Silent Night

by Emma Couette

  “Thank you,” I tell her. It doesn’t hurt as much this time.

  “All right,” Ajax says, “now that that’s dealt with, you guys need to go do your usual training.” He eyes Bast and Blake.

  Bast sighs. “Do we have to?”

  “Get going,” Ajax barks, but his tone has changed. It’s more relaxed now. I guess lying to his friends was more stressful than it looked.

  Bast and Blake head off and I ask, “What about us?”

  “You’ll spar with me now, and it’s not going to be as easy as it was earlier.” He smiles at me.

  I guess he’s willing to be nicer now that the others know the truth, now that I’ve stepped out of the shadows, going against my very nature. I hope it’s worth it.

  …

  Later, after dinner and some lessons, the others leave us to go to their rooms and Ajax escorts me to room 2413. The four of us had a lot of laughs, the tension from my identity reveal diminishing throughout the afternoon and evening. Bast asked a stream of questions about my life before. I answered him as best I could. Blake was quiet, but I figure that’s the way she is. Ajax has been a lot friendlier and I even caught him smiling a few more times, which was odd to me.

  Ajax stops in front of my door, putting his hands in his pockets. I’m about to go inside when he speaks.

  “So, what do you think of Blake?”

  “She’s all right.”

  “All right? I thought you two would’ve been hitting it off by now.”

  I shrug. “Girls aren’t my thing.”

  “That’s not what I meant; the both of you could use a girlfriend—a friend that’s a girl.”

  “I know what you meant,” I retort, “and I’ll say it again: girls aren’t my thing. They involve too much gossip, pretty dresses, and general unnecessary drama.” I think for a second and continue. “Actually, it’s the whole ‘friend’ concept that’s not my thing.”

  He scrunches an eyebrow. “What, so you’re saying you didn’t have friends at–at the Assassin’s Guild?”

  I snort. “Guild no; friends were just a good way to get yourself killed.”

  He crosses his arms. “And how do you figure that?”

  “Well, let’s see,” I start, ticking things off on my fingers as I go. “When you get a friend, you start to trust them, and when you trust someone, you let your guard down. Next thing you know, they’re stabbing you in the back and—in my line of work—it’s not a metaphorical knife. Assassins don’t make good friends, not when life is a constant do-or-die competition to be number one.”

  He sighs. “Well, we’re not out to get each other here. We watch each other’s backs and work together to reach our goals. Maybe you could make friends now. It’s okay to let your guard down. You’re safe.”

  “I don’t think so. I still have a ways to go before I can agree I’m safe, but we’ll see what happens.”

  “You know, Silent,” he says, “I think you’re going to like it here.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know, just a hunch.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles. “Well, anyway, goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Night,” I reply.

  He closes the door behind me and slides the bolt across, sealing me in. I wait until I hear his footsteps carrying him away.

  Then I spin around and slam my fist into the wall.

  Well, almost.

  I stop my hand a centimetre from the cement. It quivers for a second before I drop it to the side and uncurl my fingers.

  Assassin’s below, all this smiling and fitting in and making friends... It will be the death of me. It’s a miracle I haven’t slit anyone’s throat, even with my lack of weapons, but it wasn’t hard to remedy that.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the butter knife I squirrelled away during dinner. Then I shove it under the mattress and sit down on the bed.

  Just stick to the plan, I tell myself. Gain their trust, worm your way into the upper ranks, and get them to help you kill the Charger. Then, you can become the new Master Assassin and pick off the Resistance members one by one.

  Simple. All I have to do is survive this nightmare.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I’ve barely woken up the next morning when I hear a knock on my door. I don’t answer it. It’s too early to be up; I can feel it in my bones.

  I groan and roll over. “Go away,” I mumble.

  The knock sounds again. I ignore it.

  There is a pause and then a boy’s voice calls from the other side of the door.

  “I’m coming in, Silent, you better pray you’re decent.”

  I open one eye.

  Who dares to address me this way?

  I’m about to tell them exactly what they can do when the door swings open. I sit bolt upright in bed.

  “What in the Guild…?” I gasp. A boy stands in the doorway, watching me.

  I jump out of bed and grab for the dagger sitting on the edge of the night table but…

  It isn’t there.

  “What is going on?” I shout.

  The boy steps into the room further and I see that he’s more of a man. His brown hair and grey-blue eyes are familiar.

  “Silent!” he says sharply. “It’s me, Ajax. You’re at the Resistance. You’re safe. Calm down.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Everything comes back to me in a flurry of memory: leaving the Guild, getting shot at, waking up in a dungeon, and being led around the Resistance by this guy.

  Ajax, I remind myself. Right.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed.

  Ajax eyes me warily. “Are you...?”

  “I’m fine. Forgot where I was for a second. You startled me.”

  “Sorry about that,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “but I did knock several times with no reply. I can’t wait forever.”

  “So it’s fine for you to let yourself into my room?”

  “Technically, the room does not belong to you and yes, it’s fine. I have to make sure you’re not developing dangerous weapons in secret or trying to end your life.”

  “As if I have the materials to make any sort of weapon,” I scoff, “and assassins live to end the lives of others. Why on earth would we kill ourselves?”

  “I don’t know,” he admits, “but do you blame me for considering it?”

  “No, I would’ve done the same. Never underestimate the enemy.” I pause. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

  “The day’s begun,” he replies. “Breakfast is in ten minutes and after that, we have to hit the training rooms.”

  I rub my eyes. “This early?”

  “It’s seven o’clock, Silent,” he replies, “I’d hardly call that early. Rise and shine.”

  “Seven o’clock,” I repeat. “Are you insane?”

  “What time do you usually get up?

  “Whenever I see fit,” I reply. “As long as my missions were done on time, I had free reign.”

  “Must be nice,” he mutters.

  “It was.” I yawn.

  “Well, you’re not at the Guild anymore so get yourself dressed. I want to get down to the cafeteria before all the pancakes are eaten.”

  “Will Bast and Blake be there?”

  “Yes, they’ll be at breakfast, but they have their own schedule to attend to now that it’s Monday. Now enough questions. Go get dressed.”

  “Must I wear that awful uniform? Don’t you have anything in colour? Crimson perhaps? Oh, black would be nice.”

  He gives me a look. “First of all, black isn’t a colour. Second of all, no. Now get on with it.”

  He leaves the room and shuts the door. I walk over to the closet and grab another one of the ridiculous, identical grey uniforms. I shudder, but put it on. I contemplate bringing my butter knife, but I decide I should be safe without it.

  I open the door and step into the hall. Ajax shuts it behind me and st
arts walking away. I follow with a resigned sigh.

  “How much longer am I going to have to tag along behind you all day?”

  “Until I trust you.”

  “Which will be when?”

  “When you stop asking so many curious questions,” he replies coolly.

  I give him an indignant look and stay silent until we reach the cafeteria.

  The room is much quieter than it was during lunch or dinner yesterday. Everyone is sitting at the tables, some with their heads on their hands, dangerously close to getting syrup in their hair. I wince as one girl slips and does just that.

  “Everyone have a long night or something?”

  “Night shifts,” Ajax explains. “Some people have to go back out in the morning.”

  “At the Guild, we sometimes go days without sleep, but we’re always alert. These people would be dead long before they noticed the threat,” I point out.

  “I’m sorry we’re not up to your standards,” he snaps, “but we’re a little short staffed with the way you people value life.” He stalks off to the line.

  “That’s not what I...” I start, but he’s already gone. “Meant,” I finish lamely. I sigh again—I’ve been doing a lot of that lately—and take my place in line, two spots behind Ajax.

  Ajax is already at the table chatting it up with the other two when I slide onto the bench beside Blake.

  Bast looks up from the joke he was telling Ajax and says, “Morning, Midnight.”

  “What?” I say.

  “I’m trying out new names on you,” he replies. “I need something to call you.”

  “I’d rather you just call me Silent Night.”

  “Yeah, but it has to be cooler and less, I don’t know, scary. You are trying to fit in.”

  I frown. Why does everybody keep telling me that?

  “Right,” I reply, “but I wasn’t aware that required a new identity.”

  “You were perfectly fine telling us your name was Indigo yesterday,” Blake points out.

  “Am I being interrogated?”

  “Not yet,” Bast says with a grin.

  “She doesn’t need a new identity, guys,” Ajax argues, “just a new perspective on life.”

  “How do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, everything you say is, ‘Oh the Guild has this,’ or ‘The Guild would never do that,’ and so on.”

  “And?”

  “And I thought they betrayed you? Why would you waste breath talking about them? Stop looking at the world as a Guild assassin, because like it or not, those days for you are over. Look at it from your own perspective; be your own person.”

  Bast and Blake look at him like he’s grown a second head.

  “Whoa, man,” Bast says, “you feeling okay? You’re acting too philosophical for seven in the morning. Here, have some pancakes.” Bast spears a few pieces with his fork and holds it out to Ajax as if feeding food to a baby.

  Ajax brushes the fork away. “Cut it out. I’m fine.”

  “If you say so,” Bast replies, shoving the forkful into his own mouth, “but you better keep alert just in case.”

  “Bast,” Blake sighs, “you know how I feel about talking with your mouth full.”

  Bast sticks his tongue out at her. “Bite me.”

  I crack a smile and then shake my head. These people are having a weird effect on me.

  Before we can start up another conversation, the cafeteria doors bang open and a horde of...children come running in. Their screaming laughter fills the space.

  Several older agents file in after them, gently nudging them and giving orders to form a line in front of the counter.

  It is such an odd sight, all the children dressed in grey. At the Guild, the orphans were kept separate from the fully trained assassins, so they wouldn’t get in the way. I try not to let my mind wander, try not to think about what those first few years at the Guild had been like.

  “Uh oh,” Bast says, following my gaze, “the hellions have arrived.”

  Blake swats at him. “As if you’re any better.” She’s smiling at the news and it lights up her face.

  We continue eating in silence, but Blake can’t seem to take her eyes off the children, as if guarding them from afar. Then I hear the sound of padding feet coming our way.

  “Bwake!” someone cries out and I resist the urge to jump in my seat.

  Blake puts down her fork as a small, dark-haired child comes barrelling at her. He crashes into her waiting arms and she lifts him up into her lap, tousling his hair.

  “How is Simon today?” she asks him.

  “Gooood,” he says, giving her a gap-toothed smile.

  She beams at him and I hear more footsteps.

  A moment later, an older blonde girl and another dark-haired boy stop at the table. The girl puts her hands on her hips.

  “Si-uh-mon,” she chides, “you can’t be running off like that. Remember what Sarah said?”

  Simon just giggles.

  “Hello, Lydia, Charles,” Blake says to the older children. “What’s for breakfast this morning?”

  “Pancakes,” the boy who must be Charles says.

  “They’re probably getting cold,” Lydia adds.

  Damn, the girl has fire for an eight year old.

  Then I remember what I was like at that age and decide to cut her some slack.

  Charles eyes Lydia and says, “We should probably go. Come on, Simon.”

  Simon sighs loudly, but nods.

  Blake tousles his hair once more before setting him down on the floor and he laughs.

  “Bye, Bwake,” he says with a little wave.

  “Bye, Simon,” she says, then to the other two, “you kids behave yourselves.”

  Lydia takes Simon’s hand and they head off to the other side of the room where the adults have secured five tables for the group.

  I look over at Blake. There is a profound sadness in her eyes as she watches them go, but then she turns back to us and it’s gone.

  Bast whistles. “Lydia is going to be a handful when she’s older.”

  Blake smiles. “You’re one to talk.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m the Simon of that group,” he retorts.

  “Do the children usually eat here?” I ask, interrupting the argument I can sense coming. “I didn’t notice them at lunch or dinner yesterday.”

  “They typically only join us during breakfast, when it’s quieter,” Ajax answers, “but not every day.”

  “They seem to be in relatively good spirits, considering the state of this city.”

  “Some of them have never been outside,” Blake says, “those that have Resistance parents, at least. Simon, Lydia, and Charles are orphans, family by chance.”

  “We found them on one of our patrols a couple years ago,” Bast adds, “huddling in front of a burning garbage heap.”

  So the Guild isn’t the only one in Haven who collects orphans, though I’m sure the ones here lead a much happier and safer life.

  I wonder what could’ve happened if I’d run, if the Resistance had found me before the Guild all those years ago.

  I clamp down on those thoughts.

  Wondering can’t change the past nor help the future.

  “You seem really good with them,” I tell Blake.

  “Thanks,” she says, smiling.

  Maybe the two of us could get along after all.

  We sit in silence for the next little while, eating our breakfast. We’re almost done when Bast decides to resume his earlier questioning and asks me, “So, Night, how old are you?”

  “Eighteen,” I reply.

  “Really? Eighteen and you’re already a legend.”

  “A legendary killer,” Blake reminds him.

  I ignore her comment and ask, “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen,” Bast replies. “I know, I look young for my age. That’s what hanging around these two geezers will do to you.”

  Ajax elbows him. “Don’t you go belittling your e
lders, young man,” he scolds him and I laugh despite myself.

  “We’re nineteen,” Blake says, interrupting Bast’s next words, “stop being so dramatic.”

  I roll my eyes at Bast. “That’s not old at all.”

  “It depends on your perspective,” he argues. “In this city, you’re lucky to see your twenties. Look at you for example. People might call you old, having survived childhood, but you’re young for what you’ve done. I mean, how many people have you killed?”

  “Bast,” Blake gasps.

  Ajax shoots him a look and then sneaks a glance at me.

  I feel frigid. “You don’t want to know,” I say, suppressing the shiver that wants to shake itself out.

  “Oh, come on,” Bast goads. “Tell us. I can take it.”

  I turn my gaze on him; eyes like ice pierce his wide curious ones. “I said you don’t want to know,” I snap through clenched teeth, fingers curled tight around my fork. I stand up then, dropping the utensil. It clatters to the floor and a few people look up.

  “Calm down,” Bast says, “I didn’t mean—”

  “Shut up!” I clench my fists with the fingers that yearn to claw into Bast’s throat.

  Walk away, I tell myself. Just walk away.

  So I do.

  …

  Ajax finds me in room 2413 sitting on the bed. My knees are pulled up to my chest and I’m trying not to visualize what it would feel like to shove my stolen butter knife down Bast’s throat.

  I’m failing.

  Ajax eases the door open. “Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

  “Why should you care?” I snap.

  “What, I’m not allowed to be nice?”

  “No...it’s just...never mind.” I sigh.

  He leans against the doorframe. “I don’t exactly understand what happened back there, but I’m sure Bast didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  “Okay... Then why...?”

  “Look, can we just forget it?” I ask, looking up at him sharply. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay,” he says again, skeptical. “Do you still want to train now? ‘Cause we can...”

  “I’m fine,” I snap.