Fantastical Ramblings (6 page)

Since people never know what they love most until they lose
it, I’d be doing them favors trading in endless circles. “Sister Macadamia, I
love you!” I proclaimed to the Universe at large.

Visions of promotion to Fairy Godmother danced in my head—promotion
guaranteed a maintenance budget of gold stars.

So, as long as rats are a menace, cats breed, and teenagers
rebel, I foresee an endless supply of gold stars and rich food. “Don’t suppose
you boys have any cinnamon ice cream in the house? Just a little to keep me
going.” I may not be a Fairy Godmother yet, but I know who rules the
refrigerator in the house.

Stars forbid! Does being a Fairy Godmother mean I actually
have to have teenagers of my own?

~THE END~

Now for something a bit different. This story is part of a
much larger compendium about Katya, Lady Assassin from the offices of Story
Portals.
www.storyportals.com
edited by Larry Segriff. I don’t often get
to play in other people’s worlds. It was fun. But also a lot of hard work
making sure certain elements of my story and my depiction of Katya remained
true to the other stories and novels about her.

<<>>

The blue faience bead braided into Katya’s dark hair at
her temple began vibrating. She touched each of the seven beads entwined with
that braid. Only the blue one sent magical tingles through her fingertips.

Pleased that the spell worked, it had certainly cost her
enough for the magically charged decoration and the secret cantrip to activate
it, she casually paused to examine some camel’s hair blankets at the market
stall to her left. As she fingered the coarse weave she kept her body half
turned toward the flow of people crowding the bizarre on this fine autumnal
morning. The usual assortment of householders and small shop keepers searching
for their daily foodstuffs, a few wealthy ladies accompanied by their servants.
She identified three important men, surrounded by a bevy of underlings, who
passed her by.

None of them drew her attention more than any other.

The bead continued to pulse, faster with more urgency. Whoever
followed her was still close enough to do her harm.

Katya abandoned the main thoroughfare of the bizarre at the
next right-hand alley, away from her destination.

Left, right, then another quick right. She withdrew into the
shadow of a towering dwelling, five apartments piled on top of each other in a
teetering and mismatched puzzlebox of sagging wood. Only a fool, or the
desperately poor, came to this sector.

And there she waited. Then waited some more. All of the
denizens of this district seemed to be away from home today. All the shoppers
and shopkeepers were in the bizarre. Not a single person, suspicious or
otherwise, passed her hiding place.

After about ten minutes, the blue bead quieted. Had it
burned through its charge, or had she eluded danger?

Only one way to find out. She loosened the sharpened hair
sticks that held part of the abundant waves atop her head. Then with one hand
on the dagger grip hidden within the folds of her striped robe, and the other
hand fingering a throwing star, Katya eased away from the dimness of the alley.
Full noon sunshine beat down upon her veiled head. She moved slowly, letting
her eyes adapt to the increasing brightness with each step.

Knowing a confident demeanor deterred more violence than a
brazen show of weapons—which really only challenged bullies—Katya strode down
the alley as if she owned it, head high and shoulders back, arms swinging free.
With each pass of her hands she brushed the folds of her robe, touching each of
her weapons. The leather grip of her dagger reassured her. Her sensitive
fingertips met the wooden handle of the tiny knife up her sleeve, the sharp
edge of the throwing star, the silken knots of the garrote, and the smooth
glass containing a magical poison that penetrated the skin within seconds and
killed within moments.

Ten minutes later Katya pushed aside a curtain made of bead
strands. She murmured the three words of a quiet spell. The wood and pottery
beads touched each other without noise. She entered the storeroom behind the
Unicorn’s Horn. She found a full face mask of a white and red minor imp in an
inside pocket of her robe and hid her face behind it.

Galt, the bartender, and owner of the inn, called to her
from the heart of the building. “We are alone, you are safe.” He always knew
when Katya came to call. She didn’t know how he knew. He was a warrior trained.
He sensed things, like the presence of strangers, the movement of an unseen
weapon, the smell of nervousness on the skin of an enemy, without any magic. Or
maybe he had a blue faience bead hidden on his person.

She pushed aside another beaded curtain and bowed low in
respect to the former warrior. A big man, he hadn’t let his muscle mass go to
fat. His bald head gleamed in the dim light from the open front of the tavern. Today
he shaved his head, other times he let his hair grow to shoulder length. He
returned her bow of respect, one warrior to another, though she fought her
enemies in more secret ways than he. His smile lit his entire face with joy,
stopping short only at the black patch over his right eye and the paralyzing
scar that reached from beneath the patch to his temple.

“I come seeking news,” she said, as she did every time her
shadow crossed his doorway.

“No news today,” he replied.

Slightly disappointed, Katya slid into a tiny room to her
right, the doorway one more shadow within the darkened space. She sought a sealed
basket just inside the opening. The elaborate knots and counted twists securing
the top to the base seemed undisturbed. When she shook the cube the size of
three fists on each side, nothing rattled within.

“You don’t trust me anymore?” Galt asked with a bit of a
chuckle behind his words.

She returned to the main room. “I have learned to trust you,
my friend. I’m just bored and in need of a job to divert me. I have not worked
in over a month.” They never discussed the true nature of her work. Just as they
never discussed how he lost an eye, or for which royal family he had captained
the guard. “Maybe you missed...”

Galt burst out laughing. The sound built and rolled around
the interior of the inn. If anyone slept in the rooms above, they did so no
longer. “Me miss a client leaving a message for Lady Kat?”

“Forgive me, friend.” Katya bowed again and prepared to
leave.

“Just a minute, my friend.”

Katya froze in her tracks.

“An honest client did not leave a message, but a patron
asked for you by name.”

Katya held her breath. “By name?”

“He asked for Lady Kat, but he made it sound like he sought
a stray tabby.”

“An illiterate client perhaps?” she asked hopefully. Whoever
sought her in the market place was likely not a member of the Assassin’s Guild.
Members rarely took assignments against each other.

“Describe this man,” she said flatly, knowing a description
would be useless. She used magical glamours herself to change her own
appearance when needful.

“An ordinary man. Neither overly tall, or underly short. Neither
fat nor thin. Older than you, younger than me. He wore dust covered robes he
could have bought in any bazaar in the land.”

“Dust? What color dust? Did he smell of camel or horse, or
did he walk?”

Galt shrugged. “Dust is dust. From the market perhaps, as it
was redder than the desert, but not black like the mountains. And he smelled of
man, garlic, sweat, and dog. No camel or horse.”

“In other words he looked like any one of a hundred men I
passed in the market today.”

Galt nodded.

Just then, a noisy group of five young men staggered in from
the market. They demanded food and Uldreth wine. Katya faded out of the inn the
way she had come, silent and almost invisible.

Meles, purveyor of magical spells and talismans—she had sold
Katya the now-quiet blue bead—Traynor, her tailor, and eight other associates
related the same story of the ordinary man in search of Lady Kat.

Katya began to worry. Her instincts told her to avoid this
man. Her pride and her faith in the goddess Shi’in told her to embrace death as
she would love. They are two sides of the same coin. Both offerings of
dedication to Shi’in.

Her final stop of the day, at the House of Jasmine Flower
Delight, managed by Sera Fillia, forced Katya to make a choice.

“When will you forsake your quiet life tending your garden
and come to work for me?” the highest paid courtesan in all of Jakarr asked
Katya as they reclined on divans and sipped glasses of chilled tea sweetened
with gavora nectar, the sap of a rare desert succulent.

Katya would have described Sera Fillia as handsome with her
high cheekbones, high bridged nose, and serene countenance. Her beauty came
from maturity, experience, and wisdom.

Katya wore a glamour of a beautiful courtesan with flawless
pale skin, sleek dark curls, a tasteful jewel in the center of her forehead
dangling from a simple golden chain. Her diaphanous gown hinted at luscious
curves, alternately revealing and hiding shapes and shadows with each movement.

Katya swallowed her distress at the question. Long ago she
had been trained in such ways, schooled to escort kings and princes to state
dinners or to while away long hours in more pleasurable pursuits, but she kept
that training secret. An assassin with the skills of a courtesan was the sign
of Shi’in, and ever since the attack that eliminated the cult, being known as a
follower of the goddess of love and death was generally fatal.

“A woman like you would make us both a fortune,” Sera Fillia
suggested.

“I have no need of your money,” Katya said quietly. She
sipped her tea, wondering how to broach the subject of her quest.

“A man visited just an hour before your arrival. He
requested a private interview with Lady Kat.”

“You employ the most beautiful and exotic women from all
over the world. What would a casual customer want with me?”

“He did not say. Nor did he give the correct password to
indicate he needed your other services, whatever they are.” Sera Fillia sipped
her own tea, keenly observing Katya over the rim of her glass.

“I have heard of this man. He seeks me throughout Jakarr. I
do not wish to meet him.” Katya set down her glass on the tray at her elbow and
rose to take her leave.

“Then perhaps you will allow me to become your client?” Sera
Fillia’s artfully drawn eyebrows rose and her eyes opened wide; an expression
designed to project innocence.

“What kind of assignment?” Katya sat down again.

“One that will require all of your talents and intelligence.
It will, alas, take you far from our beloved Jakarr. Interested?”

“I admit I am intrigued.”

“I have in my employ a delightfully exotic young woman. Sha’awna
was born albino. Her colorless skin and hair attracts many men who tire of the
normal darker tones of local women, no matter how beautiful.” Sera Fillia drew
an arc with her graceful hand that encompassed Katya’s own body and coloring.

“Albinos are rare. Unusual that they survive to adulthood. We
do not know if they suffer frailties of health or if superstitious parents and
priests remove them from the population,” Katya replied hesitantly.

“True. Sha’awna’s father is the younger son of a younger son
of a minor royal house. He has little influence or money, outside his family. His
daughters, however, are beautiful and of royal blood. Many wealthy nobles and
highly placed merchants will pay highly to marry into such a family.”

“But an albino is too exotic. She has no value to such a
family,” Katya finished the thought.

“Yes.”

The silence between them rested uneasily on Katya’s
shoulders.

“Sha’awna’s parents apparently loved their daughter more
than many in their situation. Instead of allowing her to die after she went
blind, they sold her to me.”

“If I did not know you as I do, and know the quality of your
house, I might be appalled.”

Sera Fillia laughed heartily, her generous bosom bouncing
until the globes of silken skin nearly fell out of her brocade bodice.

“What is the nature of this mission? Your Sha’awna seems
well placed for one of her affliction.”

“Prince Kanto Branna of Miktarr has fallen in love with her
and wishes to make my Sha’awna his consort.”

“I have never heard of Kanto Branna or of Miktarr,” Katya
said suspiciously. “Consort is a high position for a former courtesan, but a
lowly one for a man in love.”

“Apparently he rules a tiny city lost in the jungles of the
northwest. He already has four wives, all political arrangements, and can take
no more according to the laws of his city and his god. So he will make Sha’awna
his consort. The contracts are signed. Vows exchanged and money transferred. All
that is left is for Sha’awna to travel to Miktarr.” Sera Fillia fluttered her
hands in a dismissive gesture.

“I am surprised the prince did not take her with him when he
returned to his city.”

“Unfortunately, his time in Jakarr was limited. Something
about this arrangement betrayed an alliance with the ruling house of... I don’t
remember where. One of his marriages I suppose. He left in somewhat of a hurry
by ship, leaving me to make arrangement for Sha’awna to travel cross country. She
needs an escort. Protection. Companionship.”

“And help, I would imagine, if she is blind.”

“She does quite well for one without sight. There are times
I almost think she sees without eyes.” Sera Fillia tapped her temple to
emphasize her words. Then she tangled her fingers in the sigil against evil
magic.

<<>>

Dawn found Katya wrestling a surly camel down to its
knees. “Hiya!” she commanded, rapping with the leather-wrapped stick the
caravan master had given her. “You will obey me, sooner or later, easy or hard,
but I am smarter than you,” she cursed the camel.