Brave Men Die: Part 2
The orders had come mysteriously, the letter arriving at his door at dawn, as if the messenger desperately wanted to get rid of the wax-sealed envelope. Thom put it on the table and stared at it as he sat down and reached for his mug of steaming hot coffee. The envelope was a thick, coarse paper, slightly yellow from the exposure to the sun. The wax seal was red, a heavy dollop that betrayed the urgency and speed used by the sender. He sipped at the burning brown liquid and held the envelope up so he could get a better look at the seal. The image was of a hanging man, dangling from the noose around his neck. Not that he needed to, it was obvious who had sent it and the channels that it had travelled to get to him so quickly.
Thom realised that others would have received the exact same envelope, at the same godforsaken hour, and all would have nearly the exact same message bar for one thing.
The target.
His handlers back in Kyzantium had told him to infiltrate Nethvan and start a life and that he’d be called upon when they needed him to work. Until then he was a sleeper, a normal citizen. Not once had Thom wondered about the whereabouts of any other assassin operating in Nethvan — until now. The one thing he was sure of was that others were here. Over the years there had been a few unexplained deaths and Thom knew he hadn’t been the one to kill them. Maybe the assassin hadn’t even been Kyzantine. It didn’t matter. Nethvan was a den for killers. He did not know the identities of the others, nor would he ever, but he expected that they would be out tonight like him doing what the Empire required.
He picked up the kitchen knife sitting on the table and pried the blade underneath the wax seal. The envelope popped open and he slid the letter out. It contained few words on pale yellow paper. Not even instructions, just four names. He memorised them so they would be with him until the day he died. He methodically tucked the letter back into the envelope and walked to his fireplace. It was too warm in summer to have a raging fire, even this early in the day, but the flames had been used to boil his water and would still be enough to burn all trace of the letter. He pushed the corner of it into the flames until it took, then released it into the hearth and watched it burn. He took another sip of his coffee while options raced through his head. He had things to organise.
Madeline walked amongst the other concubines in the palace, judging if she was prettier, if her curves were more seductive, if her breasts were perkier. She knew her position was only secure for as long as she remained on top of her game. If she wasn’t then she would be out of a job. Well, one of them at least.
The halls of the palace at Sarkridge were amazing. Large marble columns reached the roof that was four times the size of any normal person. Warm red runners ran the length of the corridors in this wing of the palace. Tapestries and artworks hung from the white plastered walls. Over three floors the most beautiful women in the Kingdom lived, always at hand to pleasure the King. It paid well and the girls never went lacking.
Entering her private chambers Madeline let her see-through shift fall to the ground as she went to a basin of clean water. She picked up the sponge resting on the table beside it, dipped it in the water and began washing her body. Her nipples hardened as the cold water dribbled down her breasts, her abdomen tightening as the sponge washed over it. Done with the water, she patted herself dry and sprayed some perfume into the air and walked through the scent. She took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of roses before taking her robe off the coat rack, wrapping it around herself and tying it about her waist.
Resting on top of her pillow was a yellow coarse envelope that she recognised without a closer step. It sat defiantly staring at her, tempting any inquisitive eyes. Palace security was tight so whoever put it there had to be an inside man or more likely woman, to get access to these rooms. The only question that flittered across Madeline’s mind now was who she was meant to kill.
She slid her finger along the top of the envelope and tore it open, reached in, and grabbed the piece of paper between her long-nailed fingers. Madeline’s eyes glanced at it briefly and the smallest of smiles flittered across her lips. She went to the window of her small room, took out her matches and a smoke and put it to her lips. The flame caught the end of it and she inhaled the first of the smoke. The match’s flame was still burning and she brushed it underneath the message and the envelope. Madeline held it between her fingers until the flames took almost all of it before she flung it out the window and the burning paper drifted out of the tower and into the sky.
Thom walked through the streets of Nethvan looking for a particular sign over a particular door. He lived in a world of particulars, where the wrong particular would get you killed. Remembering back to his days in Dagenham, the guild’s signs and symbols were imprinted on his brain. He’d searched them out when he reached Nethvan and found them within his first week, but Thom never had the need to enter.
Walking through the winding labyrinth streets of the slums, he kept his eyes alert for any sign of assault while his mind pondered what he would need for the job. For starters, he needed to know where his targets would be staying for the night. Then the building plans, the amount of security, alternative escape routes. Luckily, the right amount of money in the right hands could get you everything you needed and Thom had been living in Nethvan for long enough to know who those right people were, even if he hadn’t met them.
He entered the lane on the right and looked for the sign of the Red Anvil. It was a small establishment, not really a pub, but bigger than a house. The outside was nondescript: junk and rubbish piled high against the wall like most of the other buildings down the lane. Thom knew most people wouldn’t come down here unless they had to and the main reason people went to the Red Anvil in the slums was to trade. Trade anything and everything but mainly for information, something Thom needed, and the people inside wouldn’t ask questions if he paid the right amount of money.
Thom walked inside and not a head lifted from their private discussions. Not that he was really worth looking at. He was ordinary and blended in, something that made him very good at his job. He went to the bar, more a man sitting behind a desk with a large keg behind him and a small table filled with mugs to the side. It was an obvious cover to fool any who just happened to wander in and somewhere to serve beverages for all the clients. Thom eyed the man off. He was large, had a gut that touched the desk before him, and Thom assumed that it would hang below his waist when he stood. His arms were thick and there was muscle under the fat. He did not doubt that the man had some power and could easily knock him about in a bare fisted fight even though Thom judged that he would be slow to move. But Thom never went anywhere unarmed these days and he could just as quickly drive his dagger into the man’s neck before he could bring his arm back for the punch.
He slid a gold coin across the desk and the man snatched it with unexpected speed. Thom didn’t flinch even though he was surprised. The bartender dropped it somewhere beside his leg. It landed with a chink of metal hitting metal and the bartender poured a mug of beer from the keg and pointed to a table in the corner. A man was already sitting there.
Thom sat down at the table, put his beer down, and looked at the man. He moved forward out of the shadows and his unshaven face appeared, his smile forming a toothless grin. His hair was oily, he had a nose that had been repeatedly broken, and a few scars running across his chin. The informant had been in a few scraps prior to joining the life of information gathering.
‘I need to find some people.’
‘There is a price.’
‘The people I’m working for are willing to pay for the information, as long as it’s correct and I get it right away.’
‘It will cost extra to get it right away, but then I can’t guarantee its accuracy.’
‘Then you better tell me quickly so I can find out for myself.’
‘Touchy little servant aren’t we?’
Thom let the remark slide. Better to think he was some servant looking for information for his master rather than the truth.
‘My master needs the information quickly and he needs it to be accurate.’
‘Then he will be paying a greater price.’
A flitter of annoyance crossed Thom’s face but the informant didn’t seem to notice or to care.
‘I need to find a certain family, one that everyone knows is here on business, but are trying to stay below the radar. I need to know exactly where they are staying and how many accompany them. Think you can manage that?’
‘Give me a moment,’ the informant replied, getting up from the table. ‘And wait right here.’
The informant left and walked out to the back room. Thom looked at the beer sitting on the table before him and then across at the one sitting before the now empty seat at the other side of the table. He put it to his lips but never took a sip. Better not to trust anyone or anything until he had finished what he needed to do. A place like this didn’t get its reputation for betraying its customers, but one couldn’t be too careful.
He sat there for twenty minutes before the seedy man returned bearing his toothless grin. He sat down and put a folded piece of paper on the table, keeping three fingers pressed tightly against it.
‘This is where they are staying. This will cost five hundred gold pieces.’
‘Three hundred,’ Thom haggled.
‘Four,’ the informant countered.
Thom put a purse of money on the table. The informant greedily reached out and grabbed hold of it and snatched back the piece of paper as well. Before he could move the information back more than an inch, Thom had produced the dagger from his belt and drove it into the man’s hand, holding it in place. He didn’t scream but his face contorted in pain. Blood stained the table as it pooled around his hand and onto Thom’s information.
‘You had to go and make this more difficult than it had to be.’
The man looked frantically for the big man at the desk but Thom twisted the dagger in his hand and the informant gave a start. Others were looking in their direction but Thom was already on his feet. He grabbed the paper and slipped it into his pocket and pulled the knife out of the flesh.
‘Let this be a lesson. Don’t get greedy.’
Madeline opened her closet and parted some of the hanging dresses. Her slender arm reached in between them and jiggled with a piece of wood at the back. It came away in her hand and she pulled it out and turned it over, revealing an ornate key taped to the other side. She ripped it free and threw the piece of wood back into the bottom of the closet. Madeline covered the distance between the closet and the chest sitting at the bottom of her bed in three quick steps and went down on her haunches in front of it.
Placing the key inside the lock, she fingered the gold embroidered pattern that surrounded it. Her hand turned and the lock opened with a click. She lifted the chest lid and peered at the contents inside. They were placed perfectly, each a particular distance away so that she could always tell if they had been disturbed. She picked up each individually and put them down beside her on the hardwood floor until all five of her treasures where removed delicately and Madeline reached in with both hands and tugged out the false bottom. Once it too was on the floor Madeline looked into the bottom of the chest and looked at her options.
Vials of poison, throwing stars and a dagger with an emerald set in the hilt all stared back at her tempting her to use them all right now. They would have to wait. Multiple options ran through her head as she looked at her tools. Anything was possible. It all depended on chance.
Placing the false bottom back in the chest, Madeline returned each of her treasures back in their exact place, turning each slightly until they were exactly how they were the first time.
Madeline stood and stretched, her fingertips reaching for the roof as she arched her back. She stood on tip toes to stretch the muscles in her legs that had tightened from being on her haunches. She rolled her shoulders back as she untied the cord around her waist and her thin robe dropped to the floor. Time for some sleep. She would need all her energy for later.
The sun had fallen across the horizon and Thom had casually strolled around the property of his targets and located all the possible entrances. Two guards stood at either side of both the front and back gate, armed with swords at their waists. Another four would be positioned somewhere inside the building along with an entourage of servants.
He walked two blocks over and entered a rowdy tavern. A group of musicians played in the corner of the room and people were singing along. He walked to the bar and ordered a beer before he found himself a spot on the back wall and lifted his left foot against it and leaned back, letting the hours drift past.
People came and left, never actually taking any notice of him, always keeping to themselves. Thom enjoyed the music as the moon drifted higher in the sky but never forgot what he actually had to do later that night. He put one hand into the pocket of his brown jacket that covered his long sleeved black shirt that was neatly tucked into his black pants. When the musicians stopped for food and a break he made his way across the tavern floor to the exit, placing his full mug of beer on one of the tables that no patron seemed to notice. He pushed the door open and headed out in the darkness, taking the shadowed alleyways to the residency. In the heart of darkness he removed his jacket and threw it in one of the bins and pulled a blackened mask out of his back pocket and pulled it over his head.
His green eyes looked out of previously cut holes and he stalked his way to the end of the alley, pressing his back against the wall. He peered around the corner, locating a couple walking down the street in the opposite direction. He sprinted across the street, his feet tapping lightly as he emerged back in the darkness at full speed leaping for a spot on the seven foot wall. His right foot hit first and he propelled himself up, his left scrambled before his hands reached the top of the wall and his muscles strained as he lifted himself up and over. He dropped silently and rolled behind a bush, careful not to touch it and give away his location.
