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Chapter IX
The Tavern of the Dancing
Maid is a marvel of the kingdom: it is older than even myself. Even
more than two hundred years ago, it was an old and venerable establishment.
The tavern stands only a short walk from the West Bank of the Sern: a rather
small and weather-beaten building with wooden walls that I have watch warp
only to replaced only to warp again after so many years. The tables
and chairs within are slowly worn by hundreds upon hundreds of customers,
even the bar itself has been replaced a few times after some particularly
violent brawls. The wooden supports have been eaten threw by vermin
and broken by drunkards. Perhaps the only thing left of the original
building is the oak frame and the sturdy stone hearth, and both of those
I know have been singed and bitten by the flames of a few fires.
- And, of course,
the barkeep. Not the very first; no, he has been dead, buried and
forgotten for many, many years, but his family has kept the tavern alive
for a multitude of generations. When I first entered the city of
Bridgeville, the founder's great-grandson was aging at other side of the
bar, and perhaps the hundredth bard would play there regularly. Now,
more than three centuries later, a thousand bards have played their music
and spun their tales before the age-old hearth; and still the Krystans,
with their red hair, blue eyes and crude speech, own and keep the tavern
well. There is a tale that perhaps all of the world has at some point
in time sat in one of the chairs of the Dancing Maid and tasted some of
the Krystans' homemade ale. It is fluff and fantasy, but it's scope
is not far from the mark.
For all my hatred
of the merriment and joy which taverns would typically hold during my life,
the Dancing Maid held a special allure to me after I had died. For
years after the night of my death, I would wander the streets aimlessly.
I never hunger, I never tire - even if in my living years sleep was little,
it did well to pass the time. I felt as if I was in some semi-purposeless
limbo, suspended in time and space without direction or meaning.
Then, one night, I passed the Dancing Maid for perhaps the thousandth time.
Light poured from its unshuttered windows like brilliant beacons onto the
street, and the sweet sound of music floated to my ears. The beautiful
voice of a woman bard drew me closer, and I crept carefully up to the window
to peer inside.
A rather old and wrinkled
woman sat upon an old wooden stool at the end of room before the hearth.
She held a lute in her arms, and had a liquid voice which blended in perfect
melody with the chords she strummed. The entire tavern was enraptured,
and soon I felt myself falling under the strange spell.
And she sang:
And the trumpets blew, and spirits flew
And you're all I need, and you fill my dreams
There's a love the gods put in your heart
"Gods," I murmured
to myself, though I knew they weren't listening. "I know who you
are." Carefully, with my cowl pulled tightly about my face, I entered
the tavern, this time determined not to stay outside and listen to the
beauty from beneath a window pane. I found a place in the darkest
corner that, like all shadows, welcomed me with comfortable arms.
I spent the rest of that night watching and listening to her.
It was well past midnight
when she played her last encore, and most of the tavern's patrons had either
left, or were ready to drift off to sleep in their seats. She stood
quietly, and began to leave.
"Tell me," I called
from my corner, "how long have you been singing that song?"
She jumped, having
not seen me there. She peered into the shadows, and then took a step
back when she saw my glowing red eyes.
"Well?" I asked again.
She did not say anything, but remained staring in a sort of stupefied horror.
"Do not be afraid. If I had wished you harm you would have been dead
hours ago."
She swallowed hard,
and then found her courage again. "Many years," she answered.
"Perhaps two score?"
I asked. "More?"
"More."
I nodded. "You
did sound well-practiced those nights in Near Capital."
She looked at me strangely.
"Who are you?"
I laughed, and stood.
"I have no name."
She continued to look
at me strangely for a few moments, and then realized. "Oh gods!"
she gasped. "You're that - that young boy who saved me that night..."
"Do not thank me,"
I said. "Perhaps it would have been better if I had let you die that
night. You have never found your daughter."
"How do you know?"
I looked away.
"Did you know her?
Do you know what happened to her?" She began to approach me.
"Please, tell me. If you know anything about my Leila."
I stood dumbfast.
How foolish this was, I thought to myself. To come here and resurrect
the past, to start this damned foolish conversation.
She came to stand
right in front of me and searched for my eyes. "Please, if you know
anything, tell me."
I looked to the floor,
keeping my eyes covered with the edge of my cowl. "I know nothing."
Then I pushed past her and made my way swiftly out the door. I disappeared
into the night, leaving her dumb and grasping behind me.
I returned the next
night, to find her there again. Like the night before, I entered
the tavern carefully, and found the same dark corner empty, as if it had
been specially reserved. Again I listened to her for all the night,
amazed at the range of songs and stories she knew. I was not so enraptured
by the melodies or the tales, but by the beautiful perfection of her craft.
About half-way through
the night I looked about me at the patrons of the tavern. It was
the most eclectic and motley bunch I had ever seen. There were merchants
and nobles' servants, adventurers and priests, some Watchmen, a few serfs
- and thieves. They were rather cleverly hidden from most, but to
me they were unmistakably that of the Guild. There was no other kind
of thief in the city. One either belonged to the Guild or one was
dead. The same was true even for me. Oh, certainly there was
the occasional thief that would attach himself to an adventuring party
to try for spoils in the wilderness outside the city and in kingdoms beyond,
but many of those, even their co-horts, belonged to some Guild somewhere.
But it struck me as
odd that thieves should be in the Dancing Maid. The tavern was far
from the Dark Alleys, they stood on opposite sides of the River Sern, and
the Guild knew now that this was certainly my territory. Why would
they be here? It would take the grandest of fools to try a heist,
or to assassinate someone with so many people - armed people none the less
- about. Then it struck me: what better place to watch. Watch
everybody, and listen to everything. This venerable tavern alone
must hold the most important meetings at times, and under its roof pass
so much information. One could feel the beating pulse of the city
from this little room. I begrudged someone in the Guild for having
a lick intelligence.
The two Guild thieves,
a man and a woman, which I had spotted would have to be killed that night,
of course. They were within my territory, which made them fair game.
Just why I had established a territory on most of the West Bank I did not
really understand; I had simply done so. Perhaps it was for the mere
purpose of aggravating the Guild: that one could hold back the work of
hundreds.
The flash of sudden
movement caught my eye. I noticed that the Guild thieves looked with
me as a pair of children, a small girl and an older boy, swiftly made their
way through the crowd about the bard and towards the door. The boy
clutched in his hand a pouch half-filled with coins, and the girl looked
about with wide and fearful eyes lest they be caught.
They already were,
I thought as the woman thief stood to begin after them. Regardless
of age, every thief had to pledge loyalty to the Guild in Bridgeville.
But the Guild thief wasn't looking to give the children a warning or an
invitation. They were easy, fresh meat.
I could have cared
less, except that the woman was in my territory. And I controlled
what could or could not happen here. To put it in simply human terms:
it was a matter of principle.
I waited until the
woman thief had intercepted the children near the door, and moved only
when I saw the first flash of her knife. My dagger sailed across
the room faster than a quarrel, and she dropped to floor as the blade sunk
between her shoulder blades. I muttered a curse to myself as I leapt
from my corner across the tavern room; I had aimed for the base of the
skull. I reached the children, who were already frozen with fear,
long before the other thief. After retrieving my dagger, I took the
girl and the boy each underneath an arm, and promptly placed the toe of
my boot beneath the other thief's jaw. I kicked with such force that
the crack of his jaw breaking was very loud, and it sent him sailing back
across the room to slam against the bar with another crack. Blood
began to spurt from his skull as cries of surprise and horror erupted from
crowd in the tavern.
I turned to look at
the woman bard. She caught my gaze for a moment, and there was a
brief eternity of meaning and understanding. Then I rushed out the
door and into the thick summer night.
The children were,
if not silent, very quiet as I hurried away from the tavern, which was
good, because if they had not been quiet I would have killed them.
From time to time I looked behind me to see if anyone was following.
It was doubtful, but years of caution and paranoia have not even still
been forgotten. It was not really a question of whether or not I
would survive a brawl with even a dozen men, but that the children certainly
would not. Neither did I wish to be inconvenienced.
I found a dark alley
that had rather become one of my favorites, and set them down in the shadow
of a rain barrel. They were dressed in little more than rags, which
were dark and stained and contrasted sharply with the paleness of her skin.
There were dark patches underneath their sunken eyes, and they were so
skinny it was clear they were on the verge of starvation.
How well off they
must be, I thought to myself, to know the taste of Death on their little
tongues.
The boy and girl shivered
as they clung tightly to each other: a mess of entangled limbs and hanging
rags. He could not have been more than eight, and she was practically
half that, but they looked at me with eyes full of mortal terror and desperation.
It was a gaze to which I had long become accustomed.
I held out my hand
and almost instantly the boy put the pouch into it. I looked at it
for a moment, not even opening the cloth bag, but noticing that the strings
were cut. I held out my hand again and the girl swiftly dropped a
kitchen knife into it.
I smiled slightly,
and then laughed softly. The children cowered away even further;
if they could have gone through the alley wall, I'm sure they would have
made every effort to. Then I shook my head and sighed. "Lesson
number one," I said, "never hand over your loot. This bag of coins
is all that stands between you and dying, children, and if you hand it
over to anyone you might as well ask them to slit your throat in the process
- something more than enough people will be happy to oblige you with."
The children continued to cower, but I could tell that they were listening
to me. "Lesson number two," I continued as I held up the knife, "never,
ever hand over your weapon. That's an open invitation to a slit throat."
They stared at me
in wonder, and I gazed back.
"What are your names?"
I asked specifically. I was sure they had no idea who they were.
The boy slowly gained
the courage to speak - a remarkable accomplishment. "Michael," he
said. "This is my sister, Jasimine."
"Jasimine?" I mused.
"Very exotic name for a Stephenian. Your parents were merchants,
no?"
Michael nodded slowly,
and began to explain.
"Be quiet," I said.
"I do not need to know. Lesson number three, and the last for tonight:
silence is your savior. Now, be quiet and sleep."
They obeyed readily,
practically collapsing as they were, holding each other close. They
looked like some twisted and grotesque marble statue. I remained
awake all night just watching them.
The dawn came again
like an angry, fiery burst across a few morning clouds, but it was long
after that by the time both children awoke. I did not wake them,
even at that age I had learned patience; I certainly had all the time in
the world and more.
The boy woke with
a long yawn, and started when he saw me. I merely continued to gaze
at them both until his sister was awake. She managed a weak smile
at her brother, but looked blankly at me with starving eyes. I remained
impassive for a few moments of silence.
"That," I began, "is
the sound you will most strive for."
"What sound?" Jasimine
asked.
I fell silent again
for a long while. Neither child moved at all, their gaze fixed upon
me.
"That sound," I said
at last. "The sound of silence."
"Silence is your savior,"
Michael intoned.
I nodded. I
felt suddenly very comfortable with this. I knew this setting, this
situation, it was all terribly familiar. I looked down at my black
leather gloves and my pitch-black clothing and realized how much like Jack
I had become. How terribly ironic, to come full circle like this.
Do the taught always become the teacher? I shook my head within my
mind. It did not matter; it was what I was choosing to do.
I looked at the children
carefully again. In the morning light, which was muted by the clouds
overhead, they seemed even more sickly and deplorable. Such sights
did not shock me, and never had. I had grown up with such sights
and worse readily at hand. As a child thief in Near Capital, I had
stolen rotten bread from other children more sickly than these. Michael
and Jasimine were little more than walking skeletons with skin stretched
tightly across their bones.
"Your first lesson
for today," I began, "is the one thing you must never, ever forget: Never
Get Caught." I fell silent yet again, letting the idea sink into
their heads.
"Please, sir," Jasimine
said, "will you give us some food?"
I laughed at her,
and then like a heavy curtain fell serious. "No. You will get
your own food by the end of the morning. You will learn the most
essential lesson in life today: steal or starve."
"Too many lessons,"
Michael said.
I took his jaw in
my hand and bore into the boy's eyes. "There are many lessons which
I have left to teach you, and you will complain at not a one of them."
For a moment I saw
the fire of defiance burn in his eyes, and I delighted in it. This
boy was a fighter; he would make it. But, Michael acquiesced and
I released his jaw from my grip.
"Now," I said, feeling
generous, "what is the first rule?"
"Never get caught,"
they mumbled together.
"Now you will apply
that this morning, and you will win your breakfast for yourselves."
I led them out of
the alley and quickly into the marketplace. The entire section of
town was fairly bursting with people, and the children blended into the
crowd with ease. I retreated into a forgotten corner and became inconspicuous.
To my surprise they did fairly well, finding the basket of some talkative
woman and darting away into the crowd not too quickly and not too slowly.
They returned to me with their spoils: an apple each.
"Eat them," I said,
and they devoured the apples in moments.
"I wanna do it again,"
Jasimine said.
"Quiet," Michael reprimanded.
"First," I said to
the boy, "it is no longer your place to say a word to her. You are
both responsible to me directly." I turned to Jasimine. "Secondly,
this is not a game. This is your life."
They both nodded slowly
and I grinned. I gave Jasimine back her knife. "You are not
to use it on anyone at any time - yet," I warned her. "Now, go back
out there and get more breakfast." They swiftly disappeared back
into the crowd.
This will work, I
thought to myself as Michael and Jasimine wove their way through the huge
crowd. I retreated into an alleyway to lean against a pile of refuse
and appear to be someone you did not wish to approach. I had kept
my territory against the Guild for better than fifty years, against another
two Master Thieves. But for what purpose? I had no real use
for it. I did not steal anymore, having no use of food or wealth,
nor the need to sway someone else with riches, though huge amounts were
well-hidden in my spire from my living days. But with these two children
it had become clear to me. Much like Jack and his pack of brats,
I would build my resistance from the beginning, with youth. Perhaps
this is the way the Guild got started, I thought, though I doubted it.
Guild thieves were not that intelligent.
I sat there making
plans until the children returned a long while later. Each was hungrily
tearing away at small loaf of bread.
Michael began to cough,
then choke. Finally, he managed to swallow. His face
was almost blue when he looked at me again.
I smiled my wicked
smile. "Another lesson for today: never bite more than you can chew;
it'll kill you."
That night I showed
the children the way to my spire, and warned them against ever leading
anyone there. They found a comfortable corner on the ground floor,
since I forbade them to come very far up the stairs - only far enough to
call me from my vigils if it was needed. They seemed to adapt to
life in the Dark Alleys quite readily, as if it were the natural thing
to steal and hide and pretend. I taught them to avoid the Guild thugs,
which was not difficult. A far more tasking lesson was crossing the
Bridge undetected or unmolested by the Watch. Jasimine easily found
ways to charm the guards, or slip into the crowd. But Michael was
proud; one could sense the boy approaching from across the street.
He took his lessons
seriously, at least. I think he knew more about what was really going
on than his sister did. To her much was a game, and I ignored her
frivolous and youthful smile very often. Michael never smiled - almost.
The boy would smile at his sister, though only when she had fallen asleep.
He loved her, I knew, as only a brother could love his sister. Something
within me envied him, the rest of me sung a bitter elegy of pity for him.
Our lessons continued
for several weeks. I watched the children come into better health
with fairly regular meals that their thieving provided them. And
the exercise it gave them helped, I was not ignorant of that. Their
skills increased steadily, and I could see they would soon be better than
most of the Guild's filthy vermin. Often they would be gone before
I left the top of my spire after dawn, and did not return until practically
dusk, and some nights I saw nothing of them at all as they prowled the
Dark Alleys, two panthers on the hunt. I had warned them against
prowling the Noble Quarter at night, simply because I knew the Guild's
best would be there then. But, all in all, it was a success.
I had begun to follow in the steps of my mentor, as somehow I felt it proper.
But the universe continually
supplies tests.
It was the heat of
the summer, and the entire city was looking forward to autumn despite the
back-breaking work that it would bring most of them with the harvest.
I suppose it is no worse than sweating their lives away in the fields or
on the streets. The nobles had no reason to complain, but took the
privilege anyway due to their station. Myself, I felt no pain any
longer, and so did not even think to complain. I am forever uncomfortably
comfortable. The children, whatever they may have thought, followed
my example, and made no complaint. They spoke very little by then,
only enough to say what needed to be said. Not that there was any
lack of communication; they had devised hand-signals and gestures, and
were so intimately close that words were often unnecessary none the less.
During the afternoon,
one could watch the heat rising from the streets of the Dark Alleys, indeed,
of most of the city, in liquid waves that made all appear to be little
more than a fragile phantasm. Beggars and the sedentary dregs huddled
in the dank shadows by the side of the rotting buildings which were falling
down as you passed them. The stench of humanity assailed the nostrils,
though we had long become accustomed to the reek. The children moved
swiftly and gracefully down the street, their eyes scanning from side to
side, wary of predators and seeking prey all at once. I moved at
the same pace a few houses down, watching them carefully while appearing
to be doing nothing at all.
We knew nothing of
the raid. It was actually one of the few times I think the Watch
got the drop on us. Raids by the Watch were infrequent and fairly
futile attempts to purge the filth of the Dark Alleys. The Guild
always had someone listening at the Captain's manor, and soon after the
Guild knew, the information would leak out onto the street. I never
cared much after I died - I never gave the Watch a second thought after
that at all. What could they truly do to me if the impossible happened
and I was caught? Kill me? The idea was absurd.
The rumble of their
wagons came down the street like a menacing thunder, the dust cloud in
the distance appearing just a moment after. Suddenly, the street
came alive with a terrific explosion of chaos and a terrible melange of
bodies heading this way and that, all trying desperately to escape the
raid. Those caught in the raid did not even usually make it to the
Watch's dungeon. I thought of the children for only a moment in the
great cacophonous chaos that milled about me. They would be fine,
though. I had described a raid to them long ago, and they knew exactly
what to do. Most Watchmen were loathe to take children anyway; it
looked bad to the general populace to execute a child.
I stepped carefully
out of the way of an on-coming wagon, deftly reaching out my arm and yanking
the driver from his seat to the ground. He landed with a large thud,
and a crack of something. I stepped upon his throat and held my foot
there, looking with mild curiosity at the dusty, rank chaos about, while
he slowly suffocated to death, writhing and twisting upon the dirty street.
The raid passed as
swiftly as it had come, leaving the street almost completely deserted except
for a couple Watchmen dragging the most complacent, or conscious, men to
their wagons to be hauled off for a mass execution outside the city walls.
A young Watchman rushed towards me, but came to a sudden halt as I stared
at him. In those days I still took some perverse glee in the fact
that my demonic stare freezes the soul of the stoutest man. The man's
arms fell to his side, and his grip upon his broad sword loosened so that
it threatened to fall. I grinned at him as only demons can, and then
tore his head from his shoulders. The Watch knew to leave me alone,
and I sent them the bodies of those who failed to learn.
I sauntered down the
street after the children, resuming my facade of doing nothing at all except
examining the decrepit buildings that lined the street like ancient and
beaten guards on perverse display.
The sound of a man's
hoarse yells and the light grunts and screeches of my children came from
a near-by alley. I looked within to see Michael and Jasimine latched
tightly onto a Watchman. The girl was slowly making her way up his
sword arm, and had managed to fasten her tiny little hands upon the butt
of the weapon. Michael was viciously digging his small knife into
the Watchman's left leg; blood was starting to flow like a river, soaking
the brown of the uniform into a darker shade.
From behind me, I
heard the rapid footsteps of the Watchman's partner rushing to help.
My hand flicked out, wielding my dagger, and plunged it into his chest
as he passed me. The man fell to the ground with a sudden groan of
pain. To be sure, I ripped the dagger up through the chest and his
jaw. It was terribly grotesque and messy, but I was sure that he
was dead.
Meanwhile, the other
Watchman managed to grasp Jasimine by the hair and fling her against the
wall of the alley. She hit with a small squeak, and slumped to the
ground, stunned. The Watchman's broad sword came down after Michael,
but the boy was swift, and was only nicked by the awkward blow. The
Watchman, now frustrated, but gaining the advantage, gave Michael a swift
kick, which sent the boy stumbling to his sister. Jasimine stood
to catch her brother and they glared together as the Watchman approached.
I retrieved my dagger
and looked about the street to find no other Watchmen to take care of.
So, I returned my attention to the children.
The Watchman was less
than a pace from them, and Jasimine began to cry. She wailed and
wept horribly. Confused, the Watchman let his sword droop a bit;
and I smiled. Michael dove forward and knifed the man squarely in
the groin. With a howl of pain, the Watchman dropped his sword and
crumpled to his knees. Jasimine and Michael were on him in a second,
and in the next moment she had removed the man's head with his own sword.
The children turned
to me with the task accomplished and the test passed. There was a
look of hungry pride in their eyes that is burned in my mind much the same
as the tender look of my mother. Michael's face was cold, like steel,
as he sheathed his knife, and Jasimine looked at me over the point of the
broad sword - which was half her height - with bewitching eyes.
I nodded, and left
to return to my spire. They did not follow.
They were nigh-perfect.
Jack could not have done better himself, I thought. For the first
time in what then seemed to be forever, I felt a sense of accomplishment
and purpose. I enjoyed the act of creation. My plan was falling
well into place now: with Michael and Jasimine complete in their training
I would soon have to find more children. Not that that would be a problem.
We would have this town beneath our feet in no time.
I heard them return
just before sunset. I came silently downstairs to meet them and perhaps
give them a lesson.
Michael flung a bag
of coins and gems at my feet. The knot was loose and the contents
burst onto the steps. "There," he said with his perfectly-determined
voice. "We're done."
I looked at him to
discern just his meaning, though I was really sure enough already.
Jasimine had adopted the same look, but she was just mimicking him.
She had the broad sword in a scabbard lashed to her back. It was
a little awkward for her size, but it made her appear to be quite the impressive
huntress.
"You're done?" I asked.
I wished to hear his ravings, though they did not matter.
"Yeah, we're done,"
Michael said. "Or are you deaf? We're through thievin' and
killin' fer you. We can do it ourselves now."
"I see," I said as
I stepped over the glittering opulence at my feet to descend the stairs
fully. "So you want to leave me?"
"I think you kin manage
on your own," Michael spat.
"What about the Guild?"
"What about the Guild?
We can handle them, you've taught us well enough."
"And the Watch?"
"The Watch is a joke
and you know it. Besides, you saw us today. We can handle the
Watch."
I smiled at him, approached,
stepped to the side, and patted Jasimine on the head. Her thin blond
hair rustled easily but always fell perfectly back into place. "Do
you want to leave, too?"
She began to nod,
but Michael pushed her out of the way. "I'm speakin' fer both of
us, you hear? I said 'We', and I mean 'We.' Her an' me."
I looked at him for
a long, silent moment, and then smiled my demonic smile. Michael
had found a way to not be terrified with my smile: he did not look at me
when I grinned. "Your lesson for tonight," I began.
"We don't need no
more less - "
"Your lesson for tonight,"
I spat, then calmed, "is that of reality. First, you must remember
that all you know is what I have taught you. While I have not taught
you any sort of respect for authority, it is unwise to bite the hand that
feeds. It might bite back. Not that I would ever do so out
of spite. You know that I am not a spiteful person." Michael
gave a bored sigh, and I began to circle about the room. "Second,
the Guild is much more than you realize, children, little boy and little
girl." Michael gave a start, but I raised my hand - a motion for
silence. "The Guild is the most powerful force in this city,
and they will hunt you down relentlessly until you either join or die.
Not that they'll really give you a choice: they'll just kill you.
And as good as you may think you are, you're not as good as the Guild's
best." Michael glared at me, but I paid no attention. "Third,
the Watch is more than you imagine. Any fool could have the luck
to bring down one of the common lackeys in those raids, but the men who
guard the Bridge? The Duke's and the Captain's guards? Noble
escorts?" I shook my head. "Not a chance, children.
"But, with a small
amount of luck, you might be able to overcome all those hurdles.
It is not impossible, I have done so myself. There is just one thing
which you have failed to take into account." I paused, seeing that
Jasimine was hanging on my every word and that Michael had lost interest.
I took a single stride and grabbed the insolent boy by the collar, lifting
him to look me in the eyes and slamming him against a wall. His breath
was forced out of his lungs with a sudden, surprised whoosh. "That
I could kill you with a breath!"
I glared into Michael's
eyes, and he met my gaze with a horror that reached down into his soul
and chewed at it with its pureness. His lip began to tremble, and
soon he was shaking all over, tears running down his cheeks. I could
tell that he was suppressing a whimper. Any mortal would do this
when faced with the sheer purity of my blistering, demonic anger.
It is a small miracle that he did not die of fright.
I dropped him to the
ground, where he remained, whimpering, as I walked away and up the stairs.
The sunset was especially
beautiful that evening.
Michael never looked
at me the same after that, which was good, for the most part. I had
instilled in him the proper fear of me, and he gave me now all the respect
that I demanded. Yet, there was a glaze of resentment in his eyes
whenever he looked at me. He did not communicate this with his sister,
though I think that she suspected as much. The children were as inseparable
as ever after that evening, though with each day I watched as Michael retreated
slightly further away from Jasimine. He would not leave, I knew,
because he knew that Jasimine would stay and he would never leave his sister's
side.
The summer heat remained,
in any case, and life was miserable in the city. We did not venture
out much in the daytime; no one ever did during those unusually tortuous
weeks of that summer. The Watch was given little to do except seek
shade - not, I'm sure, that they complained.
Late one afternoon
I ventured downstairs to find Michael asleep, curled in a corner.
Jasimine was awake, though, sharpening her prized broadsword. She
looked up at me and smiled her thin little smile. It never grew any
larger, just a slight up-turning of the corners of her mouth. It
was a subtle gesture that could mean many things. One had to watch
her eyes. I had seen the smile be threatening or mischievious or
kind or almost demonic. She had smiled at me when the children had
killed the Watchman. She smiled at me now in pleasure, as she almost
always did, especially if Michael was not watching.
I looked at Jasimine
and her blade for a long moment. "Oddly enough," I said, motioning
to the broad sword, "it becomes you."
She nodded, appreciating
my words. I did not speak much, not even to them, and so whatever
I said was very important. The blade was obviously too large for
her, but she wielded it with surprising proficiency and grace. Besides,
it was a spoil of war. Jasimine continuing sharpening, the sound
of the whetstone grating upon the steel blade sweet in the thick, hot air,
cutting through it like a knife. I listened to that wonderful sound
until it had burned itself into my memory like the clack of Kes' boots
upon the Near Capital Guild's floors or the mimicked blue-jay of Leila's
morning call.
"Enough," I said to
Jasimine, and she stopped. "Come with me." She followed me
up the stairs, hesitating at first. When we came to the top floor
I took her into my arms and climbed out onto the roof of the spire.
My spire stood at the northern-most edge of the Dark Alleys and close to
the wall by the bank of the Sern. From the roof, one could see the
entire city by shifting ones position only slightly. It is an enormous
and impressive sight: the city is sprawled from the base of the spire off
for an incredibly long stretch. On any day one can watch people passing
on the Bridge, entering through the East Gate, and milling about like so
many ants. From the nearest decrepit poverty at the base of the spire
that is seen in the most intimate detail to the distant opulence and self-important
size of the Noble Quarter across the river, one could see it all.
"Look!" she said with
her eyes wide in childish amazement as she pointed at the western horizon.
The sun was not far from the tops of the Border Mountains' peaks, and was
casting red and yellow rays that pierced the blue sky like blades.
I sat with her still
in my arms. Together we watched the sunset until the sun was only
a thin, beautiful disc of brilliant red-orange above the peaks. The
few clouds upon Nuin-Covl glowed a deep red with violet linings while yellow
lines streaked down the sides of mountains and were flung in all directions
from the disc.
"The sky is burning,"
Jasimine whispered in wonder.
I smiled.
A few weeks later,
the heat-spell had broken and life had become a little less miserable for
the commonfolk of Bridgeville, though they still bent their backs to work
the fields or strained their voices to sell their filthy wares like always.
The nobility did nothing of the sort, but made their relief sound just
as great now that the great heat had passed. To remind them of the
their mortality, and to provide the children with a final test, I decided
that we should burn a noble's manor.
The children were
completely agreeable with this idea, even a little too eager to get it
done. This would be the first time that they would see the grandeur
and excess of the Noble Quarter first-hand. But they were not foolish,
and patiently waited as I told them just how we would manage that night.
"Just any house?"
Michael asked. I could see the blood-lust building in his veins,
thinking that he would have bring that under control one day - soon.
"Any house except
one," I said.
"Which one?"
"The Truebridge Manor,"
I said.
"Why?" Michael demanded.
I struck him, the
blow knocked him to the ground, and he gasped. "Do not question me.
I have my reasons." Not that it really would have mattered.
After night had fallen
and the city had safely gone to sleep, we moved across the Bridge and snaked
our way up the great hill atop which was the Noble Quarter. Truly,
the Noble Quarter was only a collection of large estates upon the wide
top of a hill that overlooked the River Sern and most of the city.
Both the Captain of the Watch's manor and the Duke's fortress were adjacent
to the Noble Quarter.
Here in Bridgeville,
it seemed some ancient architect had had more sense than that of Nyr Kohpitol.
There was a wall that surrounded the rich in Bridgeville to keep the evil
out, instead of a wall which surrounded the poor to keep the evil in. Finding
ways to defeat the wall, like in Near Capital, was not difficult.
The ramparts were not manned well, and in many places, the merchant's shops
and houses had come right up against the nobles' precious wall. Shadowed
alleys and secret entrances abounded.
We scaled a stack
of barrels and made it over the wall with ease. As the children jumped
to the ground on the other side, I paused at the top to look at the river
not far to the east, just beyond the Duke's fortress. Then I joined
the children on the ground.
"Which?" Michael asked.
We stood fairly in
the center of a large half-courtyard from which four or five large manors
radiated like spokes on a wheel. Each looked equally as huge, useless,
and empty, though there were candles and lamps alit in all of them.
Each house looked like an enchanted skull staring a hollow stare into the
night. I choose the one furthest down-wind; there was no need to
destroy more than one. Too much and the Watch might really come down
hard on the Dark Alleys. The time had been when I would not have
cared, but now I had to be concerned for my children.
The plan was fairly
ostentatious, but we had a point to make and wanted to make sure that thick-witted
nobles understood. Jasimine had been dressed and decorated like a
jester, while Michael and I wore traveling clothes like that of an acting
troupe. Beneath our long cloaks we carried a half-dozen decanters
of greek-fire with a strip of cloth stuffed in the mouth, and each had
his flint.
As a bard might say,
this would be a blast.
We approached the
chosen house, and Jasimine rapped on the door a few times, then stepped
back and waited upon the porch, kneeling with her head lowered in proper
supplication. Michael and I waited only a pace or two behind her
on the street, half-buried still in shadows.
The woman who answered
the door was certainly not a servant. Her dress was of silk and gorgeous
lace, and jewelry dangled from her like so much dust on a cur. Her
face was painted and dainty, and her speech was too correct. However,
she was certainly not sober, either. She held a goblet in her hand
and I could smell the wine upon her breath from the street. She giggled
uncontrollably at some jest from inside as she opened the door, and, seeing
Jasimine in her flashy garb, delight lit her eyes.
"Oh, Heavens!" she
declared with a thick tongue. "Look here, a little jester!"
Jasimine looked up
at the woman with her smile, which I was sure was quite demonic.
"Such a lovely child,"
the woman purred, and then saw Michael and myself in the shadows.
"And more! Heavens, who sent you?"
There was a thick
moment of silence as I pondered the best answer to the question, but Jasimine
beat me to it:
"Hell, bitch," the
girl said, and plunged her sword through the woman's stomach.
Her eyes wide with
horrified surprise, the woman screamed in terrible agony and crumpled to
the floor when Jasimine yanked the sword out, now covered with blood.
Michael and I unleashed a terrible volley of lighted vials through the
open door and a few windows into the party being held within. The
joyful pandemonium swiftly turned into terrified chaos as the manor caught
fire. Shrill screams erupted from within, and doomed people began
frantically searching an exit. I imagine some escaped, but I could
watch through the shattered windows as nobles and servants alike burned
slowly to death.
Jasimine cleaned her
sword on the woman's dress, and the turned to smile at me over the gleaming
tip. The firelight danced upon the edge of the blade beautifully.
I waited a few more
moments to watch, then turned to leave. The children followed and
soon we were out of the Noble Quarter and far from the wall. I paused
again on the wall to look at the river, then to the inferno we had created,
and laughed to myself. So close, yet no hope.
We took our time to
get to the Bridge, there was no real rush, though the city was slowly coming
alive about us as the news spread like wildfire. A tense panic seemed
to fill the air, to which we were quite oblivious.
The crunch of feet
landing from the roof was followed by a stifled scream. Michael and
I whirled about, weapons drawn, to see a half-dozen of the Guild's assassin's,
one of which held Jasimine close with a large and menacing knife to her
throat. There was a long, long pause as we looked at each other in
the moonlight.
I lowered my stance,
letting my dagger fall to my side. "Go ahead," I said. "Kill
her."
"NO!" Michael screamed,
and launched himself at the assassin. The boy moved with such speed
and grace that I knew the man did not have a prayer - if any god was listening.
Michael's knife found its mark, and the man fell to the ground, bringing
Jasimine with him, his throat pouring blood onto the street like a mountain
stream.
Jasimine jumped to
her feet, drawing her broad sword in the same motion, and the children
faced the assassins with determined faces. The five other men smirked
at them, and then the frenzy began. I watched in amusement, taking
not a little pride in my children's proficiency. The action was too
fast to even describe, it looked more like an intricate though chaotic
dance. I marveled almost more at that then when first one assassin
fell, then another. In a short while, both children were attacking
the last remaining assassin like wild animals, and a look of panic was
set in his eyes. They tore him to the ground practically with their
bare hands, being too close for even weapons to be of any use.
In what seemed only
moments, it was over. The children stood in the midst of six corpses,
looking in mild curiosity and pride at their work. Then they looked
at me and smiled.
I looked at the half-dozen
dead men, and thought just how like a couple of jackals my children had
torn them down. I looked back to Michael and Jasimine and saw that
they were still smiling their evil smile at me. Leila had been not
too much older than Michael, I thought suddenly. And I had been not
too much older than Jasimine. We might have been able to do this,
and Jack would have been very proud of his students. Leila had fallen
to a trap such as this. I looked at the children again, and the thought
sickened me. This was no kind of salvation. This was only more
blood and more death.
I had enjoyed the
act of creation, being some sort of god. But I was greatly displeased
with my creations. They were much like me. Too much like me.
I stepped forward
and sliced Jasimine's throat with a single, graceful arc of my dagger.
Michael looked on in horror, but only for a moment before I slit his, too.
They fell to the ground with soft thud, the sound of which I remember like
the sweet sound of Jasimine sharpening her sword. Their blood poured
onto the street like a million tears running at once, and mingled with
that of the fallen assassins.
I had not been nearer
tears in fifty years.
I left the bodies
there, useless and empty shells that they were - a failure and a lesson.
The universe, it seems, likes to bath my hands with blood every time it
must teach me something. I had been reprimanded for doing something
that was not my place to do. And I had been taught that humanity
had far from died within me. Indeed, with the death of those children
mercy was born within me, mercy and justice which humans have assigned
to the universe to aid themselves in its blustery, violent storms.
You cannot debate
any of this with me. I know it is true, and it will take oceans of
blood to teach me otherwise.
I made my way directly
to the Dancing Maid. It was late, but she had not left yet.
I entered the tavern just as she was standing to leave.
"I wish you to see
something," I said, and beckoned her outside. She came with me onto
the street, and I pointed to the flames arising from the Noble Quarter
on the hill like some angry angel. "Do you see that? I did
that."
She was silent.
The truth sat heavily upon her old mind.
The silence remained
for a while. "I have learned something tonight," I said, and moved
her to face me. "I have learned what happened to your daughter."
Her eyes lit with
hope and joy.
"Do not be happy,
human," I said, using the appellation for the first time. "I have
learned what happened to your daughter more than two-score years ago."
I removed my cowl to show her the demonic hideousness of my visage.
"I happened to your daughter."
Her terrible howl
was raised to the sky and rung throughout the city like the tolling of
a funeral. It is imbedded in my memory along with the soft thud of
my children's bodies upon the street and Leila's immortal scream as she
was devoured by Kraz's angry flames.
It is the sound of
Pain.