by CS Sealey
Varren eyed him, then snatched up the reply and read it for himself. When his fierce blue-gray eyes reached the bottom, he nodded and refolded it.
“That seems sufficient,” he said calmly, before bowing slightly. “Expect my return within the next day or so. I can see myself out.”
He turned and pocketed Kerne’s reply as he strode down the hallway to the front door. With his hand on the handle, he paused and turned back. The mayor of Delseroy was watching him, eyes wide, still clutching his quill limply in his hand.
“You look a little disconcerted, lord mayor,” Varren said, a small smile playing on his thin lips. “Perhaps you should rest early. We wouldn’t want you to have a nervous breakdown like your predecessor. It would be a regrettable loss.”
Then Varren wrenched open the front door and swept out into the night.
CHAPTER 6
Zoran Sable paused outside Duke Matrice’s house and wondered whether he had, in fact, finished his work. The evidence had been planted, but so much could still go wrong. Even for a man as skilled as himself, one suspicious pair of eyes could ruin everything, and he was growing to like El Smials.
“Mister, is this the place?” Yosef asked.
Zoran had almost forgotten the boy. “Yes,” he said, producing a folded piece of parchment from a hidden pocket in his robes. “Payment after delivery, as always.”
The urchin nodded and snatched the note from Zoran’s hand. Yosef hastened up the few steps to the manse door, stood on the tips of his toes and knocked the great brass ring. Zoran slipped away into the shadows on the opposite side of the street and waited. After a moment, a stout housekeeper opened the door. It was only momentarily strange to Zoran that the duke kept no butler. With a woman such as Eila in the household, he figured, no man could be trusted.
Zoran could scarcely make out Yosef’s voice as he handed the note to the housekeeper. When the woman opened her mouth to question the boy, however, he hopped back a step, then flew across the street and into the shadows. She gazed after him, a frown creasing her brow, then closed the door.
It was well past midnight and the moon, still low in the sky, sent the shadows of the three-story building stretching long across the cobbled street. Zoran rearranged his cloak about him and moved out of a patch of blackness. Within seconds, Yosef had found him.
“For your trouble, boy,” Zoran said, tossing him a silver coin. “I’ll find you if I need you again.”
“Thanks, mister!” Yosef said, then scurried off down the street in the direction of the market district.
Zoran watched him go, then turned and headed his own way. He rarely walked the streets during the day but, when he did, he disguised himself as one of the townspeople. Now, however, he had donned his usual working clothes and anxious eyes in the shadows followed him as he walked, eyes that knew him and did not dare approach. He had not been in El Smials for long but he had little doubt that many of the citizens had heard rumours of who and what he was. Those who had connections with the underground came from every rung of society – even men of the law were drawn to the shadows from time to time.
Zoran walked unhurriedly. Though the scorching wind that had swept down the streets mercilessly during the day had died, the heat lingered, and he found himself sweating underneath his many dark layers of clothing. He was still not used to the harsh temperatures of Andril, especially not this far west. Though it could not be seen from the city walls, the Andril Desert was a dryness on the wind. He had traversed the desert only a year ago and was certain that his body had still not recovered from the ordeal. His crossing had taken him three weeks when it should have taken him only ten days. When he had run out of water on the twelfth day, a caravan of traders on camels had stumbled across him, sprawled on the blisteringly hot sand. Barely conscious, he had produced a handful of gold and silver from his pocket and asked for water and a ride.
He stuck to the quieter alleys and thoroughfares. The poor usually filled the main streets near the docks and city gates by day, but at night, the thieves and cutthroats hid in the shadows and brandished their knives at passersby in the hope of winning some coin. Zoran Sable glanced from side to side as he walked, determined to keep an eye out for any such foolish opportunist, but he reached the Bay Horse tavern without spotting a single one. He walked straight past the main door and slipped down the adjacent alley.
Boxes and crates were stacked high against one wall, leaving only a very narrow space to walk through. The stench was almost unbearable; a waft of rotting fish filled his nostrils and he forced down the urge to gag. He had smelled days-old corpses and never felt the need to retch, but there was something about fish that made his stomach churn. His acute sense of smell did anything but help him here.
Zoran spied a window on the floor above that was firmly shut. He leaped. The tavern had been built in an older architectural style; some bricks were purposely set out an inch from the wall and the window frames were wide wooden beams. Using this to his advantage, he began to climb like a large, black spider. His light leather boots skimmed the wall, his hands grasped the windowsill and he pulled himself up.
A while later, he stood on the flat roof and pushed back his hood to feel the cooling breeze on his head. He took in a deep breath. Even through his face mask, he could smell the tavern cook’s creations in the kitchens below. Recovered from the stench of the alley, his stomach groaned when he smelled the distinctive scent of roast pork. The roof garden was nothing more than an open rooftop where a few benches and withering plants in large pots had been placed so those who visited the tavern could drink somewhere a little quieter than the bar. Few ever visited the garden, though, so Zoran remained alone on the roof until Matrice arrived. The duke approached him, disguised as a common dock worker, and did not speak until they were a dozen feet apart. He surveyed Zoran with his suspicious, dark eyes and a frown formed on his crinkled lips.
“Why here?” he asked.
“A duke would never come here,” Zoran said simply. “If anyone recognizes you, they would think they were mistaken. And I assumed you would prefer to meet me here rather than invite me into your house.”
“Strangely considerate for a murderer.”
“You owe me coin.”
The duke glanced around, then stepped closer to Zoran. “When did you do the deed?” he asked quietly.
“Two hours ago.”
“Was it…” Matrice paused and a pained expression crossed his face. Zoran almost missed it. “Was it…quick?”
“For me or for her?”
“For…? Damn you, for her!”
“Why, are you feeling guilty? Was that remorse that flashed across your face just now? She’s dead. Gone. You don’t need to know any more than that.”
“Yes, I bloody well do!” the duke said. “I want to know how you killed her and what methods you used to implicate Solom! I need to know the case against him will be sound!”
“A professional never discloses the procedure of his work.”
“I don’t care how you got into the house, Sable! What did you do to my wife?”
“You wish to know all the details?” Zoran asked, raising an eyebrow. “Everything?”
“Yes!”
“All right,” Zoran said, spreading his arms wide. “Your wife visited Grachis Solom’s estate, just as you suspected. They supped together, took wine in the drawing room and played three rounds of cards. He won them all. Then Solom led her up to his bedchamber where he spent a good hour becoming intimately acquainted with the inside of her skirts.”
“Enough of that!” the duke growled. “What happened afterward?”
“Afterward…?” Zoran asked, pretending to rack his memory. “When, the third or fourth time?”
Matrice looked positively livid. “You’re having fun humiliating me, aren’t you, you good-for-nothing son of a whore?”
“No, no, no. My mother is a happily married seamstress.” He folded his arms and approached the duke. “You want to know what I
did to her? Then listen. First, I watched as she drifted off to sleep, exhausted, sweaty, glowing with happiness. I stood above her. She was so peaceful and unsuspecting. I grabbed her mouth, she woke and stared up into my eyes…”
Zoran darted forward and grabbed Matrice over the mouth, clamping his fingers to the sagging jowls, then he forced the palm of his other hand against the duke’s chest, right above his heart. The aging man staggered back a step, his shout merely wheezing through Zoran’s fingers. His arms came up to beat the assassin away. After locking eyes fiercely with him for a second, Zoran let the duke go. Matrice gasped and clutched at his chest.
“She did much the same for a moment,” Zoran said, his voice steady, “but when I withdrew the knife, she died. There was not a lot of blood at first, but then it began to flow freely from her breast.”
Matrice stared in growing horror.
“I took her body from the room and climbed the estate wall, leaving a trail of blood. I had already managed to get the guards thoroughly drunk by tampering with their ale, so they didn’t bother me. When she had almost bled dry, I started dissecting her.”
“That’s enough, you don’t have to – ”
“First, I had to cut off her head and doing that with a small knife is harder than you might think. Then I quartered her, but some of her bones couldn’t be cut, so I had to crack them. A good stamp down with the heel of a boot does wonders to such a delicate frame…”
Matrice looked as though he was going to be sick but Zoran ignored him and continued his tale, trying not to smile.
“You wanted me to implicate Solom, so I went to all four wings of his home and left behind a segment of your wife’s body. The other parts, I scattered around the place, but I doubt most will be there by the morning, as I understand he keeps hounds and doesn’t feed them as often as he should. I hear the flesh of a man is quite sweet, so that of a woman should be even sweeter.”
“Please – stop,” Matrice whimpered.
Zoran raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure you want me to? I haven’t told you what became of her head yet. But as proof of completing the contract, I bring you a trinket or two for your inspection.”
He swept open his robes and untied the cord that attached a small pouch to his belt. It was fairly heavy and damp and Zoran was quick to hand it over. Matrice, however, reeled back in horror.
“What is that?” he exclaimed, his voice shaking.
“It’s not her head, I promise you.”
He offered the pouch again but the duke shook his head, his eyes wide. Zoran sighed and loosened the pouch’s ties. Once open, he turned it upside down and a large red shape fell onto the tiles. Matrice looked down, gasped, and then began to sob. Zoran nudged the heart with his boot and tossed the pouch at the duke. It hit the man in the gut, spraying blood across his linen shirt. Matrice yelped and tried to brush it off.
“And this,” Zoran said, fishing into another of his pockets and producing Eila’s marital ring. “You ought to recognize this.”
The duke threw up. Zoran waited patiently for him to recover, wiping his gloves clean of blood on the hem of his thin robe.
“You animal!” Matrice cried, wiping his mouth. “You barbarian! How could you do that to another human being?”
Zoran regarded him coldly. “It’s what you wanted,” the assassin said. “We had a deal. I have done the deed and incriminated Solom. I want my payment. Six hundred pfenns on completion and one hundred more when Solom is staying at Her Majesty’s finest, which he already is.”
“What?”
“But it will take a while for the Watch to figure out who he supposedly killed, especially if they can’t find Eila’s head. That is why you will report your wife’s disappearance first thing in the morning, or sooner.”
“Enough!” the duke shouted, recovering some of his strength. “Take it! Take your money and go!”
He tossed Zoran a heavy purse and turned away. Zoran caught it nimbly and assessed its weight. It was about right. He could count it later and, if it was short, the duke would have cause to regret it.
“May you have many lonely nights thinking on what you have done, my lord,” Zoran said, pulling up his hood. He unsheathed one of his knives and dropped it at the duke’s feet. “And take care on the streets tonight, there are murderers about.”
Matrice clenched his fists and spun around angrily but Zoran had already disappeared.
Zoran had not gone more than one hundred yards from the Bay Horse before he heard someone shout his name. Instinctively, he moved off the main street into the closest alleyway. There, he melted into the shadows and peered back around the corner of the building.
His pursuer was a tall man with dark, shoulder-length hair and powerfully built shoulders, hinting at a working man’s life. His face, however, was clean-shaven and almost regal looking. Zoran recognized the man at once and returned to the main street.
“Hey, Sable, what the hell is this?” the man exclaimed, slapping his own cheeks. “I still look like that merchant lordling! Do something about it, would you? I’m getting funny looks in my usual tavern.”
Zoran chuckled and folded his arms. “You could keep the face and spend all Solom’s money.”
“Where is he, anyway? I was half afraid I’d bump into to him down at the docks!”
“Gone.”
“Where?”
Zoran shrugged indifferently. “Just gone. I hope you made your presence known.”
“Sure did. Drunk the captain of the Blushing Bride under the table! The tavern was packed. Everyone was cheering Solom’s name! Ha! Perfect alibi. Still, I’d like my own face back.”
“Many a woman would swoon at the sight of this,” Zoran said, motioning to Astel’s borrowed features. “Many more than your ugly mug.”
“Change my face, damn you, or I’ll permanently disfigure yours!”
“Wouldn’t matter very much to me,” the assassin chuckled, gesturing to his mask.
“Give me back my face, Sable!”
“Calm down, calm down.”
Zoran grabbed Astel’s upper arm and led him into the alley. There, he pushed Astel against a dirty wall and pulled his gloves off his long fingers. With his hands bare, Zoran pressed his palms against Astel’s cold cheeks and narrowed his eyes in concentration. He had not used his gift since the previous night, not since he had put the spell on his accomplice. He felt his insides churning, then a river of heat exploded across his chest, flew along his outstretched arms and pulsated into his fingers. Astel’s eyes grew unfocused.
Zoran felt for the traces of his previous spell and found the webs of magic he had spun. He reached forward and snapped the tendrils one by one, destroying the enchantments he had placed on Astel’s face. The man’s hair darkened and withdrew into his scalp, his eyes narrowed and changed from blue to dark brown, his skin darkened and stubble reappeared on his chin. Then his nose began to shift, returning to its slightly crooked angle and thinning more at the tip. Finally, his chin broadened and his lips became thinner.
Satisfied that he had undone all his work, Zoran stepped back, slapping Astel in the face to wake him from the trance. The large man shook himself, then inspected his face. He smiled when his hands felt his familiar features once more.
“Ah, much better. Though you might’ve done a little for my nose.”
“Anything I do is temporary.”
“Shame. Anyway, how did the duke take it?”
“Not well, though I did get a little carried away with the details.”
“How carried away?” Astel asked, rolling his eyes.
“Worse than the last time.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I told him I quartered her,” Zoran said, smirking. “Then I might have said that I distributed her pieces across Solom’s estate. I also delivered a heart to him, which he believes was Eila’s. It was hard finding a butcher still open at this hour. Real hard.”
“That’s insane.”
“The fool beli
eved me. But I have a little surprise for Matrice. Come.”
Zoran led the way along the main street through the docklands. Shapes in the shadows on either side of the thoroughfare moved as though to intercept them, but none seemed to have the courage to approach. Astel looked a little nervous and glanced at Zoran, whose heavy pouch of coins was jiggling conspicuously on his belt.
“Stay your hand,” Zoran said, glimpsing Astel reaching for the knife in his belt. “They wouldn’t dare.”
“The poor are getting bolder. They’d beat a man to within an inch of his life for a single pfenn.”
“A pfenn could buy them a loaf of bread,” Zoran said, reaching into his purse and producing a couple of silvers. Chuckling, he flicked them back over his head and onto the street behind where a flurry of dark shapes immediately pounced and scrabbled on the cobblestones for the money. “Many of the rich merchants they steal from are as crooked as I am. Even our good friend Duke Matrice.”
“What are you up to, Sable?”
The assassin did not answer until they had left behind the poorer districts of El Smials. The rich district was true to its name. Here, mansions bordered the wide, cobbled roads and tall trees created a tunnel of branches.
“Wait here,” Zoran said and hurried across the street into the alley that separated the duke’s manse from its neighbor.
He returned a long while later with a wide grin on his face and another man in tow. The second man was short and stocky, with a shaved head and a scar that split his top lip.
“Gast? What are you doing here?” Astel asked, stunned.
“Can’t incriminate a man with no body,” Gast explained. “Just so happens I know someone who’s got dozens to spare.”
“But you had a body already, Sable!” Astel exclaimed, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Eila’s body! What do you need another one for? And what took you so long?”
“Finishing touches on the crime scene,” Zoran said simply.
“But – ”