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- Herausgeber: Dark Zone
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
This novel has been awarded the
Trofeo Cittadella 2018, the most prestigious Italian award in the field of fantasy literature, during
Deepcon19.
www.robhimmel.com
Stupidity kills more than blades do.
The balance is shattered. The pieces are on the board. The game of power has begun and will demand a blood price.
When Lynx, Ganderia’s most infamous assassin, makes his unexpected return to the capital after ten years, the balance of powers shatters. The eight organizations managing the city from the shadows awaken from their slumber and resume their plotting and scheming. King Nuldest is prepared to do anything to uncover the reason why, after all this time, the man has come back and doesn’t hesitate to put the Order on the task. And Eel won’t waste an opportunity to chase and seize her dream: to become the greatest assassin in history, making a name for herself at Lynx’s expenses… Even the enigmatic Queen is ready to play her hand. The game of deceit is afoot. Who will triumph?
“An unconventional fantasy novel. It would be great if some producer acknowledged this novel and thought of bringing it to the big screen.” Universo Fantasy“Mystery takes the stage along with a thick web of intrigue, betrayal, lies and deceit, with a surprise ending that leaves a smile on your lips.”
La Bottega dei libri incantati
“Finally a fantasy novel, or better yet a fantasy thriller, with a spy story capable of transporting me to a different, upside-down world, shocking and enticing because of it. I can only bow before Rob Himmel and tell him, with deference, that I tip my hat to him.”
Les Fleurs du Mal
“This book’s greatest virtue lies in Himmel’s ability to never let the true intentions of his creatures shine, leaving the reader actively involved in investigating them, trying to imagine what will be the next upset in the vast web of power games they set up.”
Infiniti mondi
“In The Scarlet Blades we witness a game of power reminiscent of Martin’s game of thrones, although unfolding considerably faster. The pacing is quick and relentless, with no pauses, a new development in every page, be it a fight, a murder or a revelation.”
I Mondi Fantastici
“Reading this often makes one hold their breath. It is a story rich in intrigue, subterfuge and ‘No, that can’t be!’ moments. An original and thrilling story.”
A me piace… leggere!
“It’s an intriguing novel thanks to its ability to create a suspenseful atmosphere throughout, a story with relentless pacing in which characters move cautiously and cunningly, calculating every move, skilled players in a chess game against death.” Finestra sul Mondo“Intrigue, friendship, betrayal, power struggles, these are the elements that make up the novel. Since the very first lines, suspense is king. A thrilling adventure to be read in one sitting.”
Mondo fantasy
“If you are fond of George R.R. Martin works you can’t miss this book. A perfect balance of intriguing plot and smooth writing.”
Urban, Fantasy & Co.
“A book full of intrigues and twists, an ensemble story playing with the feelings and ambitions of its protagonists, building a story in which no one reveals their real intentions and events follow each other with inexorable ferocity. A compelling reading, to be devoured page after page.”
Il Gufo lettore
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Rob Himmel
The Scarlet Blades
Indice dei contenuti
Prologue
Return of the lynx
The Eel’s longing
The Queen Bee
A ravenous Ferret
The Lynx’s doubt
An Eel out of water
The bear’s grip
Between the Crab’s pincers
Kiss of the Mantis
The sharp-tongued Lizard
Bear versus Crab
The Lynx’s awakening
The Mantis’ discovery
Crab stew
The Bear’s thick skin
The Ferret’s ascent
The Queen Bee’s stinger
The Lizard’s pain
The Badger’s deal
The Chameleon technique
The Lynx’s cunning
Lynx’s pact
Bite of the Viper
Chameleon checkmate
The Lynx clinches the game
Epilogue
Organizations in Foltorp
Thanks
The Scarlet Blades
by Rob Himmel
www.robhimmel.com
Translation: Mark Gore
Cover Image: Antonello Venditti
Editing: Stefano Mancini
Copyright © DZ edizioni 2017 (Italian Edition)
Copyright © Rob Himmel 2019 (English Edition)
This is a work of fiction. Its publication does not infringe upon any existing third parties’ copyright. Names, characters, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Rob Himmel
THE SCARLET BLADES
Author's notes: please find a glossary at the end of the book, containing a full list of the organizations featured or named within the story, for reference and as aid in understanding the narration. If you liked the novel, please leave a review to raise awareness about it and invite feedback from other readers or potential ones. A few minutes from you would mean an enormous contribution to me. Thanks in advance.
Note: This novel has been awarded the Trofeo Cittadella 2018, the most prestigious Italian award in the field of fantasy literature, during Deepcon19. It has been published in Italy under DZ Edizioni and, in agreement with said publisher, its author is currently seeking a foreign partner interested in the publishing and distribution of this translated version.
Therefore, for any inquiry please contact: [email protected]
To Sefora,
so excellently embodying the
role of partner.
Prologue
The bearded man opened the door, went through and then closed it behind him. The dim flickering light from a candle scattered a subtle glow throughout the house.
Everything was unfolding according to plan and the hitman smiled. As he expected, the target, being drunk, hadn’t even noticed that the lock on his house door had been tampered with in his absence.
He came down from the roof where he had been spying on his mark. He crossed the clearing between the village and the building and reached the door. He pressed himself against the adjacent wall and leaned out, listening. The wood on the floor creaked under the steps of the target, heavy and uncertain. The dull thud of a body falling, followed by that of a chair, told the killer the man had hit the ground.
A few minutes went by until it sounded like he had managed to get back up again and stumble forth, onto the bed, confirmed by the creaking of the forniture. As the candlelight went out, darkness enveloped the interior of the house. The moon had waned down to a sliver.
The hitman patiently waited for the mark to fall asleep. When he decided the wait was over, he unsheathed both knives.
He pushed the door, which opened without any resistance.
No light shone on his movement. The hitman snuck in with ghostlike steps.
Although his step was light, the pressure was enough to cause a floorboard to sound out under his weight.
He instantly froze in place. He waited for several seconds, in fear that he would be discovered.
Nothing. The target didn’t even flinch, sleeping so heavily he appeared almost already dead.
A droplet of sweat traveled down the hitman’s forehead, hitting his eyebrow. Determined, he advanced, almost without breathing at all.
For a few instants he observed the mark. He realized he had his head buried into the pillow, sleeping face down. An odd sense of unease overcame him, unsettled by cruel irony: Ganderia’s most infamous killer was about to be slain in his sleep, stabbed in the back while laying face down.
Silent as a spectre he sunk the blades in with surgical precision. One at heart level, one at the base of the head.
Dead.
He inhaled deeply. He felt relieved, let his muscles relax, sheathed his daggers after pulling them back out of the corpse and sighed. He put both hands on his head, stretched his back, raising his eyes to the ceiling in a show of disbelief.
He couldn’t wait to be back, triumphant, in Foltorp. In the capital everyone would likely pay just to hear the tale of his successful quest, not to mention the countless women he’d sleep with from that moment onward.
The rise of Ferret, killer of killers, had only just begun.
He looked back at the target, as much as he could manage in that nearly pitch black darkness, and turned the body to give it one last look.
Dismay.
Ferret stood petrified as the blood in his own veins turned to ice. No, it couldn’t possibly be. The dead man was clearly clean shaven and, moreover, appeared to have a deep scar in his left cheek, barely visible in the dark.
A familiar face emerged from the mist of memories. A colleague, another hitman from the Assassins Coven.
A profanity made its way through Ferret’s mind and towards the tongue, but could not be uttered.
Everything went black.
Return of the lynx
A lacerating headache rattled Ferret's mind forcing him back to consciousness. He woke up, finding himself tied to a chair.
With slow, dizzy movements he started looking around.
«You might be wondering what happened», said a warm voice from behind him, «how could you have been so sloppy, you had planned it to perfection, he was just a drunk and so on and so on…» it listed, sounding bored.
Ferret trembled. He stuttered something unintelligible.
«So let us skip ahead, shall we? This part bothers me oh so much», the man warned, «you had been following me for three whole days, spying on me, scouting the area, making note of my habits, then came into my house, tampered with the lock, and waited for me to be asleep. Such a mundane strategy, but more than anything, extremely predictable.» He paused for a while, waiting for a reaction that was not forthcoming. «Well, at least you’re clever enough not to attempt replying. If it’s any consolation, had I not been as experienced as I am, I probably wouldn’t have heard you, you’ve got a remarkably silent step.»
«Thanks...», he stuttered.
«You’re welcome. Everything else, however, was a complete mess. Who taught you, Bear? No, wait, I bet it was that shrewd, Mantis, wasn’t it?»
Ferret nodded.
«Figures… what did the Coven name you?»
«Ferret.»
«Fitting… Do you know who I am?»
«Yes… You’re the infamous…»
«Yeah, you know», he interrupted. «You were therefore aware, had you been set up, I might’ve let you live. But since you knew and agreed to it, the only mercy I’ll grant you is letting you choose how you’ll die: swift, painless, or blah blah… you know the spiel.» He paused again. «The more you cooperate, the less you’ll suffer. That clear?»
Ferret kept nodding, this time weakly, resigned.
«Let’s start answering vocally, though», the man clarified.
«Yes, understood.»
«Did the Foltorp Coven offer the contract?»
«Yes.»
«Exclusive or open?»
«Exclusive.»
«Damn you’re stupid, boy», the man stated after a brief nervous chuckle, «who would hire a single low-grade hitman on an exclusive, to take out someone like me? Only someone who wants you dead. And of course the instigator’s anonymous.»
«Yes.»
«That was a statement, not a question. Whoever sent you and your two predecessors knew full well you’d die. Yeah, you got that right, you’re the third», he repeated, noticing the surprise upon Ferret’s face. «I killed the first one right away, didn’t give it much thought. Then the second one showed up, the one you stabbed in my bed, and suspicion arose. You are confirmation.»
«Confirmation… of what?» he asked, gathering the courage to ask questions himself.
«Someone’s sending patsies like you to wind me up, they’re trying to lure me back into the city.»
Ferret fell silent, feeling like the stupidest man in Ganderia. He had enthusiastically agreed to a suicide mission. Someone had used him to play a greater game.
«I know now the regret will come», the man condescendingly continued, «you feel like a moron for letting them play you and I can confirm it is precisely so. You wanted to achieve so much in life, instead you’re stuck tied to a chair, about to die because of the machinations of some son of a bitch or another. It’s all true.»
The man, who up until that point had been leaning against the table, started pacing around the room behind the hitman’s back.
«I wanna give you a shot at payback… you interested?»
Ferret began nodding and opened his mouth to reply.
«No», the man stopped him, «before being stupid about it and just agreeing to have your life spared, really think about what this entails.» He went around the chair, standing before him.
A fearful chill shook the hitman’s core. Never before had he seen eyes like those, the eyes of a man without a cause, with nothing to lose, without fear. They were grey and deep, on an expressionless face framed by black hair as unkempt as his bushy beard. A scar parted his left eyebrow in two while another adorned his upper lip on the right side.
«If you accept», he went on, carefully punctuating every word, «you’ll be part of this game, one greater than you’d imagine. You’ll likely find death, one far worse than the one I’d give you. If, however, you manage to play your cards right, following my instructions, you might get out of this alive, maybe even with money in your pockets and some woman in your bed.»
Ferret weighed up his options. In his heart he had already decided, before the man had even begun talking. After all, postponing death was all that mattered.
«Alright, I accept», he asserted, trying to sound as convincing as possible.
«What did they demand as proof of my demise?» the man asked.
«I have to bring back your blades.»
«What if you didn’t find them?»
Ferret swallowed before replying. «Your head.»
«As I imagined», he replied, pondering. «There’s no doubt my head will remain where it is, it’s not like I could do without it. I’ll have to give you my blades.»
The man rested his hands on the hitman’s wrists, tied to the chair, placing his own face inches from his captive’s.
«You’ll return to Foltorp, show the blades to the Coven, as proof of fulfilling the contract. You’ll be a celebrity, aren’t you glad?»
«I’ll… say I killed you?» he asked, confused, fearing it was a trick.
«Exactly; tonight you killed me, one stab in the back and one in the neck. You’ll tell it exactly as it happened. You’ll simply have to omit your awakening in my home and this conversation. Is that clear?»
Ferret hesitated, then nodded again.
«They’re forcing me back into the city and won’t leave me alone unless I either play their game or I’m six feet under.» He arched his eyebrow, gazing at his dumbfounded audience of one.
Ferret hastily nodded in agreement.
«As long as they believe that I am dead and gone, I’ll be out of their schemes. Otherwise, they’ll keep sending morons like you.» He got up and crossed his arms. «But you’ll be famous, worshipped by women and with bursting pockets. Speaking of which, what sum are we talking about here?»
«Five thousand crowns.»
«Damn, a pretty hefty score for someone like you. You won’t even know how to spend it all. But I gotta admit I expected more, I think I should be worth at least ten thousand.»
«Yeah, me too», agreed Ferret, honestly, «when they offered me the contract I said the very same thing»
«And what did they reply?»
«That you’ve been out of the game for ten years, they think you old and lacking the reflexes you once had. “A sloppy drunk”, they told me. Well, I sure wish they were the ones in my place now...»
«Sloppy drunk? They might not be that far from reality.»
«Oh, I don’t think so, I believe…»
«You can take your tongue out my ass, there’s no need for that. We’re not gonna be friends, here. Just stick to doing what you’re told and, on top of that, adhere to this one more clause to our agreement. If you transgress then I’ll know, and I’ll kill you», he revealed, staring him dead in the eyes.
«I’m listening…»
«That’d be an improvement», he said harshly, «in no way, for any reason or price, must you separate from my blades. Whoever should try to take them from you, shall meet a merciless end. These are the proof and prize of your success in this endeavor. The whole city must know you killed me and be reminded of it everytime they see those blades in your hands. Is that clear?»
The hitman nodded ominously. The man left the house without a word more. Ferret remained alone, tied to the chair, for a good half hour. When the man got back, he had a chest in his hands. He opened it and took out two identical daggers: the hilt was black metal while the blade was shiny steel at its base, fading into a vivid scarlet for its remaining two thirds.
«It is told that the color is due to them having been forged with the blood of ten men…» Ferret said in disbelief.
A single stare from the man was enough to let him know it was none of his concern.
The men got close, daggers in hand. He leaned towards Ferret menacingly.
«These blades are not toys nor trinkets, nor old wives tales. Do you have any idea how many lives I ended with them? Countless. I literally mean I lost count myself.»
He cut the ropes tying the hitman to the chair.
«Take them and go», he ordered, offering the pair of weapons.
«The scarlet blades…» Ferret whispered, entranced by their beauty.
They were balanced, unbelievably light, almost like they were extensions of one’s hands. The edge appeared intact as if they had just been forged. Never in his life had he seen blades more beautiful, craftsmanship more remarkable.
«Go, do as I say, tell what I instructed you to tell and never come back. Go!» the man intimated with a fiery, piercing stare.
Ferret shuddered. «What if someone looks for you here?» he asked hesitantly.
«I won’t be here.»
The hitman nodded. He put away the blades in his belt and crossed the threshold. He turned back one more time, to make sure he was actually getting out of there alive. He glanced at what was left of the renowned assassin: a shabby, seemingly harmless man, but with a merciless stare. Ten years had gone by, yet on the inside he had remained the same.
Adjusting his cape and raising the wide hood, Ferret disappeared in a matter of seconds. He’d never forget how lucky he had been in those past few hours.
He was alive, still in disbelief about it. He had never felt greater joy in making it back to Foltorp. He’d cross the city gates with the Scarlet Blades in his belt, trophies of a success to endlessly brag about.
Soon his fame would spread to the whole of Ganderia, soon he’d become the most revered hitman in the Coven.
Soon every assassin in the city would go after him.
The Eel’s longing
Despite Foltorp’s population amounting to approximately six hundred thousand souls, a single day had been enough to spread the news among them all. In taverns, brothels, sewers and hidden alleys that was the only thing anyone talked about. The news made it as far as inside King Nuldest’s court.
The Council of noblemen started evaluating what the repercussions might be, how much this would influence the economy and political power struggles. It would for sure make an impact on the Coven, an internal struggle was unavoidable and the Thieves Guild already salivated considering the banquet of riches it would soon devour.
Ferret had hired a security detail: two fellow hitmen, an independent guardian from the Circle and a young urchin as messenger.
«Can I talk to you in private?» a woman began to speak, standing before Ferret and his retinue.
«Yet another woman seeking my company», he bragged.
«Mind your tongue, child!» she hissed with fiery light blue eyes.
«The lady is Irt Millirs», the guardian warned him, «do you recall who she is, Ferret? You must’ve heard of her.»
In that instant Ferret wished to sink into the ground. He had just offended the former lover of the man he claimed to have killed, a woman who also happened to be head of the Circle of Guardians.
«I humbly ask you to accept my apologies, Irt Millirs», he begged, bowing.
The woman grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him along. «Shut up, you moron, before I make you silent.»
Uncertain about what to do, the hitmen stood still, blocked by the guardian who made them understand they did not need to, nor should they, intervene.
Once alone in a narrow alleyway, the woman started visiting upon him a deluge of curses before she started speaking in a more civil manner.
«Alright, I have vented enough», she proclaimed, regaining composure, «now I want to hear the truth and don’t you dare tell me that lie you’ve been peddling to your whores and drunkard friends. The truth», she again remarked with a fierce stare.
Ferret crossed his arms and puffed his chest. «I have told the truth. The one everyone already knows», he replied in a conceited manner.
«No no no, none of that idiocy, you having actually killed Lynx is out of the question. Not even in his sleep could you have pulled this off, not even if he really was as drunk as you claim, not a spineless pissant like you.»
«Be careful of what you say, woman», the hitman growled, «remember who I am and what I did, even if you don’t want to believe it.» A swift step forward and he was on her, knife to the throat. «Not even a guardian guide can threaten an assassin this close.»
«You just signed your death sentence, you know that, right?» asked Irt Millirs, completely at ease. An amused smile appeared on her face.
«How would you make good on your threat if I killed you first?»
«Oh how many things you’re oblivious about, unruly brat», Irt Millirs mocked him with fiery eyes, «you put Lynx’s scarlet blade to my throat, can you imagine what he’ll do to you once he finds out?»
A veil of terror descended upon Ferret’s eyes. For a brief moment, but long enough.
«Just as I thought, he’s alive», the mage proclaimed, satisfied.
The hitman’s grip loosened. He took a step back, almost stumbling. He had messed up… if she had figured it out, for how much longer could he keep up the lie?
«You might be a hitman from the Coven, but you still act like a sewer rat. You’re unworthy of those daggers.» This said, Irt Millirs moved as if about to leave, then stopped. «You do know what the Coven does to those who lie about their contracts, don’t you? You’re in my hands now, little Ferret.»
The woman didn’t wait for him to reply and just left, laughing.
Ferret followed the swaying of those ink black curls, before disappearing past the alley. He felt the need to toss everything behind his back, to not even think about it. A few pints and a pair of warm thighs would fix everything.
«Let’s go, I need a drink», he announced once he reached his bodyguards.
«Is everything alright, Ferret?» demanded Arn Pollar. «You’re pale as a ghost.»
«The guardian’s right», agreed Migo, the urchin, «your face is white indeed, master.»
«’tis nothing, just a dry throat that needs watering with something strong, something very strong indeed.»
«I am here to protect you, it’s what you pay me for», Arn Pollar insisted, «any threat Irt Millirs might’ve made to you, I can deal with in the Circle.»
Ferret shook his head. «Guardian, I’m the one who knows what you should and should not do and what I pay you for.»
«As you wish.»
They reached the Foul-Mouthed Pint, where all Ferret was able to drink was bitterness and concern. It was his favorite tavern, where one could laugh and get drunk or find compliant women at reasonable prices. None of these pleasures could soothe his pains on that evening. He needed something else.
***
Irt Millirs was pacing back and forth across the room they led her to, waiting for Queen. Her restlessness must’ve been apparent to Pearl as she had confined her there without allowing her to go directly into her mistress's chambers, inside the Honey Pavilion.
Little did that matter.
After speaking to Ferret and confirming Lynx was likely to still be alive, she was more determined than ever to find him. The infamous hitman needed to explain more than a few things.
The guardian stared at her own trembling hands. That was not a good sign. She looked around, hoping to distract herself with something, to calm down. The room contained nothing but a king size bed, ready for use, nothing else. That didn’t help, quite the contrary.
«Irt Millirs», she heard someone call from behind her back, near the door. «It’s not like you to indulge in the Honey Pavilion, my house.»
She turned to face her: Queen. The owner of the brothel always exuded an unmistakable charm, with necklines as deep as what she had to show was abundant, and intelligent eyes ready to probe anyone who dared stand before them.
«Most definitely not», the guardian remarked, «and I don’t mean to change my habits anytime soon.»
«Oh, of that I am certain. Your presence here is quite unwelcome, as you well know. What, then, pray tell, might have led you to me?»
Millirs clenched her fists and jaw before answering. «I believe you know exactly why I’m here. Where is he?»
Queen furrowed her brow. «“He” who?»
«Don’t you try your usual trick on me, don’t you dare», she growled as the air around her hands started trembling. «Tell me where he is! It’s pointless hiding him, I know he must’ve come to you.»
The maitresse seemed to light up. «Lynx? You’re asking about Lynx…»
«Who else?!»
«So he’s alive?»
Irt Millirs bit her lip, furious. «Damn you, Queen, drop the act! Don’t toy with me!»
The air surrounding the guardian began vibrating, so much so that the floorboards creaked.
«You’re losing control», the hag warned her, worried «We both know what happens when you do and I sure don’t want to find myself smeared onto the walls!» she sternly concluded.
Irt Millirs, up until then overcome by anger, seemed to awaken from a trance. It had already happened before, that the Well overflowed, to the point where she lost control of it and it unleashed surges of raw power.
«Once already you almost killed me», Queen scolded her, in an even harsher tone. «Never again I will allow you to come into my house and threaten me like this! It’s insane that you can’t keep your power in check whenever Lynx’s involved. And, just so you know, he did not come to me, I didn’t even know he was still alive. Now get out of here, immediately! And don’t you ever come back!»
The guardian inhaled, to regain control over the Well. With dignity she regained composure and left the room, then the Honey Pavilion.
She might be a whore, a bitch routinely playing games with intel and peoples lives, but I know she just told me the truth. Then where are you, Lynx?
***
She was galloping at break-neck speed to get back to Foltorp. Utterly and completely beside herself. As soon as she heard the news about Ferret slaying Lynx, she had felt the world crumbling down around her. Any and all hitmen achieving fame were of interest to her, it was what spurred her towards her goal. Never, however, had she ever heard a single thing about this so called Ferret. Who the hell was he and which outhouse had he crawled out from?
All it took was a few hours to gather more information about him. He was the sneaky, silent type. This is one talent everyone ascribed to him. He would have sounded more like a thief than a hitman, if master Mantis herself, the one who renamed him, hadn’t trained him. He was, therefore, a fully fledged member of the Coven. But how many were more deserving of such a contract than he was? Killing Lynx was many people’s dream, herself included.
Something wasn’t quite right. Why offer such a prestigious exclusive contract, one that hard to complete, to a low grade cutthroat? It was possible that whoever ordered the hit hoped for a different outcome, maybe he wanted Ferret dead, but why bother Lynx with this? And how would they know where he was? She had been looking for him for years, to no avail, not a single trace found.
She snorted, shifting back her focus to Ferret. Why would anyone want such a nobody dead that bad? No, the key had to be Lynx. Someone wanted to tease him, maybe intimidate him or even awake him from his slumber. That would’ve been magnificent.
But they miscalculated, Lynx had actually been killed like a sitting duck, by an unworthy hitman. Whether she liked it or not, now this Ferret held the sought-after title of “He who killed Lynx”.
She couldn’t bring herself to believe it. She had therefore traveled all the way to the remote village where the killing had allegedly taken place, just to verify the accounts.
The townsfolk had found their friend dead at home, stabbed in his own bed. One to the back and one in the neck. Precisely as chronicled in the big city. That dumb Ferret had even gone as far as amusing himself by cutting his face so as to disfigure him. Or so they told her.
She crossed the gates of Foltorp deep in the night.
Once she had tied her horse, she strode through the paved streets in search of an alley leading into the sewers. As soon as she did, she went down.
She walked towards a cadre of beggars, who moved to the side as she approached. Assassins were feared and easily recognizable from their masks.
«You looking for the Rat?» a kid asked, stepping forward.
«No, I’m just looking for information. If you could get it for me without me having to enter your pigsty, I’d be most grateful.»
The woman held a crown between two fingers.
«Go ahead and ask, milady.» The boy got closer, grazing the coin without daring touching it.
«Where’s Ferret?»
The kid rejoiced with a tiny leap. «That’s an easy one! He was in a tavern, but now he left for the house of pleasures, inside the Honey Pavilion.»
The hit woman let the coin fell and the boy swiftly grabbed it mid-air before it touched the ground.
«Thanks», she said, going away as quickly as she’d come.
The Honey Pavilion would constitute the biggest challenge, though. That was a neutral zone off-limits to business, contracts and retaliations. The owner of the establishment, Queen, knew how to make all the different factions in the city respect her. No one challenged her authority, nobody would dare cross her, she was too precious a resource to everyone.
But Queen’s rules would not have stopped her, she’d find a way to circumvent them. She could not wait for dawn, nor did she want to.
She turned the corner and saw Ferret’s dandies standing watch outside the Pavilion: the rules of that house of pleasures were adamant in this regard: no guards, no lackeys, only paying customers were allowed inside.
Hiding as well as she could under her hood and taking off her assassin mask, she slid past them nonchalantly, and crossing the threshold left them at her back, unaware. Barely inside, though, she was accosted by two gorgeous women in skimpy clothes.
«Welcome, o guest of the Pavilion, what services may we provide you with, tonight?» greeted a blonde, short-haired woman.
«Queen?» she asked in reply, coldly.
«She’s currently otherwise occupied and will likely be for a few more hours, I’m afraid.»
That’s for the best, she thought. «A man and a room on the upper floor.»
«Is that so?» the prostitute replied, crestfallen. «I would’ve sworn you were of… different proclivities»
She smiled back and they exchanged a knowing glance, but then said: «Not tonight, I’m sorry. Tonight I want a man».
The prostitute tilted her head in agreement and gestured her to follow.
«I’ve never seen you in here», she went on as they climbed the stairs, «is this your first time visiting? Are you perhaps a foreigner?»
The assassin kept silent. She knew full well how that place worked, knew every one of the Queen’s worker bees was always ready to extract information from any client. Information was currency, but more than anything else power.
«The quiet type, uhm? Rather unusual these days. You know that only piques my curiosity more, don’t you?» she concluded, turning to face her.
«Curiosity that shall, alas, remain unsatisfied», she replied.
The blonde exhibited a mockery of a pout, feigning offense. Then immediately went back to smiling and pointed at the door. «Wait here. Your “male meat specimen” will arrive in a short while.»
The assassin entered the room closing the door behind her, but not before she had listened for any noise or voice in the corridor, that could prove of any use to her. She couldn’t freely wander the brothel hallways. One had to be led to the exact room one had rented and escorted back outside when done. Moreover, the hallway was crawling with formidable fighters, war veterans, renegade guardians and independent hitmen, ready to deal with any misbehaved customer hurting the bees, generally being a nuisance or violating the house rules.
On the floor below hers, cheaper services were granted, in communal halls and small bleak rooms, while the upper floor was reserved to those willing to pay a much higher price. Her tidy, well-furnished room had a double bed and was enveloped in pleasant fragrances and soft lighting. Maybe one day she would come back to indulge herself with pleasures of the flesh, but not that evening.
Someone knocked at the door and three men entered the room. They stood before her and took off their dressing gowns, presenting their naked bodies. She could choose between a massive, muscular man, grim looking with assorted scars on his body, built like a bull. Then there was an intermediate version, of common stature and firm muscles. Finally, the last one appeared frail and effeminate in comparison, both in face and body. She picked him.
The other two covered themselves and left the room. She ordered the man to lie down on the bed and tied his hands to the headboard. She did not want to be groped. He tried to say something, but she immediately put a finger on his mouth, silencing him. She did not care about being flattered nor had time for useless chatter. She mounted the manwhore after disrobing just enough to have intercourse, which she performed quickly, almost mechanically and without taking off her hood. The man achieved orgasm and a few seconds later fell asleep, drugged via a cloth she preemptively soaked in anaesthetic for such purpose.
She redressed and donned the mask, then studied the balcony outside the blinds, climbed onto it and up to the rooftop with cat-like grace. She reviewed the other rooms from outside, taking stock. From each were coming cries, laughter, moans. From two-person affairs, threesomes and rich noblemen orgies.
She was looking for a man, young, probably about her age. He didn’t prove hard to find. The idiot had tossed his trousers on the floor together with the scarlet blades and the rest of his clothes. He felt safe, just like everyone else inside the Honey Pavilion.
She lowered herself onto the balcony without a sound. No one had noticed her approaching. The window was unencumbered and Ferret didn’t even have the decency of pulling the curtains. While he was boasting with the two women he was entertaining, she opened one blind just enough to toss an alchemic deepsleep sphere inside.
The gas spread rapidly and the three of them quickly fell asleep, collapsing on one another in a tangle of limbs.
The woman climbed inside, smiling in satisfaction. She disentangled the two whores from Ferret to get him out of their embrace: she now had him at her mercy. She slowly sat on his lap, put a hand on his mouth and the tip of the dagger to his genitals. She pushed a little, enough to draw blood, enough to jolt him awake, staring wide eyed.
«Shhh, don’t you breathe a word», she warned him, «collaborate and, if you ever find a woman dumb enough to willingly fornicate with you, you’ll still be able to produce an offspring.»
He nodded. She took the hand away, keeping it close, ready to shut him back up if need arose.
«Let’s skip the pleasantries: I’m Eel and I imagine you’d know me by reputation. You’re the dumb Ferret that tosses scarlet blades on the floor to satiate the fire in his loins.»
«What do you want?» he growled, his breath reeking heavily of beer.
«Are you for real?» Eel smiled. «You’re naked as a worm, pinned under me, with a blade on your junk and you bare your teeth? Unreal!»
«You can do or say whatever you want», the hitman replied with a stern look, «I’ve had enough of your kind for one night.»
«My kind?»
«Yeah, people like you, threatening me and such.»
«Oh, well, you should’ve thought of that before you went and killed Lynx!»
A hysterical laugh escaped ferret mouth. «Right, you’re Eel, now I remember. The unrestrainable maniac, the one no one can stand due to her horrible character. The fame-seeking assassin so obsessed she stalks every hitman worth mentioning. I pity you…»
The blade sunk deeper into his flesh, making him wince and moan as more blood dripped onto the sheets.
«Precisely, so maybe do not poke the maniac, that wouldn’t be a wise course of action for you», she warned him. «As you seem to be well aware of, I’m not famous for my patience nor penchant for long chats.»
