The Job

Chapter 02 | The Job

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It would be easy now, he hoped. Even though he didn’t really know what he was doing.

Evening drew in, and with it, a blessed easing of the heat. Now was the time. In this middling heat, his body would be at its finest and his honed eyes would be his greatest asset. He’d always been good in the dark.

The town hall loomed over him on the other side of the square. It was the biggest square in the city, and stall owners were pulling down their temporary places of trade. Tomorrow was Justice Day, and what little justice there was in the Empire would be dished out indifferently. Today though, true justice would be served. Someone was going to die.

He strolled across the square, drifting effortlessly between stalls and right up to the vast building that was the town hall. There were two guards on the door, each of them in the blood-red livery of the Empire. Red-cloaks. They deserved to die too, just for wearing that colour, but that would draw too much attention. No. His target was very specific, and he would act with the precision that was his calling card. The red-cloaks would merely be humbled today. He walked right up to the two guards and flashed them his biggest smile. That was always a winner.

“Evening gentlemen. I believe I am expected.”

The first guard showed steel and teeth, stepping forward. “What gives you that idea?”

“Your superior. Do you want to go and check?”

The first guard looked back at the second guard and barked. Junior shot into the town hall, presumably in search of a superior. It would be easy now, he hoped. Even though he didn’t really know what he was doing. He was one on one, and all he needed was his moment, whatever that moment might be. All he need do was wait.

Senior sneered. “If he comes back empty-handed, then you’re in trouble.”

That wasn’t his moment, so he put a finger to his mouth and gazed at the darkening sky.

“Now you mention it, maybe you’re right. Sorry to have disturbed you.” He turned and stepped away from the guard, walking away. Strange. Something would present itself, surely. It usually did. Senior sheathed his steel with a gristly scraping sound, but it was only fleeting.

There was a crash, a stall collapsed on itself, and Senior stepped towards the ruckus.

And there it was. Perfect timing. He took the opportunity, and slipped into the town hall in a flash. It was one of the reasons he was such a fine assassin; his most unique fortune. Or at least, his ability to take the moment. There was always a moment, or at least there was in his experience. He looked to the ceiling of the high ante-room and clasped his hands together. “Thank you, Father.”

It was not hard to find the delegate. For such a vast building, not a lot went on in the place, and servants were busy lighting candles. It was still light outside, but in the gloom of these halls, candles were required. And where there was light, there were also shadows. He kept to the darkness, as was his way, and waited. Silence and stillness were an assassin’s best friends.

He crouched in a small alcove, concealed in shadows, rubbing his arms. It was important to keep warmth in his muscles, especially in the rapid cold of a Southern dusk. Voices drifted into the hallway from the room that he was watching; boring words and a boring subject. Guards were patrolling the corridors, but the occasional clank of armour did little to put him off. He would be done and out of here before they were even aware of his actions. All he needed was for that bastard to come out.

There was a click, and then a creak. Light flooded the hallway, and there, standing proud, was his victim. The delegate. He smiled. The man carried all the elegance of the noble-class, or as he liked to call them, the thieving-class. This was the sort of man who leeched the people of their livelihoods with the backing of the Emperor himself. He was one of the few getting fat whilst the masses all but starved, and that was why he must die. At least, that was his justification for killing the man. His Employer may have other reasons, but he really didn’t care about that.

The delegate turned back to the room. “This will be a fine harvest indeed. For us at least.”
The other bastard in the room guffawed, but that bastard would have to wait. It was not his job to kill every one of the thieving-class. He had an Empire to tumble first, and then they would all suffer. For now, the man in the room would live. He chuckled lightly.

In the dead of the place, the delegate’s slippers whispered noisily on the marble floor. He crept from his alcove and stepped as only he could – with utter precision and silence. The delegate walked proudly, upright, long strides, but that didn’t matter. He stepped faster than the man, and within a few heartbeats he was on the tail of the bastard’s cape. He was ready.

He flexed his hand and licked his lips. Smiled. The git wouldn’t even know he was being assassinated. It was near enough the easiest of all his many jobs. It was a wonder that Employer had warned him about this at all really. Easiest coin he’d ever make.

“Get him.” The delegate swept out of the way, and four red-cloaks jumped out of the shadows. Shit and double shit. One guard lunged for him, and he scuttled back, falling. The delegate eyed him, sneering. Damn it, but the bastard had known all along, and it was a trap. A trap. Perhaps he should have listened to Employer after all.

The four guards stood over him, looming. Threatening. He scrambled back, but they stayed over him. What could he do? Whatever he did, even if he escaped, he’d have failed the job. He never failed his jobs. Well, apart from the once, but that was a one-off. A guard reached for him, and he slapped the hand away.

“Come on, Sneak. Why not make this easy for us?”

He smiled back. “That’s not the way I like to do things. You can call me Awkward.” He reached into a pocket, and Sneery’s eyes followed.

“You can leave the dagger alone.”

He laughed through his nose. “Good thing it’s not a dagger then.” He threw the small bag across the room and it slapped against the wall. The bag wasn’t tied shut, so it opened and spilled its contents. A black powder blanketed the flame of the candle and sparked. There was a fizzing, and then an almighty bang.

His ears rang, but he did not hang about. The four guards were startled by the noise, and Sneery was doubled over, hands over his ears. That was impressive to give Sneery his due, because the other red-cloaks were either curled up, lying on the floor, or pissing themselves. The delegate had rolled onto the floor, hands over ears, and he took his chance. He didn’t like doing it this way, but he’d lost the art of surprise.

He leaped towards the delegate and drew a dagger. He swept past the man, rammed the blade into his side without looking, and then kept on running. It was some time before the echoing of his footsteps pierced his ringing ears.

He ran along the corridor, but by the Brother’s Balls, the red-cloaks were everywhere! They had definitely been aware of his coming, and that was concerning. He put a hand in his pocket and rubbed the note between his fingers. It had been worth it, whatever the outcome. This note was worth anything, and to act on the note he needed coin. At least he’d now fulfilled the contract and killed the delegate, even if he was now doomed. He was at least owed coin, and that would be the seed of his rebellion.

He flew out onto a wide landing and slid to a stop at the top of a set of stairs. Coming up those stairs were five heavily armed guards. Shit. He ran to a balustrade and peered over. Not a lot to play with there, and the floor below was polished marble. Heads cracked nicely on polished marble. He should know.

“Give it up, Sneak.” Oh good. Sneery had recovered.

There was no sign of the bastard delegate, so at least that was something. He’d almost certainly completed the job. But they had him cornered, and that was annoying. He was the most coveted assassin in the whole of Godslost, and he’d been cornered here of all places. He’d definitely been sold short.

He looked over his shoulder and spied a mad opportunity. Then he shook his head. He’d always been lucky, but… Then again, Sneery’s sword looked sharp.

He swaggered towards the red-cloak. “I told you. You can call me Awkward.”

And then he ran. He pelted his way across the wide landing and headed straight for a window between two offices. There was barely any light from outside now – just a patch of blue where the last rays of Mother slipped over the horizon – but he didn’t need light. He had excellent eyes. He rushed toward the window to the chorus of shouts and orders from the red-cloaks behind, and then he was there. Still moving. He leapt for it, glad he’d done his research before the job. Glass shattered around him and the marble floor opened up into a packed sandy road three storeys below. He moved his legs like he was still running. He was floating on air, and trusting to the gods. No. He was trusting to the Father. Only the Father could help him here.

He slammed into the building on the other side of the road and grabbed for something. Grabbed for anything. Grabbed at nothing. Scrabbling, he clawed cloth, and grabbed at it with this fingers. Pain bloomed in his stomach and chin, and a nail bent back, but… But. He was holding. He looked over his shoulder, at the road three storeys below. It wasn’t coming up at him. People were pointing at him, but he wasn’t moving. Ha! He wasn’t moving.

“Loose!”

Back in the town hall, a crossbow was pointed at him. The red-cloak pulled the trigger mechanism, and it discharged. With pure instinct, he flipped, and then he was facing the dart. It chimed against the stone just under his armpit. Oh the luck!

He whooped at the red-cloak. “I told you. Call me Awkward.”

He flipped back and scrambled up. It appeared that he had grabbed a curtain which was hanging outside a window – how lucky was that? The residents stood there, mouth open, holding each other.

“Sorry.” He jumped past them and dropped two copper shards to the floor.

Out on a landing the other side of the building, he jumped onto the sill of a window and scanned down below. He was still three storeys up, but he didn’t have much time. There would be red-cloaks in the streets in mere moments. On the other side of the street was an awning, so he hopped back onto the landing and accelerated. The wind tore at his faithful blacks and he landed perfectly on the soft awning of his design. It collapsed, and so did the fruit cart beneath it. The melons didn’t provide the best landing, but he was hardly in a position to complain. A sore arse out of this situation would be an excellent result.

He rolled off the scattered fruit remains and tossed a few coppers at the shopkeeper. Then he checked his pocket for the note, and stepped into the street.

“Ah. Reputation intact. Not only did I slice the damned target, but I did it even though it was a trap.” A woman with a child stared at him, but he just shrugged and smiled back. “Now, who would double cross me?”

Light flashed, and then the pain throbbed in his skull. He slumped to the ground.