Davyd - Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Our boots echoing through the dungeon levels as Kendall marches me up rounded the stone steps from the dungeon. When we enter the main levels of the constables' keep, it's like stepping into another world. The real world. Busy people move too and fro, constables, prisoners and various visitors bustling about the hallways and offices. I fight the urge to look through the barred windows and see if the world is still how I left it. Instead I maintain my professionalism and look straight ahead.

As we walk down the corridor I ask Kendall why I'm not manacled. The other prisoners I've seen are.

"I trust you."

Why?

"Coppers get a sense for people."

The translation must be he doesn't consider me a threat. A reasonable assumption to make in light of the failure which lead me to be here.

A constable walks past, looks at me and grins and winks at Kendall. Kendall just gives him a glare and the constable keeps walking, still grinning.

"Ignore them," he says, "I have a certain unwarranted reputation. You're perfectly safe."

The translation on that must be that he doesn't injure his girls. This is good. I can take a lot, but it's always better not spending a couple of days lying in bed after an assignment. It's a waste of training time.

In a moment of ill-discipline I find myself looking at him out of the corner of my eye as he walks alongside. The square-jaw, the broad chest, the tightness of his sleeve over his bicep. This is a serious improvement over my previous assignment. Must not mess this up.

I am lead to a spacious office. Kendall even holds the door open for me. He tells me the office belongs to Senior Chief Constable Markus. After being confined for weeks, this room feels like standing in the middle of a desert. A vast open space. Some people's houses aren't this big.

Gilt-edged paintings line the rosewood walls. A vast bookcase is packed with thick legal volumes. Near a massive oak desk, a parakeet in a cage chirps at us. The open fire and bowls of potpourri give the room a heavy, sweet warmth. The sight that fixes my eye gaze is the collection of odd socks heaped in the corner. Must be evidence relating to some important crime.

Kendall, standing at my back, explains that Markus has allowed the use of his office. "He's always away with his mistress around this time anyway."

Kendall insists I get cleaned up first. In the en-suite bathroom 'cause apparently I'm a bit smelly. This leaves me unclear whether he wants me in the bath, or wants me once I'm finished. Oh, OK, he's staying in the office. He must like his girls clean and groomed. That's common enough.

The bathroom is small, designed for one person. It has a full-length tub though. Hazy steam rises from it and hangs in the air. My image is distorted in the condensation-coated mirror. I go to the vertical slit window and press my face to it, sucking in a lungful of cold, sharp air. Outside, the sky is blue.

When I sink into the tub, muscles un-knot on contact with the hot water. Gods, it's been a long time since I had anything like this. A bath! With hot water!

Self-control.

Fighting the immediate urge to close my eyes and drift into sleep, I force my limbs to move. While soaping myself down I wonder what he'll want me to be for him. What would a guy like that want? Something classy, or something a bit rougher?

I have to finish the bath sadly too soon. This is for cleansing, not relaxation. My assignment is waiting for me.

I stand and let the water drain off me. No towelling though. Guys love the wet look. Stepping out of the bath, slopping water on the floor, I find a mirror and towel the steam of it.

I stare back at myself. Some minor bruising, can't do anything about that. Turn left, turn right. Omigods! Is that fat! I pinch my hip and examine how much skin sits between thumb and forefinger.

I need to exercise. Run on the spot in my cell or something. At this rate I'll have to turn sideways to fit through a door.

Too late to fix that. Have to go with what I've got. I'm starting to dry off so I position myself at the door and take a deep breath. Suppress the rush of nervous excitement. Be professional.

Game face.

Actually, no. Assignment face.

Kendall turns at the sound of the door and his mouth opens. I walk up to him confident and assured.

I'm ready.

"You're ... you're going to the meeting nude?"

Blink. No, I'm ready for you.

"Me?"

Nod. How does he want me?

"Ummm, with clothes on."

Damnit, tactical error. Some assignments like to strip you themselves. Or watch you strip. Too late, have to push on. I press my breasts against his chest and kiss his chin. He pulls his head away from me.

Curiously shy, this one.

I take his hands and place them on my ass and push, grinding my hips against him. As soon as I take my hands off his he grabs my forearms.

"Katrin, what are you doing?"

Whatever he wants me to.

I stand on tiptoes so I can whisper into his ear. I want you to frell me, Master Constable. I want to feel your cock pushing between my thighs.

Kendall swallows. "Katrin, I'm married."

So?

"So I love my wife. This would be cheating on her."

An assignment is a private matter. I will not tell. If she doesn't know, then there will be no problem.

"An assignment?"

Yes, what you're about to do to me.

I working myself over his groin and I can feel something forming down there. A tingle runs up me. Muscles tighten.

"No, Katrin." He pushes me away from him. "It's not going to happen."

Shock. This can't be going wrong so quickly. Damn I should have put clothes on first. Then he wouldn't have been so disappointed with my body. I blurt, It's because I've got fat isn't it?

He runs his eyes up and down me, and says, "What are you talking about?"

This is going all wrong. Why can't I have a nice guy assignment for once? I'm not spending my time in this place being frelled by low ranking, ugly guys. This is what happens when you sit around in a cell. You get fat and lose the ability to get good assignments. Frelled if I'm loosing this one.

I step back in and when grabs my arms I break his hold.

My hands are on his belt. There's a bit of a struggle. I slam him into a wall. The buckle comes loose and he pulls my hands away. I twist out of his grip and dig into his pants.

"No, Katrin, don't."

This guy doesn't know what he wants.

He pulls my hand out which just means it's easier to haul his cock out of his pants. My hand is on him, stroking. He grows in my hand to full length while we look each other in the eye.

"Katrin, my wife."

Sure, I can be your wife, if that's what you like.

"No, I mean, what about my wife?"

She will never know.

He tries to push me off him again and I'm losing patience. I will be the best assignment he's ever had, he just doesn't know it yet.

I trip him, assisted by his trousers round his ankles, and fall on top as he crashes to the ground. My hand on his jaw, pushing his head onto the floor, both his hands around my arm trying to get it off his face. This leaves me with a free hand. It's all tactics.

Don't tell me you don't want this.

I find his cock and position it. He's losing some hardness, but there's still enough. Time is of the essence. I move over him and ease my hips down.

I'm barely ready and it's so tight. He goes quiet as I force him into me. Inch by inch he fills me, my nails digging into his chest, until I'm sitting pressed against his hips. He makes a soft moan.

Victory.

A pause to adjust to him stretching me inside before I start to work up and down along him I feel him grow, filling the void inside me. I frell him with my hands pressed against his chest, rolling my hips, inner muscles squeezed tight around his thickness.

The heat in me builds, my cries the only sound in the room. I push down and up on his hardness, milk his cock. His hands start to roam over my body. I arch under as his calloused touch scrapes along my skin. He pulls me forward, one powerful arm crushing my breasts against his chest with a delicious pressure, his hand roaming down my back to my ass. And for a second I can't frell him, he's holding me so tight.

Then his hips move, pushing up. I gasp into his ear. His hand splays across my buttcheeks, and a finger finding its way to my anus, pressing lightly on the sensitive muscles there. He moves easily in my growing wetness and I moan into his ear. His lips are on my neck, nibbling and teasing.

I was right, he did want me.

He pumps into me in smooth, easy motions, and my head is up, a squeak escaping me with every deep thrust. I can hear the sound of his cock sliding into my wet depths and the awareness of it builds the tension inside me. My fingernails dig into the solid muscle of biceps.

He changes his rhythm and angle subtly and now I can't make a noise, my throat so tight.

Gods, this man knows what to do with a cock. He's found that spot within me and he's working it. Relentlessly. Damnit, this is what Mathok does to me. Everytime.

His finger leaves my ass for a moment, the returns lubricated with my own juices. It presses, swirling around, then pops inside me.

Like an insect in a collection, pinned and frozen rigid, I'm paralysed by the twin penetration of my body. And when he kisses me, his tongue penetrating my mouth, I try to force down the growing tension between my legs, drive it away. An assignment is not supposed to be about my pleasure. He hasn't said whether I'm allowed to cum.

Three weeks of being frelled in the cells, with my only release coming from my own fingers, it's just too much. I start to make this high-pitched whine and the tightness builds up so much it hurts. When the heel of his hand presses down on the base of my spine, pushing my clit harder onto his pubic bone, I think, Bastard.

Then I can't think anything at all. Ecstasy explodes from my groin to my brain, to the tips of my fingers and toes. Every muscle locked tight. The pulsing contractions bouncing between the cock in my pussy and the finger in my asshole. My scream is this strangled, animal thing. Ripped from my rigid, straining throat.

When the orgasm starts to fade my head flops onto his shoulder, pressing my face into the darkness of his skin.

He doesn't stop and it feels so good as I wait for him to cum. When he bites lightly into my shoulder, pulling and teasing flesh between my teeth it rips through me again. My scream into his chest is partly from pleasure, partly from surprise.

Kendall grunts and hammers his hips into me, straining hard against my body. He snatches back and slams into me again with a wet smack. I feel him cumming inside of me. His powerful arms crushing me so hard I can't breathe, his cock pushed so deep, the sensation of his seed being pumped into my womb, it all combines to keep my climax rolling on and on.

Kendall slows and stops, still holding me tight against him. Our chests move together with our animalistic panting. I can't move, can't really think, but I managed to gasp out an apology for my lack of professionalism. I shouldn't have let loose like that.

He kisses my shoulder and tells me how good I was. He wanted me to cum.

Some guys do. Makes them fell like they done a proper job on you. Some guys couldn't care less. I mostly have had the latter. He could've told me beforehand though. Then I could have put on a better show. Then you can do the speaking to the gods and telling him how good it feels thing.

When I finally manage to summon the strength to sit up on him, the movement inside me sends tingles from my groin to my extremities. A hollow space inside you filled with soft pleasure. The past three weeks blown right out of my system.

He says, "Gods." This is pretty much what I'm thinking.

He says very nice things about me. I suppress the flush of pleasure his compliments give me and maintain my professionalism. I just say, Thank you. And compliment him on the quality of his manhood. Then there's a long period of silence, while I lie atop him, his arms around me.

I'm rolling my hips over him slowly. Some stirrings of his renewed enthusiasm become evident down there.

His fingers glide over my slick thighs and he says, "You're not what I expected."

This must mean I didn't satisfy him. Damnit. My body glows with a soft warmth and I just want to collapse on him, feel his skin against mine. But that's not acceptable. I must complete this assignment. Must try harder.

He's growing in me, and I start to work him a touch harder. Does he want to cum in another place. My mouth? Throat? Ass?

"No thank you, Katrin."

Does he want to cum on me?

The slight movement of his hips tells me I hit a nerve. I whisper in his ear how much that thought excites me. Which is not a lie. I describe my naked body stretched out before him, shuddering and writhing under each touch of his seed.

I want him to tie me down, frell me as hard as he can, then cover me in his seed.

"Gods, Katrin."

I bring his hands up to cup my breasts. Did I do something wrong?

"Absolutely nothing. It's just... what did they do to you in that Guild?"

Trained me. Why?

"Trained you in what? I mean, you frell like... Like a pro."

Thank you.

He's big in me now. The man recovers fast. I lean forward on him and start working myself along his length, building up speed, brushing my breasts against his chest.

"Katrin. Katrin, you feel so good. But we're going to be late for the meeting."

I stop and sit up. The meeting is real?

"Of course it is."

Oh. I thought he got me up here just to frell me.

"What? No, Katrin, there is a real meeting."

Who?

"I don't know. Some high-powered people though.

The two words I say are, That's interesting. I two words I think are, Oh and Shit.

---

I really just wanted to sit there on Kendall's cock for the rest of the day. But he talked me off of it. He was right, missing a meeting in favour of frelling would be unprofessional.

When we step out of the office a circle of constables all look away at the same time. Kendall leads me away, holding my elbow. The constables whisper amongst themselves and glance in our direction. Kendall curses. He mutters something under his breath. Something about the tatters his reputation is in.

I tell him not worry. Next time I will scream louder so they know how good you are.

He just looks straight ahead and says that he thinks I was loud enough.

He stops outside a door, I stop and breathe. This is probably the civil judiciary come to begin my trial. Come to gauge the character of the accused. Must make a good impression here. This will make the difference between an execution, and a long time in this prison with the option of being frelled by Kendall.

Please let it be Kendall.

"You ready?"

Yes. Then I tell Kendall he gave me a great orgasm. Orgasms in fact.

Kendall looks up and down the hallway, and says, "Uhhh, thanks."

No, I mean really mindblowing. It was kind of you. I don't get that very often.

"Shouldn't you be focusing on the meeting?"

True. I face the door.

Breathe.

Discipline.

Game face.

There are five people inside. Two are very senior ranking constables. Three are in Imperial livery, two men and a woman. A set of their robes, inlaid with gold lace and mother of pearl, would cost me a month's stipend. Even from here I can smell the sweetness of their incense. I want to step close and hug them, infect their clean, shiny perfection with my stinky clothing. At least I smell like a real human.

Discipline.

Noble, privileged people and connected people in the same room as me. Come to see me.

An alarm bell is tolling.

Game face.

The woman is sitting behind a broad, varnished desk with two gold ink pots and a stack of parchment in front of her. Her hair is tied back is a bun, streaked with grey. She looks at me over the top of a pair of tiny gold glasses.

The woman speaks.

"Good day to you." She waits.

A tinge of red rises under the collar of one of the Imperial officers behind her. The one with the most gold braid and gold bars. His eyes are grey and lines grow along his forehead as we stare at each other. Him and the other Imperial flank the lady. Like she outranks them or something. The two constables are off to the left. They look at the Imperials more than they look at me. Kendall is behind me, at the door.

"Now, to business. Clearly, you are guilty of your crime, of murdering Captain..." She has to stop and look at her notes. "Captain Copolla. And the tragic loss of this fine officer at the hands of a bunch of brigands is a great blow to the Empire."

Has she not read the constable's report? They attacked me.

She looks me up and down. Her upper lip curls momentarily, exposing just the hint of perfect white incisor. She says, "I very much doubt a disciplined and well-trained soldier in his Excellency's employ would stoop to such levels. Certainly he would have no interest in a low-born girl. He was doubtless encouraged. Probably by a display of the sort girls of your type commonly get up to."

Game face.

My 'type'?

Breathe in.

Professional.

Breathe out.

"Normally, an execution is entirely warranted is such a case. But that is not the end of the matter. You have certain skills that would be of benefit to his Highness."

When she says "certain skills" I swallow despite myself.

The gates of doom are opening, but you struggle on. Deny everything.

In my politest possible tone: I don't know what you mean.

"This is no time for frivolity, my dear," says Lady Deathsentence, like she's my kindly aunt all of a sudden. "It is up to you of course, but upon your refusal you will be returned to the cells and justice will take its natural course. And that would be a waste of one very talented assassin.

Game face.

Breathe.

Red Neck is staring at me with his mouth open. "Assassin? Imperial?"

"Yes, I'm afraid the Captain bit off rather more than he could chew. Procedure would have required the operative to issue a warning to the threat. Your nephew must have been very stupid to carry with the attempted rape of one of the Emperor's most dangerous servants."

Redneck goes apoplectic. "Madam, how dare you?!"

Lady Deathsentence ignores him now, like he never spoke. "Assuming your superiors are telling the truth about your capabilities, Dvor."

They know. They've found me. I am a walking corpse. Keep on trying though, keeping struggling in the spider's web.

Self-control.

You must have mistaken me for someone else.

"However, your execution, despite being merited, would serve the Empire but little," she says. The woman's accent reminds me of Prod.

She 'ahems'. "There is," she says, "the possibility that we could come to an arrangement. It is proposed that you work off your debt to the Emperor. Whether you choose to accept this position, Dvor, in an attempt to better yourselves is up to you."

Officer Redneck starts at the word 'arrangement', "Madam, the murdering whore must die. She must be tried in a court of military justice."

Lady Deathsentence raises her hand and his tirade is cut off. "She lives because the Emperor wishes that she live. Do you disagree with the will of your Emperor?"

"No, My Lady."

She turns over a couple pieces of the parchment in front of her. "You are one of a very few women ever admitted to the Circle of the Black Rose. How many other women have there been?"

Breathe out. Prepare to admit defeat.

Maybe ten in the history of the Guild. I am thinking that four are active now. Which means the rest are dead.

"Congratulations. That's an exclusive club."

Time for one last feeble effort... But I'm not on the register. I've been stood down.

She smiles. "Actually, it appears you stood yourself down." She makes a tut-tut noise. "Very naughty. The Guild has been looking for you for the last few months. They've been worried about you. Apparently you just disappeared. They thought that you might have been kidnapped by unknown elements. So naturally the senior members of the Guild were most delighted to hear that you were safe and well. And you made some new friends. How wonderful.

"The Guild is," she says, still smiling the way a tiger might as it closes upon a wounded deer, "most interested in discussing the matter with you."

A discussion that will involve a lot of screaming on my part. A discussion that will go on for days. Weeks.

"However, if you choose, that meeting can be delayed, as they've kindly seen fit to reactivate you for this operation."

She spins a piece of parchment around and slides it toward me. She says, "You can read, can't you?"

I can read just fine. I can see the mark of the Guildmaster and next to that, the mark of my Guildsergeant, authorising my reactivation.

She is still speaking, but I'm not really listening.

"Your Guildsergeant speaks quite highly of you."

You never leave the Guild. They never let you go. The best case scenario for older hitters is a kind of semi-retirement. Those that are dumb enough to think they can just get up and leave get permanently retired.

"Apparently you've always had a problem with being a little bit temperamental."

This is just a frelling strange way to go about this. The Guild should have contacted me directly. There should be a collection team here to take me back. I've never even met a client before.

"...willing to give you a second chance."

The alarm bell is tolling away inside my head. Faster now. Bong-bong-bong-bong.

"Are you as good as they say you are, little girl?"

Ask Lorenzo's corpse how good I am.

I guess that was what they meant by my 'little bit temperamental problem'. So much for three weeks of practising self-discipline.

The redneck Imperial is moving. "I will teach you respect for Captain Copolla's memory, you stinking slut."

The lady, she doesn't move. Not a muscle.

The Imperial almost runs at me, a blade held out in front of him, aimed at my chest. Like an amateur. Hold the weapon back, close to your hip, so your opponent can't do this: take his forearm, deflecting the blade past you and step in, drive your shoulder into his upper arm, feel the arm joint and shoulder separate, the rotator cuff rip.

Anterior dislocation of humerus and scapula.

He starts to scream as I twist back, my right hand coming up, cocked, heel of the hand presented.

He may have been trying to scream, "Bitch". They often do.

Punch the hand forward, twisting to put the shoulder into the blow. Imagine every ounce of your power is focused on that little spot at the base of your hand. Every ounce of physical strength, every ounce of pain, hate and the memory of Lorenzo Copolla's drunken breath on your face. Breathe out with the extension.

Relaxed power.

A grunt and the shockwave of the impact travels down your arm. Hard bone under soft tissue. The Philtrum and Intermaxillary Suture crunch, splinter. His head snaps back. The scream cut off. He falls.

When a conscious creature falls it will always try to cushion the blow. Protect itself. Twisting, flailing, putting less vital bits in the way of the danger. But an unconscious or dead thing falls heavily, like a boneless sack of meat.

I feel the Imperial hit the floor through my feet, even with the stone floor. Limbs flop at irregular angles.

Concussive impacts to the nasal structure are unlikely to terminate a target. Fragments of bone flying into the brain is a myth. The cerebral structure is shielded by intervening bone mass. More is required.

My boot smashes into the base of the skull, delivered from a high arc, once, twice. The Dens cracks, severing the spinal column from the skull.

General Copolla doesn't move.

His eyes stare and see nothing.

Air flows out of his lungs.

"Stand down, Assassin."

I come out of my guard stance automatically. Years of conditioning taking control for the second time in a few moments.

"Nice work. Efficient."

I look into the lady's eyes, and I see nothing. No reaction. No concern. No fear.

Even though I know I am wearing that exact same expression I still take a step away.

"Now if you've finished introducing yourself to the general, let us return to business," she says in her kindly aunt voice. The kindly aunt from Hell.

She's a hitter. An ex-hitter.

"Yes, child. There's been more than ten. And we don't all end up dead. Some of us move on to bigger and brighter things. Like the Emperor's personal service." She looks down and purses her lips. "Now that we can add the murder of General Copolla to your list of offences, I'm afraid not even a sympathetic judge could give you the cells. Only the axe is left."

General Copolla? You put me in the same room as his Father?

"Uncle," she says. "His father, the other General Copolla, is in another province. There was some delay in getting word to him, of his son's death. You should have a few more days to leave town before his regiment arrives. And the constabulary will, I fear, be quite unable to protect you from that sort of force."

She put me in the same room as his uncle, knowing full well what would happen.

A frelling set-up. She played me.

Around me, the constables and the remaining Imperial are frozen, eyes wide.

Lady Deathsentence leans forward to peer over the desk and shakes her head. "Did you miss the words 'Imperial Assassin' too, General? As stupid as his nephew."

Kendall comes alive. "Katrin?"

"Oh, she's fine," the lady says. "Katrin Dvor does this for a living. This is what she is." She turns her kindly aunt gaze to me. We look at each other.

There's a great big piece of meat lying within inches of my boots. What do you want me to do?

She says, "Let us talk in private."

---

A few hours later, and there's a different meeting. Arns, Mathok and Altus are here. Along with Lady Deathsentence and some fat, red-faced imperial. We're in the Keep, in a room on the upper floors. Rich leather seats line the vast oak table you can see your own face reflected in. My feet sink an inch into the carpet. Kendall must have been very comfortable, sandwiched between this carpet and me.

When they come in and see me, Altus cries out, "Hey, Hot Stuff" and grins like an idiot. Mathok takes me in his arms before I can stop him. The hug is brief, and I push him off because the Lady is watching. He asks if I am OK, his hand on my elbow. I reassure them that I'm fine.

Arns, impassive as always, inclines his head and says my name. He explains that Zoë's with Prod, at Kendall's house. When he says Prod's name, his voice I drops so low it's like he's whispering in my ear.

Lady Deathsentence sits and watches, her eyes flicking over us.

I work hard on my game face, trying to stay professional.

"They have a job for us," Mathok says.

I am innocence. So I've heard.

"Work from your precious Emperor. You must be thrilled."

Ecstatic.

Lady Deathsentence smiles. A smile of victory. She says, "You should be happy. It is a great honour to serve the Emperor."

Altus nods and agrees, still smiling.

There's not a hair out of position on her head, and she says, "Lord Chesterton will explain the nature of your duties. He is the Emperor's leading expert on the subject of demonology, thaumaturgy and arcane artefacts."

Everything is blurry momentarily. Does she have to use that word? Demon.

Discipline.

Game face.

Lord Chesterton is talking, saying what I already know, explaining the history of the crypt we are supposed to rob. Though he doesn't use the word rob. Rich people never say rob. Or steal. They use words like retrieve, confiscate, acquire, and so on. He's telling the guys that the difficulty will not be getting to the tomb, but getting inside it. Once that is done there will be no problem, as the patron demon of this particular site is no longer in this world. Or able to get across.

Liar.

I had this conversation with Lady Deathsentence an hour ago. This conversation and a whole lot more.

Lord Chesterton bobs his head enthusiastically as he talks. A passionate man. A man that loves his subject matter, loves his research. It probably never even occurs to him that he's sending a group of people on a mission that'll probably get some or all of them killed.

I hope the guys never stop to think: why do they need an assassin on a tomb raiding mission? It doesn't make sense unless there's actually going to be something there to hit.

The urge is to tap my heel, or a finger or something, is overwhelming. The lady is watching me.

Discipline. Breathe.

Lord Chesterton tells us that the tomb entrance is located halfway up this mountain here. He indicated on his parchment map, unrolled before us. The mark his podgy finger depresses on the map lies just within the territory of the empire.

"The outlands," says Altus. "You won't meet many shiny Imperial Lancers out there."

"Which is good for you, from what I hear. When the rest of the regiment arrives, you'd better be out of town," says Chesterton. He winks, like it's all a big joke.

Chesterton indicates the best route for the march there. It looks fairly easy. He says the border of Nortall would be a good place to rest, and re-provision before making our assault on the mountain. He indicates a spot a little bit further inside the border.

It's still very close to the edge of the Empire map.

"That far out, Imperial control is a nominal thing," Altus says, one hand on his chin. "There's no telling what the state of that town is, or if it even considers itself part of the empire. We might not be all that welcome to 'rest and re-provision'".

"I'm sure it will be fine. They are still the subjects of the Emperor."

Arns hrrumphs and says, "When was last time you out that far?"

Chesterton coughs, his eyes go up and down Arns' six foot five, muscled and scarred frame. He coughs again and returns his attention to the map. Arns must win a lot of arguments without saying a word.

Altus spends a lot of time agreeing with Chesterton and discussing other options, variations on the plan. Their collective enthusiasm leads them off on many tangents, sharing odd facts. Chesterton finds Altus's ranger knowledge fascinating. The lady claps her hands twice and brings the pair back on topic.

The tomb entrance will be protected by magics. Chesterton says that he is not completely sure what that will be, but has a fair idea. He will brief our magical specialist on the subject and let him figure it out.

Perhaps we should bring a real arcanist rather some little pretty boy?

Chesterton looks up, round eyed. Is our magician competent, he asks? "He is a licensed runesmith, isn't he?"

Silence.

It is Lady Deathsentence who speaks. "Of course he is licensed. The Empire would hardly permit an illegal to run free through the lands after all."

Chesterton glances around the room, clears his throat, and stares down at the map.

Altus says that Prod will be very useful on this mission.

I'm thinking, If only. Let's see Prod hit a real, live demon.

Arns' expresses the opinion that I could stay here if I want.

"No," says Lady Deathsentence. "Dvor will go. That's part of the deal."

"Yeah, what about that, Dvor?" says Altus, putting emphasis on both syllables of my name. "You said your last name was Smith."

---

Lady Deathsentence and the Emperor's talking head have left, the guys seem happy, and I'm alone, crouched before one of the keep's latrines.

The sickly sweet smell of vomit fills the air, overpowering the nose-curling stench of urine and excrement. I'm waiting for it to clear before I leave. Don't want anyone coming in here and knowing that I lost control.

Throwing up leaves your throat burning, your ribs aching, the muscles in your arms and legs shaking and weak.

Catharsis. A purification ritual.

Running away from the Guild for no reason. Being almost raped by a pack of drunken soldiers. Then three weeks of sitting on death row, my life over, waiting for the end to be announced. Three weeks of being frelled by those idiots. Discovered by the Guild. Being given a choice between being tortured and executed, or accepting a job that screams wrong in my mind.

All of it slithers away through the piping under the floor. Stress. Humiliation. My own stupidity. The threat of an agonising death at the hands of my own. All of it expunged in an orgy of spasming stomach muscles, opened throat, gullet wobbling and hands locked with a white-knuckled grip on a dirty stone floor.

The second wave of gut heaving, and throat choking came when the word 'demon' floated into my mind. Kneeling here making little 'ack' noises as I considered how the frell I am supposed to get close enough to a thing like that so I can hit it with a sacred dagger.

The flat of my hand smacks in the cold stone floor over and over.

You. Smack. Stupid. Smack. Bitch. Smack.

When Lady Deathsentence and talked before the meeting, she told me that the creature can hit like any other mark, it is just a matter of hitting it with the correct weapon. That thing Chesterton told the guys about the demon being long gone. Not true. It's there, waiting for me.

All alone in the room, Lady Deathsentence had invited me to sit so we could talk. I prefer to stand. She said sit.

I sat.

I'm not cleared for supernatural hits. Surely she wants the spooks?

"They're," she paused to consider, "unavailable. And they're also watched at all times. You, my child, will be a surprise."

She told me that there is a great evil threatening the Empire. Threatening order. This evil, should it be allowed to run wild, will spread terror and chaos throughout the land, and throw the world of peace and safety that the Emperor has striven so hard to create back into darkness. The creature's base is well defended against an assault by regular troops. It has gathered an army around it. But someone could infiltrate its lair, get close to it, and so cut the head off the evil army it has created.

Time is of the essence, she said. Even now the beast is training troops, preparing for an assault. Many thousands of lives are at stake.

"His spies are everywhere. We need someone with both the proper training and who is outside official channels. No word of the plan must reach our enemy or failure is certain.

"For this reason, only a few will know of the mission. Not even the Emperor's generals. Sadly, this means that officially you will be an escapee from justice. Until such time as the mission is complete."

Meaning the General Copolla and his troops will be looking for me?

She says that, "It is best this way."

"If the enemy find out your true mission," she said, with that kindly aunt smile, the smile that makes me shift discretely from buttock to buttock, "things will become more difficult."

She leant close and patted my hand. She told me, if things get bad, it is in my best interests not to let the creature take me alive. "If all is lost," she said, "hit yourself."

Of course.

"Be aware, child, the beast will look human, act human. It will be charming. It will lie to you, may try to seduce you. But remember: it is evil."

How has this situation been allowed to get this serious? Where did this thing come from? Has someone summoned it? Woken it?

"Such questions are not your concern, Assassin. Serving the Empire is your concern. Remember your duty. Remember who you are."

Yes, Ma'am.

After she passed me the sacred dagger, a curved thing with awful balance, Lady Deathsentence placed a box on the desk. Dark wood, inscribed with symbols almost worn away by time. She opened it and inside is a pendant, a large black jewel surround by a pattern in intricate gold leaf.

This, she told me, will protect you from the creature, in the event it manifests. Wear it at all times. Keep it close. It may save you.

May save me.

"You have a secondary mission. A simple hit. This should not pose you any difficulties."

Lady Deathsentence pushed a piece a parchment across the table to me. It was a contract. Signed and confirmed.

"You are to hit one Prodericus Jesper Sontonius."

Who?

She said, "I believe you know him simply as Prod."

Game face.

"Do you accept the assignment, Assassin Dvor?"

The official request for acceptance all but a formality. No hitter turns down a job assigned to them. Especially not when they're in my situation. I replied with the standard response.

I am a tool of the Emperor's will. I accept with honour.

"Excellent, child. The Sontonius job is very much secondary to your primary objective. Either an accident on the way there that won't cast suspicion on yourself, or hitting him on the way back would be appropriate.

"But I don't need to tell an assassin of the Black Rose how to go about her work. I, the Guild, and the Emperor have complete faith that you will eliminate this individual before he becomes a danger to the people. The younger Sontonious is an enemy of the state. Like his father was."

This complicates things, but shouldn't be a big problem. Prod won't put up much of a fight. Getting past Arns will be the problem.

Breathe.

I can do it.

Relax.

Lady Deathsentence smiled. "Enough shop talk. I understand your parents are well. And," she consulted the papers in front of her more closely, "your sister has just had her fourth child." Lady Deathsentence looked up at me, still smiling.

"Congratulations."

Your blood may freeze but it's all about maintaining the game face. They know. They know your secret. Un-knot your intestines and just breathe.

Game face.

"This mission is very important. Should you fail, there's no telling what our enemy may do to the people of this land. Your family included."

Discipline.

It is an honour to serve the Emperor.

She said, "Yes, yes it is."

The knowledge that they're threatening your family because they consider you unreliable is a knife in your gut.

"And you're very lucky to be getting a second chance, because you have been a very naughty girl."

So after the meeting I excised myself and went to the latrine. Fingers entwined in my hair, staring at my feet, reflecting on how close death has come. The dishonourable death of a criminal. And if you fail this job, they'll hit your family.

Assassins after my family. My family after my family.

This whole situation came from being unprofessional. Letting emotion take control. This would never have happened while back in the Guild. In the Guild I always knew what to do. Because there always someone there to tell me what to do.

Why did I run? I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking. It wasn't even spontaneous. I planned my escape, timed it right, took my gear like I was going on a job. I planned my escape, yeah, but nothing else. Like where I was going to hide, what I was going to do with myself. So I went to Tanath, because the city had no Guild presence. It's big. It's busy. I had only ever been here once, so I had no connection to the place. A great place to hide.

I didn't want to risk leading them back to my family. And then, all alone in an unfamiliar world, a fish out of your water, what do you do? You only know how to do one thing and those skills aren't a lot of use in this situation.

You don't realise how much you don't know. Not until you step out of your little world.

So you join a group of adventurers 'cause maybe they'll know what your supposed to do with yourself. And now you've just dragged them into your hole.

Didn't really think this through.

There's an acid taste still in my mouth. My saliva is thick and sticky, a trail of goo run from lips to the back of my hand. The trail breaks and clings to my chin, cold and slimy.

I need water.

I need to get out of this frelling keep.

To Be Continued... ?

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