Here's another story for your enjoyment. I wrote this one back seven years ago, early in my writing career. It will only take two posts to get through; like I said, it's a short story.
:)
Enjoy!
Artwork copyright Ijansempoi, licensed through Dreamstine
Falling Softly - Part One
Through his spyglass, the assassin watched Lord Padmar disembark his carriage. He was dressed in his best: a dark red coat with gold buttons, loose about the shoulders and tight at the forearms and belly, an off-white ruffled shirt with lace at the throat and cuffs, tight black leggings that tucked into polished, knee-high, black turned-down boots, and a golden sash from right shoulder to left hip. He wore a jaunty hat of the same color as his coat and a broad black leather belt that supported a gold-pommeled saber on his right hip. The rumors said he actually knew how to use it, a rarity among the upper nobility these days.
The Lord strode quickly to the front door of his manor, where his chamberlain waited. In his late middle years, the chamberlain was tall, but portly, with thinning gray hair. He stood with a pronounced slouch, probably from a lifetime spent bowing and scraping. The Lord spoke with him briefly before he went inside, not bothering to acknowledge the other servants’ deep bows.
The chamberlain lingered for a moment. He looked around, his back to the other servants, then nodded and touched his right thumb to the tip of his middle finger and raised both to the center of his chest. That was the signal: all was in readiness.
The assassin smiled thinly. Lord Padmar was well known as an overbearing, sanctimonious, and cruel employer. Among the serving class, tales of the punishments he doled out for the smallest infractions were legendary, leaving only the most desperate willing to even entertain the notion of going into his service. The chamberlain was immune from the worst of those punishments, but all the same it was ridiculously easy, and cheap, for the assassin’s representative to obtain his cooperation in this night’s hit.
Lord Padmar, it turned out, was a man of habit. The assassin had been watching him for three weeks, and knew his routine by heart. Tonight was his weekly card game at Viscount Ephrim’s estate. The Lord always returned promptly at four bells, and was in bed by five. Padmar’s wife found her own entertainment on this night each week: she had a lover in a manor outside the city. It strained credulity to think Padmar didn’t know, but clearly he didn’t care. Most weeks, a high-priced companion was ushered in through a side door before he arrived and awaited him in his bedchamber. Perfect.
Putting down the spyglass, the assassin slithered back from the roof edge. Careful to avoided showing a silhouette, he rolled behind one of the many chimneys atop the building. Vargas was there, waiting. Clad the same as the assassin, in loose-fitting black clothing that covered him from head to toe save his eyes, he carried a longbow and a full quiver. A long-bladed knife was sheathed on his left thigh.
“All set?”
The assassin nodded quickly. “I’m going in. Keep a sharp eye out.”
“I always do.”
With that, Vargas slipped around the chimney, flattening himself along its side. From the distance, it would be impossible to pick him out from the chimney itself. The assassin slid backwards to the other side of the roof. At the edge of the building, there was a drainpipe that served to keep the flat roof clear of rainwater. It was perfect for climbing, and in less than a minute, he had descended the forty feet to the street.
He moved swiftly along the building’s wall, keeping to the shadows. He paused when he reached the corner and pulled a small mirror from a pouch on his belt then extended it past the edge. The coast was clear.
Slipping around the corner, he dropped to the ground and slithered beneath an series of open windows, only standing again when he reached the next edge of the building. Directly across the street was the fence marking the boundary of the Lord’s estate. Ten feet high, made of wrought iron and topped with spear-like spikes, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge.
He checked the street with his mirror, then pressed back as he spied a carriage moving toward him. Hardly breathing, he remained absolutely still. The Lamplighter’s Guild had already made their rounds, and though he had broken the lamps on either side of this intersection earlier in the day, there was still more light than he would have preferred.
The carriage, a plain but well crafted model with room enough for four in back, passed slowly. The driver never looked away from the road, but the curtains in the passenger compartment were open. If any of the passengers saw him, it would mean trouble. But the carriage never stopped, and after a few minutes it turned a corner and vanished from sight.
The assassin checked the street again. If he was going to be undone, it would be in the crossing. No one in sight, it was now or never.
He took a deep breath and sprinted across to the fence. A quick leap and he had ahold of two of the spikes. Pulling his feet up to the crossbar at the top of the fence, he hung there for a few moments. Then he heaved himself upward and over the fence. Tucking into a roll as he hit the ground, he came to his feet smoothly and waited, motionless.
The Lord had guards who patrolled the fence line regularly. If the chamberlain had done his part, they would be late turning over the watch, and the assassin would have a window of a few minutes. But he hadn’t survived as long as he had in this business by assuming things would go smoothly. He listened carefully for a while, but there was nothing but the normal sounds of night creatures. Satisfied he was safe, he moved out.
The manor house was about a hundred yards ahead, beyond a stand of trees and a manicured garden. He made the distance quickly, darting from cover to cover to avoid being seen.
He approached the house from the side, where a large patio area was partially covered by a good-sized balcony extending out from the second story of the house. That balcony should lead to the Lord’s chambers. The columns holding the balcony up were round, about a foot in diameter, and smooth. He managed to shimmy up the one at the corner without too much trouble.
As he peeked over the balcony railing, the assassin was gratified to see the double doors leading into the house, a well-crafted pair with large inset windows, were ajar. The chamberlain had come through again.
There were a couple of cushioned chairs on the balcony and a small table. The assassin was careful not to disturb them as he boosted himself over the railing. It wouldn’t do to make any noise now. Creeping across to the door, he could see curtains drawn on the other side, blocking his view of the chambers within.
The assassin crouched in the doorway and slowly opened the door on his right the rest of the way. Good thing it opened outward. Slowly pushing the curtain aside, he peered inside the room. His eyes, already well adjusted to the moonless night, picked out the details without too much difficulty. A large, four posted bed hung with mosquito netting sat against the far wall. A small round table with two chairs was off to the left and a large armoire rested against the wall on the assassin’s right. Two closed doors were visible on either side of the bed.
As he moved into the room, the assassin’s soft-soled shoes barely made a whisper. He could make out two lumps in the bed and heard soft snoring from the left side. He approached the right side first.
The woman was barely covered by the sheets. Even in the near blackness, the assassin could tell that she was stunning: well curved hips, full breasts. Too bad what was going to happen to her.
He reached into another belt pouch and withdrew a small vial. Parting the mosquito netting, he unstoppered the vial and slowly, carefully, poured several drops of its contents into the woman’s open mouth.
She stirred slightly, and he froze. But she just turned her head and settled down again after a moment. He was gratified to see her swallow. The potion should keep her asleep for several hours.
The assassin moved around the bed to the Lord’s side, re-stoppering the bottle and replacing it in his pouch as he went. As he parted the netting, he drew a long, narrow-bladed dagger from a sheath on his thigh.
The assassin placed his hand over the Lord’s mouth, and his eyes opened wide. The assassin gave him no time to struggle, though, stabbing him in the chest, neck, and belly.
The Lord tried to scream at first, but the hand over his mouth allowed only a muffled groan that quickly became a series of gurgling coughs. He grasped at his wounds, but they were too many and any one of them would have been fatal. It was over in under a minute, and the assassin removed his hand.
He took a moment to clean up, pulling a rag from a pocket on his hip and wiping the blood from his gloves and clothing. It wouldn’t do at all to leave a blood trail when he departed.
When he was done, he put the rag back into his pocket and moved back to the woman’s side of the bed. His last act before heading back out to the balcony was to place the knife in her hand and give her a gentle kiss on her forehead.
*****
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