The Lack

Chapter 03 | The Lack

Image by Michaela Wenzler from Pixabay

It came away wet, beads of blood on the edge, and the effect was instantaneous. He crashed to the ground as consciousness caved in on him.

“Ya know, it’s a damn good thing it’s Justice Day t’day. We don’t have ta wait long to kill ya!” The jailer laughed at his own joke, spittle flying. The man was revolting.

“I do try to help where I can.” His arms were tied behind his back, and they were tied tight. Very tight. Getting out of binds was one of his specialities, but here his reputation must surely have preceded him. He scratched with a nail once more, but only bent it further back. He had definitely been sold out.

Jailer clucked. “Ha! Well don’ try suicide or nothin’. Killing ya’s the fun bit.”

He grunted, but stayed silent. Humouring his captors was fun, but it could only get him so far. Eventually the bastards would kill him back.

Of course, he’d hoped to be out of this forsaken city by now. Instead, he was dripping in day old sweat in his faithful blacks, but without any of the implements that defined him. The guards had diligently stripped him of all the tools of this trade – the vials of potion; the fine silk wire; his powders. Even the other dagger was gone, and he hated using sharps. Fortunately, the one thing that they had left to him was the note. That was in his inner pocket, for what that was worth. It wouldn’t be much good when he was hanging.

The city was the same as it was every damned day – sweltering; stinking; foul. This time though, he was being led to Justice Square, and in that he cringed. Every damned set of eyes was upon him. They would be judging him before he’d even been judged. This was the justice of the Empire, and it was foul.

“Oi, mister. What you been up to?”

He turned, and an urchin sneered up at him. An urchin! What right did that little shit have to mock him? And yet here he was, being mocked by filth. There was only so much disrespect he could take.

He spat at the urchin and sneered back. “Putting holes in your mother.”

“Oi!” The urchin charged. Idiot. The little shit was a big fellow, but that was no obstacle. Even with his wrists tied behind his back, he whipped his elbows into the path of the urchin’s neck, and worked the vagabond’s momentum against him. Urchin fell to the floor gasping for air, hands wrapped around a blossoming neck. That’d teach him.

“Stay outta the way, boy. This is the Snake.” Jailer winked, and then hauled on the constraints, pulling him closer. Well within range. The boy stared back, wide-eyed, still clutching his neck. Damn that nickname. He didn’t like it.

He sneered at urchin, flicking his tongue out in mock mimicry of his nickname, and Urchin shuffled back, eyes even wider if that were possible. Then something pointy prodded his back and he skipped into a trot. The last thing he needed was a hole in his back.

He turned to Jailer. “You never did tell me how you second guessed my movements.”

“Too smart for you, ain’t we?”

“No honestly. How?”

The pointy thing prodded him again, and he stopped that line of questioning. Winding up idiots was a favourite of his, but it was less fun when they held a sword at his back.
One last sandy corner and they reached the glorious centre of local imperial justice. Justice Square. At least, that’s what it was called today. Yesterday it had been Market Square. What an idiotic notion.

Standing in front of the town hall was a statue. Yesterday it had been hidden by the warren of stalls and sales-fronts, but today it was revealed in all its glory. The man immortalised in the statue was the bastard they called the First – first emperor of the glorious Empire of Mikaeta. The ultimate symbol of tyranny. At the feet of the First there was a shadow-timer. It was already the fourth degree of the day, and it was hot, old sweat being layered with new sweat, mouth dry. But that was not enough to deter him. He spat at the First, and smiled. The aim was good.

“Respect yer superiors.” Pointy reacquainted itself with his back, so he coiled in his neck in and smoothed the smile. It was time for his justice, so he best look remorseful.

There was a small gaggle of justice pleaders at the foot of the Town Hall. It was a small number really, considering the corruption in the city, but that was the nature of imperial justice. It was too difficult and too complicated for anyone to benefit from; with the singular exception of the justice criers. The two criers, in their purple robes, were so enthralled with their work that they were practically dancing on the steps of the Town Hall. The justice criers would represent anyone brave enough to come to the Justice Square, and the fee for all that dancing was obscene. It was a bit like a sick puppet show where only the puppets got anything out of it. Baffling really, and yet the Emperors claimed the greatest social victory of the age – justice for all. He spat again and got another prod in the back, but it was worth it. This was no justice at all.

Just beyond the justice dancers, sitting on a line of thrones, were the three local lords – the thieving class, presiding over justice in the city. They were slumped, gazing absently and bored already. It was only the fourth degree, and they were already bored. They would be here all day, so that was only twelve degrees to go then. That was worth a chuckle.

“Outta the way! Outta the way!” His guards lowered spears and pierced indiscriminately into the crowd of pleaders. A number of them yelped, but they did at least part, and he was escorted through. Once at the steps of the Town Hall – the same Town Hall where he had yesterday successfully murdered one of the thieving class – these new thieving lords looked down upon him. They still looked bored.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thief Lord One waved his hand absently.

“This one needs justice, m’lord.” Jailer bowed before the man, poor sot. He laughed.

The thief-lord looked at him, and there was strength in that stare. If there was one thing a lord was good at, it was a stare. There was a lot to be said for a level stare.

“What have you done?” The lord’s stare may be potent, but he still sounded bored.

He shrugged and smiled back. Should he bow for the man? He didn’t like bowing for anyone, especially not lowly thieves, and now didn’t seem like the time to challenge his moral grounding. The lord leaned forward, and he smiled wider.

“I killed a man.”

The pleaders inhaled collectively, hands going over mouths. There was whispering, which the lord hushed with a wave of the hand. Even the criers watched him keenly, their ridiculous dance forgotten.

“Sergeant.”

Ah, so that must be what those stripy bits on jailer’s arm depicted. He wasn’t Jailer. He was Sergeant.

“Aye, m’lord.” Sergeant still stooped low.

“This is a civil session. The criminal session is not until this afternoon.”

Sergeant’s head bobbed up and down. “I know, m’lord. But we couldn’a wait. We want ‘im dead today.”

“Why so quickly?”

“’Cos he’s dangerous.”

The lord stood, and the impact was instant. He commanded the square. “Anyone who kills a man is dangerous.”

“No, but I mean real dang’rous. He’s the Snake.”

There was another collective gasp from the crowd, so this time he turned to them and bowed theatrically. A small boy burst into tears, and that tugged at him. He would have flicked the boy a coin, but that had all been taken by the guards. He winked instead, but that only made matters worse. The boy whimpered and buried his face in his mother’s skirts.

“And who has he killed, Sergeant?”

“A delegate from the Bay.”

The lord stroked his chin. “Ah yes, the honourable First Secretary. I thought I could smell the whiff of his decay this morning.”

Sergeant gulped. “M’lord.”

“And is that all?”

Sergeant nodded and stepped back, wilting under the gaze of the thief-lord. But… Hang on. No. He wasn’t just the murderer of one man. He was the Snake! Damn it, but he should at least be respected on the basis of his reputation.

He stepped forward. “If I may be so bold, I am being sold short here. I am the Snake. Why, only yesterday, two people lost their lives to me. But think of all the others who have gone unaccounted! The least you can do, Lord, is give Sergeant Bonehead here some credit. He is doing fine work just to have me in chains.”

The thief-lord scowled. “You are implicating yourself?”

“Well, one doesn’t like to be undervalued.”

The bastard scoffed. “Indeed. Or maybe you’re boasting.”

“Boasting. What sense is there in that?”

The thief-lord shrugged. “For a lowly criminal like you, going out in a puff of glory might be the best you can hope for.”

He burst forward, but the chain tightened and he stopped well short. He snarled.

The thief-lord stepped closer. “Tell me, petty criminal. Why should I believe that you are the Snake?”

The beats ticked by, but he had nothing. Nothing. His gut weighed down and he slunk back. Getting caught was one thing, but being chained as a petty criminal was quite another. After all he had done and all he had murdered, he deserved some acclaim. But he had nothing. Nothing. The lord stared him down, smile stretching, and there was nothing he could say. It was absolutely the most demeaning way to go down.

“I’ll vouch for the fact that he’s the Snake.”

He spun, and there, coming towards him, was the most shadowy man he’d ever come across. Employer. The greasy man was smirking beneath the greasy mustachio. Employer never smiled; he only smirked. There should have been a clue in that.

“What are you doing here?”

Employer tipped his head. “Making sure you are tried accordingly.”

“Did you set me up?”

“Well, what did you expect? I did warn you. If you’d read the rather obvious signs, you would have left the city straight away.”

“But… Bastard. Why would you set me up?”

“Because money talks to me. Coin.” He tipped his head and stared into the distance. “You know, sometimes I sleep in a bed of money.” Employer moved forward and leaned right in. “Those are the best nights.”

Breath moistened his cheek, and he flinched. He’d been sold out by his coin-pimp, a man he actually trusted. Of bloody course he had.

“Then why give me the note?”

Employer raised an eyebrow. “As I said, you should have just left. I like you, and it was a gift. A genuine gift.”

He shook his head. “What sort of crazy signs are those? You would sell me out with one hand, and save me with the other?”

“I gave you blatant warning. Is it my fault that you are too arrogant to see the obvious?” Employer raised his eyebrows like all of the questions were answered, but none of the questions were answered. If anything, it made less sense, and that was quite something. He shuddered.

Thief-Lord One tapped the arm of his throne.

“You are confirming that this man is indeed the criminal assassin known as the Snake.”

Employer turned and nodded, hands clasped behind his back. “He is.”

“And you would know this because?”

“We have, ah, engaged in the past.” There was a stand-off, as if the lord was being challenged to probe further. He did not, and gulped instead.

“Then the man must die. Send him to the dungeons. He will be executed at midday.”

Employer slipped him an almighty grin. “Oh, and split the man’s skin. It’ll keep him quiet.”

He pulled against his restraints, but they held firm. Of course they did – he had been sold out and these red-cloaks were ready for him. Employer reached forward with a sharp knife, and slipped it over the skin of his cheek. It came away wet, beads of blood on the edge, and the effect was instantaneous. His vision faded from the edges, and his legs buckled. He crashed to the ground as consciousness caved in on him.

“Told you. Can’t stand the sight of blood. A most unusual trait in an assassin.”