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The Assassin

by Carl of the Crossbow

The city of Kai'Tal was in darkness, for the sun had set and the moon had not yet risen: the only light came from windows along the street. Many of these windows were cracked or broken, and many were boarded up; and the buildings, like tired senior citizens, were leaning against each other for support. Weeds grew in the streets and rats ate garbage in the gutters. There were lampposts in the sidewalks, for the city had once been great and beautiful, but none had been lit in over a hundred years, and they were broken and rusted. Few people walked the streets at night, for there were thieves everywhere.

One man who did, was a young man; not more than twenty five, anyway. He had dark hair, light complexion, and was as lithe as a cat. His dark gray tunic and breeches were virtually impossible to see in the dark, and his leather shoes made no noise as he ducked in and out of shadows and doorways, moving down the street without being seen. He had a small but powerful crossbow in his hand and a pouch at his belt for the darts, and despite his sneaking, he moved with a calm ease.

Soon he turned into an especially dark alley and stopped in his tracks as he felt a cold knifeblade against his throat. A husky voice near his right ear said, "Give me your money and you won't get hurt." "I'm an assassin. Go away," he answered calmly. "You're lying," said the voice. "I've heard that before." "You don't believe me? Open my pouch."

He felt a hand unbutton and open his pouch, and heart a startled gasp as the thief saw its contents: 25 crossbow darts, their heads coated with a deadly, phosphorescent poison. The knife ceased to press against his throat and he heard footsteps receding into the darkness. Only three people in the city knew how to make that poison and it was never bought, sold, given, or received. But, the thief didn't take it because there was an agreement between the Thieves' Guild and the Assassins' Guild that no assassins would be robbed and no thieves would be assassinated. If he had taken it and been found out, he would have been killed for breach of trust. No one likes untrustworthy crooks, especially other crooks.

The assassin continued into the alley, feeling along one wall with his hands as if searching for something. He found it a straight vertical crack in a brick. He looked up and down the alley to see that no one was looking before pressing gently on the brick. It sank into the wall, opening the secret door to the Assassins' Guild. Light fairly exploded from the door, and he ducked quickly inside, shutting it behind him.

There was actually no need for all this secrecy. It was a tradition left over from the days when the Imperial Government was just and good and took care of its people 100 years ago. Anyone who wanted to hire the Guild needed only to knock on the door and drop off a letter explaining who was to be killed and how (if it mattered), along with the payment, and the job would get done. If one wanted a certain assassin to do it, a request could be made, if the name were known.

The room he entered was large but well lit, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the light enough to see that 25 men were already seated around a large round table that took up most of the room. The president of the Guild rose and greeted the newcomer.

"Ah, there you are, my late coming friend!" He was a robust, jovial man, but behind those twinkling blue eyes was a mind like a steel trap. "We were just about to hold the elections."

"Yes, but are there any jobs for me," asked the newcomer.

"Well, yes," said the president, coming over to the man. "Two, in fact. But they can wait until after the election." And in a lowered voice he said, "I need your support in the election or I may not win. Jekah the Poisoner is over there talking to people and getting votes, and he will probably get enough."

"Don't worry," the other laughed. "You've worried like this before all the other elections, and you've won. You don't need me. Now, just give me the jobs."

Reluctantly, the president took two rolled up letters out of a filing cabinet and handed them to him. Inside one of the rolls was a small leather pouch that contained payment for the job, but the other was empty.

"The Minister of Public Works has another job for me," he said opening the letter that contained no money. "He never pays in advance like he should." He read the letter quickly and said, "I have to go."

"But the elections won’t take long "

"I'm late already." He left, stuffing the other letter and the money into his pocket.

Back in the alley he waited a few minutes for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. Then, he set off at a brisk pace, again skulking in the shadows with the ease and speed that comes only from years of practice .....

The Kai'Tal Grand Central Hotel was a brown, square, ugly building that would fit nicely into a ghetto of 20th century New York. Five stories tall, peeling brown paint the color of dog mess, exactly twenty-five identical windows on each floor (except for the first floor, which had only twenty-three because of the large front doors), it was a tribute to the lack of imagination of Governement architects. Even the front doors were unadorned except for their big brass handles.

The Hotel was used as a brothel and meeting place for high Government officials and social bigwigs. Its patrons often had bodyguards, expensive clothes, jewelry, and sometimes even a horse and carriage. Due to an agreement made in the Hotel between the Head of the Public Police and the president of the Thieves' Guild, there were never any thieves around the Hotel or in the jails. The Imperial Constitution said that the citizens could petition to have the place shut down or placed under new management because it wasn't serving the public interests, but anyone who did so would soon disappear -- the Imperial Governement was good at making and disposing of dead bodies. It was a place of intrigue and scandal, where clever persons could rise far and fast, or fall even farther even faster.

One man who had done the former and was about to do the latter stepped out the door with his four bodyguards into the street. He was about thirty, good looking, and just starting to get fat. Five years earlier, through the aid of an influential friend (who was not dead), he had gotten a job as a bellboy at the Hotel. Through blackmail, bribery, extortion, and assassinations, he had worked his way up through the ranks to Hotel Manager and past, up into Government circles; now he was the Assistant Minister of Public Works.

As the group walked up the street, with the Assistant Minister in the middle, none of them noticed a figure hiding in the shadows in an alley on the other side; his dark gray clothes were invisible except on close examination. Until now his hand had been covering a crossbow dart, lest its glow give away his position, but now he moved it and the released light revealed that his weapon was cocked, loaded and aimed -- at the Assistant Minister of Public Works. The dart flashed out across the street and struck him in the earhole; it disappeared entirely into his head, and he was dead before he began his fall to the street. His bodyguards didn't see the dart and so didn't know what was wrong with him. They speculated such causes as heart attack, stroke, and venereal disease as they carried his inert body back to the Hotel for treatment.

The assassin, meanwhile, retreated quickly but quietly into the alley, came out on the other side of the block, and made his way down the street. Seeing that he was not being pursued, he stopped in front of one of the few lighted windows on the street and read the second letter. When he was done he laughed softly to himself.

"Those 'public officials' are the biggest bunch of cutthroats ... well, I have a job to do, and I'll do it."

He put the letter back into his pocket and cocked his crossbow before he continued down the street.

A large expensive house on the street had two lamps burning in front and a man sitting on the front porch. The assassin stopped before the house and addressed the man.

"It is done."

The Minister of Public Works said, "Good. Here is your money."

He tossed a small, heavy leather bag to the assassin, who caught it in his left hand, since his right hand held a readied crossbow.

"His bodyguards didn't help him, did they? They never do, or I would have some. I'm sure he was planning to have me killed to get my job."

"He was," said the assassin as he raised his weapon .......

 



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