were issued to those on guar
d duty, so they needed to have a modicum of skill with it.
In the end, Femke decided that the crossbow would have to be abandoned in favour of the more important skills of stealthy movement, picking locks and poisoning. She was expert in all three skills and initially concluded that in order to limit the number of people involved in Reynik’s training, it might be better if she conducted his training in these areas. After considerable thought on the matter, she changed her mind and brought in one final tutor.
There was a troupe of players currently in the city with whom she had performed during a past mission. Her cover name during that time had been Dana and she had initially been accepted into the troupe as a personal favour to her old Master, Lord Ferdand. The leader of the troupe was a flamboyant man called Devarusso, who was widely recognised for his loud verbosity and extravagant body language. It had been a while since Femke had last seen him, but they had parted on friendly terms and Devarusso was a long-term friend of Ferdand. This gave Femke confidence that the man would help her again.
What most did not know was that underneath the actor’s colourful public façade, his private persona was one of understatement and subtlety. Femke knew from personal experience that Devarusso would prove an excellent movement tutor for Reynik. Learning how to move with the subtlety of an actor would help the Legionnaire both to gain stealth skills, and to conceal his military background.
Lord Ferdand had professed the greatest of respect for Devarusso’s acting skills, but had also been quick to tell Femke never to trust him with secrets. Femke had long known that Ferdand was an excellent judge of character and, having spent several months with Devarusso’s troupe, discovered that her Master’s assessment had once again been sound. Devarusso could be a terrible gossip. There were ways to prevent this being a problem, but it did complicate the situation.
‘Dana! What a delight to see you, my dear! Come in. Come in. Here, I’m just pouring some dahl. Do have a cup. Please tell me you’ve decided to come and join us again. I have a role that would be perfect for you. Ah! This is wonderful! You will make the perfect Camille!’
Devarusso’s expressive face beamed with pleasure as he recognised Femke. He poured a second cup of the steaming fluid and handed it to her with a flourish. For a moment her heart leaped at the thought of being back on the stage with Devarusso and the other players, but she knew that it could not be.
‘I’m sorry, Devarusso,’ she said with no need to feign her disappointed tone. ‘I’ve not come to rejoin the company. I’m here on behalf of a friend.’
His face dropped momentarily, but he recovered his composure quickly. ‘Of course, my dear. Tell me of your friend. Does she want to act?’
Femke smiled fondly at him. ‘No, he doesn’t want to act, but he does need to be able to disguise certain habits.’ She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘He has . . . um . . . left his Legion a little before he was due to, and he needs to learn to hide his military background for a while. I can’t think of a better person to teach him how to alter his gait and bearing than you.’
‘Dana, just how early is your friend leaving his Legion?’ Devarusso asked, raising one of his sharply angled, black eyebrows quizzically.
‘Oh, about twenty-five to thirty . . . years, I’d say,’ she replied with an embarrassed shrug and an apologetic grin.
Devarusso coughed, choking on his dahl as he realised exactly what she was asking him to do. Femke did not shy away from his stare. His striking blue eyes were almost purple in colour, and his square-cut features and sweeping, jet-black hair made him the perfect swashbuckling hero for any play. He was broad-shouldered and rakishly handsome enough to set any girl’s heart racing, yet Femke knew his secret: the real Devarusso was a man who liked to be with other men. Devarusso was the consummate actor, but where he had concealed his inclination from the rest of the troupe, he had not been able to keep his secret from her. Femke had been trained to observe behaviour and to see beneath the surface.
‘Dana, you know how busy a schedule I run. You, more than most, know how much effort goes into making our productions polished,’ Devarusso said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a spluttering stream. ‘Besides, the authorities would hang me and shut down the company if they found out. All of my hard work would crumble to dust in a matter of moments – and for what? No, I couldn’t countenance it. It’s impossible, Dana. I’m sorry.’
Femke gave him her best puppy dog, begging look. Her eyes filled with tears to order and she clenched her knees with her fingers until her knuckles whitened. To judge by the effect it had on him, she had lost none of her acting skill.
‘And this man is . . . special, is he?’ Devarusso asked, flexing his fingers uncomfortably.
‘More than you could imagine, Devarusso,’ she answered fervently. ‘Please. I’d really appreciate your help for a little while in tutoring my friend. I’m not expecting you to take him in and hide him. I just want you to teach him to move in a way that will conceal his military manner. He has three weeks to become convincing. Could you help him in that time? He would only be able to visit you for about two hours a day. I can pay. We have some money saved. I can pay four senna per day. What do you think?’
Devarusso frowned thoughtfully. He took a deep breath.
‘Three weeks is not long, and yet it could feel like a lifetime if trying to keep a secret like this. I suppose I should be grateful that you’re not asking me for more. Dana, if your friend is planning to run away from the military, or if he has already done so, you know I would be risking everything in becoming involved. Aiding someone to desert from the Legions is a serious crime.’
‘I know, but I don’t know who else to turn to,’ she said, squeezing out a single tear so that it trickled down her right cheek. ‘You were always so kind to me whilst I was in the troupe. I came to you because I knew I could trust you. You’re also the best teacher I know. I’m sure you could do it with no one the wiser.’
Flattery had always worked well with Devarusso. Femke played him like an instrument, plucking at each string with such skill that he was sure to sing her tune. If she had to, she could resort to blackmail. She suspected that Devarusso would do anything to conceal his secret, but using that information would destroy her friendship with him, and she wanted to avoid that if possible. He was a soft touch. He would give in very quickly now.
‘If I were to do it, then it would be best to conduct his lessons early in the morning,’ he said, as if thinking aloud.
Here it comes, she thought – right on cue.
‘The troupe rarely rises early after the late night performances, so I could make some time then. So long as we didn’t attract attention to ourselves, then I suppose there would not be too much danger of being caught. Would your friend be available in the early mornings?’
‘He would.’
‘Very well, Dana. I’ll do it, but I don’t want to rob you of all your silver. I’ll teach your friend for two senna per day. Please, though, don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Have your friend come to me at the dawn call each morning. I’ll do what I can for him. I’m a sucker for a sob story, but then I’m sure you knew that all along, didn’t you?’
Femke did not answer, she just smiled gratefully and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘Now that we have that settled, tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself. How’s my old friend, Ferdand? I haven’t seen him in ages. He used to be such a regular attendee at our performances. Have I lost favour in his eyes for some reason?’
Femke had been prepared for questions about her old mentor, but she did not need to use her acting abilities to demonstrate her emotions on the subject. Even the thought of Ferdand, whom she considered more of a parental figure than her own father, brought the threat of more tears to her eyes. He had given her so much: not in material things, for she had never been one for hoarding treasures. His gifts to her had been knowledge, skills and experience, taught with a gentleness that she had never known f
rom her natural parents.
Ferdand had shown her what it meant to be a spy. He had led her through the ethical labyrinth of the profession in such a way that she had gained an unshakeable surety of place and purpose. He had laid the foundations in her life on which she had built her career, her sense of morality and her personality. It was still hard to come to terms with his loss. Femke had felt that she could find anything, or anyone if given enough time, but in trying to unravel the mystery surrounding Ferdand’s disappearance she had drawn a total blank.
‘He’s gone, Devarusso. He hasn’t been seen for over two years now. Nobody knows what became of him, but he disappeared one night and hasn’t returned. I suspect he’s dead, for I feel sure I’d have heard from him otherwise.’
‘Ah, that is sad!’ the actor replied, his voice full of compassion. ‘He was always a great supporter of the arts. It’s hard to believe that he has departed this world. He was the sort of fellow that one felt would live for ever. But if he’s gone, what are you doing these days? Are you working? You know you are always welcome to come back and work here with us.’
Femke nodded and mumbled her thanks. He was a generous soul, though she knew that his offer wasn’t totally an offer of charity. Acting was something she did well. Devarusso always had parts for good actors.
Time was ticking away. It was already time to go and move Reynik on to his next activity. After a further short exchange of pleasantries with Devarusso, she made her excuses and went back to the gladiator’s home. Aneki met her at the door with a polite smile and led her through to the mirrored room where Serrius and Reynik were quietly completing a set of callisthenics.
It was interesting to watch them finish. Where Serrius was smooth and graceful, Reynik looked awkward and stiff, yet competent. The perfect balance and poise of the gladiator contrasted markedly with the slight wobbles and shakes of the young Legionnaire. However, Femke noted that Reynik looked remarkably composed considering he was just finishing a four-hour training session.