THE ASSASSIN

The star, arcing across the sky, vanished as it reached the edge of the torch light, appearing to ignite the torches in the courtyard far below. Though the light from the courtyard was dim, it blotted out the heavenly view, casting eery shadows across the stone-laid floor.

The torches on all sides of the courtyard flickered. A breeze, flowing over the roof, traveled around the walls, ending in a final swirl of leaves. As one continued to watch, the darkness faded away, revealing details only a trained eye would see.

Only one door led into the courtyard square, located in the middle of the east wall, facing the street. Though the low rumble of voices could be heard, there was a heavy silence, as if concealment was the only reason for the courtyard's existence.

Directly opposite the door across the courtyard was a building containing a three-foot, flat-edged, overhang, which then climbed into a pointed mud-grass roof. It was on this roof that the predator waited...

Predator, thought the black-caped man, watching for its prey. He pushed the thought aside, thinking back. Durist came to mind, and all the trouble that had followed.

The black-caped man shifted position, checking the sky above. His breath came as billowing clouds, floating gently away on the quiet blowing breeze...

The night was cool, the year having entered fall, in spite of the fact that the trees had not yet dropped their leaves. The clothing he wore protected him from the chill air, although his hands and face had no protection. The many times of waiting had taught him to forget about the elements, making him concentrate on the mission at hand. Patience...

He thought about the hooded black cape, draped over his back and left shoulder. Under it, was a small backpack; its large pocket containing nothing more than one dart filled with poison, along with an extending tube.

Held securely, yet freely attainable, was a small knife attached along his left arm. The dark, dirt-stained shirt he wore concealed this weapon easily with its long sleeves and loose fit. Glancing toward the stars, he nodded. It was almost time.

Slipping one arm out of the backpack's strap, he was able to withdraw the dart and extending tube, then refit the backpack. The metal of the tube was warm to the touch, feeling almost hot against his fingers tips.

The tube extended smoothly, its well-worn surface having served him many times. As the dart slipped into the end of the tube, he slid forward on his stomach, sighting the entrance to the courtyard below. A sound from the street broke the silence; two voices, no more than whispers in the wind, but easily detected from his elevated position, moved closer ...

The door creaked, blown by the start of a wailing wind. Even the torches in the courtyard sparkled as if nature was sounding an alarm, but he knew this to be an illusion. Having done this same type of job many times, this one would be no different--

A noise from behind broke his thoughts; there was someone else on the roof. Searching with a calm skill, he realized that his planned escape route might be blocked.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the street, turning toward, and heading toward the courtyard door. Raising the blow gun, he paused, holding his breath, watching as the wrong man walked out.

A doubt tried to settle into his mind. What if he had been wrong? Could it have been he was mis-informed? Only years of experience forced him to hold his position, to silence the doubt and questions. The information had been correct--it was from a reliable source.

The door swung again, and a familiar sound came with it. A tune. A quiet tune he had heard whistled before... The dart flew forward, biting into the left side of the second man's body. Glancing around in terror, the first man raced back through the door, leaving the second slumping toward the floor...

The black-caped man backed away from the edge, keeping low, and staying silent. Soon there would be many officials, all trying to determine what had occurred. He stopped, raised up, and listened closely. Another sound?

Drop! His muscles obeyed before the order was given, and a windblown dart hurtled past. Having used a blowgun far too often, the sound was unmistakable. This situation did nothing but confirm the rumors he had heard; someone was trying to kill him.

The black-caped man collapsed his own weapon, as he reached a place of cover. Swinging the shutter nearest him open, he rolled, dropping through...

He half-stood, half-crouched on the floor, watching for a follower, while at the same time, replacing the tube in the pack on his back. Faint sounds from the roof told him someone else was moving in the opposite direction. It would be too late to follow.

Backing toward an unlocked door, he checked the mechanism to see if it had been tampered with. It hadn't. Sliding it forward, he opened up a gap from which to watch. From this vantage point could be heard yells, running feet, and the sounds of a curious crowd. He must leave now, while the crowd was---it was time to change.

Turning his cape inside out, it now took on the color of a dingy yellow-white. While the black side of the cape was good for hiding, the lighter side was good for mixing with the crowds.

He scanned the alley in both directions. Though the black-caped man remained cautious, he knew most people would be more interested in the uniformed men, and what was going on, than anything else around them. All he needed was an opening---there!

Alley clear, he strolled out and around the corner, merging with the throng of people. Though there were many who stopped to watch the commotion, they were forced to move on by the uniformed men.

Moving past the small door crowded with investigators, some in uniforms, some not, he waded, as if swimming through a wavy sea. With a curious glance, he continued his walk, allowing himself to flow forward with the crowd.

Nobody could implicate him, save the one who had shot at him on the roof, and whoever that was would not speak. The art of assassination, let alone the making of poison, was illegal. He, himself, hired out only after careful consideration, using poison which dissipated rapidly--using just enough to throw the victim into shock ...

The crowd was thinning, dispersing toward the open bars and salon's alone the sides of the street. Most of the people who were on each side were male, with a few females mixed here and there. The river was their livelihood during the day, and at night they were looking for distraction.

Coming from his thoughts, he saw the shipyard. Row upon row of ships lying within the flowing bay, though the bay was not more than a notch cut into the side of the river.

He scanned the area; it was never wrong to be too cautious. A quiet night, with--he stopped. Next to his small boat, lay another half hidden in the shadow of night.

The black-caped man stepped back, studying the position of the ships. They were too close together, as if someone wanted to keep a careful watch. Either the person was an amateur, or whoever it was wanted him to think so. To approach by the dock would be nothing less than suicidal, for whoever had pulled up beside his own boat would surely be watching somewhere close. Perhaps, if he--

He dropped over the dock into the shadow of a large, unattended, ship, melting with the water. A cool breeze stirred as the air blew by just above the water's surface. What a night for a swim!

Staying close to the pier, he followed the outline of the larger ship, swimming up to his own little craft. Sensing nothing disturbed, he cut her loose with a quick flick of the wrist.

His small boat floated calmly with him at her side, drifting out as if an accident had loosed her tie. Once the bay was out of sight, he climbed onto the ship's prow--

"Good evening, Mr. Assassin."

The black-caped man stopped, caught between being up and down. How could he have been such a fool! Of course, whoever had found his ship could have simply planted a stowaway!

The thought of falling off the edge, then making it toward shore was appealing, however, it might be weeks before he made it back to Thieve City. He pulled himself the rest of the way up, having not yet seen the face of the one who had spoken. This was a chance he would have to take...

He turned around to see a woman, holding a sword of gold hilt and silver blade. Had a smile lit her lips, she would have been quite attractive.

"It's nice to know they'd send only Thieve Cities' best to do away with my father." Her eyes never left the black-caped man, staring cold and dark. Holding her gaze, he continued observing her reactions.

"I'm not from Thieve City," he responded. A look of doubt crossed her face, but was quickly pushed aside.

"You lie well. I was told to expect such things."

A fish jumped somewhere off to the right, and the turn of her glance allowed him to edge forward; her sword hand snapped to attention.

"I wouldn't come too close. I have found it quite easy to kill a man, especially one who has killed my father."

Keep her talking, he told himself, keep her talking until she's off guard...

"Now Miss," he began, catching sight of the nervous, yet determined, look in her eyes. "I've already stated. I'm not from Thieve City." Innocence, he thought, can my face still show innocence? Her voice became very hard.

"Don't play games with me," she snapped, her jaws clenching tight. "I know all about your job, your previous jobs, and your past before your present occupation. And it matters not whether I kill you here or there." She, pointing back toward the bay, saw that the bay was a tiny spot behind them.

He lunged, dodging a well meant blow; the sword's own force sticking it into the deck. In no less than a minute, he gently laid her down, while tying both her hands and feet.

The gold and silver sword would make a nice bit of profit, once he attained the homeland, and as for the girl---he'd take her back and deposit her upon her own little craft. He had admitted nothing, and she had not seen him do anything. He was safe.

Turning the boat around, he raised the sail. The wind caught it, pushing the boat up river, fighting the current as swift waves dashed upon her prow.

The dock approached, growing larger with each moment, until a row of ships were visible against a background of trees and hills. Pulling up beside the woman's boat, he stepped over onto the other deck, bringing the woman along. There was a small cabin to the back of her craft. Unfortunately, the door to the cabin was locked.

Laying her down, the black-caped man went back to his own little boat, removed some tools, then returned, working quickly with the cabin door lock. The mechanism pinged, then creaked, until the bolt slide back. There were no other sounds from within, but just in case, he threw the door wide.

Inside was a small room, containing nothing more than a single bed, a small desk, and maps. The maps showed the river and the towns which lay to either side. Off to the west of the map, was the town of Durist darkly outlined, but there was nothing to indicate who the woman was.

Stepping back out, the black-caped man checked the woman's condition; she was still unconscious. Picking her up, he moved her into the cabin, laying her upon the bed. Checking again to make sure she had not regained consciousness, he cut the ropes off both her hands and feet.

Whoever she was, she had been convinced that he had killed her father. Could she be the other assassin who had attacked him on the roof? He doubted it. She did not seem to fit the pattern, and had been too unsure of herself. Perhaps, whoever had sent the other assassin had set her up as well. He shrugged. It was of no importance now.

The black-caped man turned and left, closing the door behind him. When she awoke, he would be gone, and she would have time to contemplate losing her sword.

Stepping over to his boat, he untied the sail, letting one side flap in the wind. He pushed the boat off the dock, floating out into the bay.

To Thieve City, then, he thought.

It was time to see what was going on, and maybe get a clue as to who was trying to kill him . . .



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