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Politics and Adventure in an Ocean of Fantasy |
| The screams were dying out now. Two, three minutes had been all he could have hoped for, given the need for surprise and haste, and these pampered nobles certainly didn't disappoint. The strike had gone perfectly. He had quietly assembled his team of ex-soldiers, hungry mercenaries, and greedy outlaws. He had hired teachers from the finest guilds, and, over their protests, his company of thugs had learned to cook, to serve, to simper and bow just the way these self-important snobs liked. Oh, his hardened fighters wanted nothing to do with the skills of subservience, but if you threw enough money at a man, you would eventually find the price where he would drink your urine. They learned. While they learned, he waited for winter. The snows came hard and deep up in the western peaks, and the old stone castle was drafty and damp. It wouldn't be long after the first snowfall before those soft, weak, pampered nobles were clamoring to move to the winter palace overlooking Craftport. No fortress, this. The villa was a monument to soft living, with wide courtyards, airy rooms, and panoramic views of the bustling port below from its huge windows and spacious terraces. Once ensconced in their beautiful home, it couldn't be long before their hubris compelled them to show it off with a ball designed to rub the noses of the local dignitaries in their accumulated wealth. He had hardly needed to wait a fortnight. With the furniture dusted and the draperies hung, the notice came down from the hill that temporary cooks and servants would be engaged for labor at the king's first ball of winter. He offered his crew as a team of specialists who worked large affairs exclusively, and she made sure they were selected. Then, on the night of the ball, she made sure she had been called away to visit a sick relative. The rest had been simple. As the manager of the hired serving crew, he had been expected to do nothing more than stand around unobtrusively and make sure everything ran smoothly. It ran smoothly. He watched and waited until everyone he had identified as primary targets were in the main ballroom, then he took a metal whistle from a fold of his jacket and blew an earsplitting blast. As every eye in the room turned to him, small, powerful crossbows appeared from serving carts and equipment boxes, and the handful of elite guards in the room were cut down before a weapon could be drawn. In the ensuing pandemonium, his assassins drew their weapons of choice, and the real slaughter had begun. The screams and pleading were music to his ears as party-goers were stabbed, slashed, hacked, and dismembered. Those retaining sufficient wits to dive out a door or window were struck down by expert archers concealed in the gardens outside. He himself had gotten three delicious kills. Now he walked along an upstairs hallway with one of his erstwhile cooks, booting open doors in search of stragglers, and he got his fourth, a middle-aged attendant who begged magnificently before he thrust his short sword through a lung and into her heart. "Klaeren," someone called from the direction of the ballroom. "Klaeren!" "I'm here. Speak out." "Lady Drulasa is here." "Time to collect our due," he said to the cook. "Carry on here. No witnesses. No survivors." He allowed himself a swagger as he started down the curving staircase to where a tall woman in a long black dress and matching cape stepped gingerly among the still-bleeding bodies. "Black becomes you, Milady," he greeted her. "My family has been murdered, Klaeren. It is only proper I should appear in mourning raiment. I am a widow, I trust?" "Indeed, Milady. Your husband fell in the kitchen, where he spent most of the evening snatching the best sweetmeats." "Churl. He might at least have spent his last night womanizing." "If he'd only known." "Pity. Where is the princess?" "By the door, Milady. You must have stepped over her on your way in." "That is the crown princess. I refer to that imp, Edanna." "She isn't there? That's odd. I was sure I saw her in the ballroom. Ah, well, we haven't had time to count noses yet. She's in here somewhere." "She had better be, Klaeren." "Milady worries excessively. No one could have escaped this." "You can afford to be relaxed. For what I'm paying you, you can buy an island on the far side of the world. I did not set all this in motion to act as regent for a day, until that child turns up with her royal blood to claim everything." "Of course not, Milady." "Well, find her!" "At once, Milady. Carch!" he called to one of his men. "Sir!" "Do you know Edanna, the younger princess, on sight?" "Yes, sir." "Good. Take some men and find her. I want to see a body. If she hasn't been dealt with yet, she's probably hiding somewhere. It's what scared brats do." "Yes, sir." The man headed up the stairs, gathering thugs as he went. "This won't take long, Milady." "It had best not. I don't suppose I need remind you that our heads are none too firmly attached if a member of the bloodline survives." "No, Milady." "I probably don't need to remind you, either, that I engaged you for a completed job, and you won't be paid until it is complete." "She is a child, Milady. This cannot be too difficult." "She is a fifteen-year old tomboy. She has well-developed powers of reasoning. She can ride, she can climb, she can wriggle into tiny spaces. She has friends among the commoners who can be expected to help her if she can reach them. If I were you, instead of standing around here gloating, I would round up that renegade whore you like to carouse with, get on the road, and make sure that doesn't happen." "Yes, Milady," he intoned, bowing as he backed toward the door. "We were just going, Milady. D'Jira! D'Jira, where are you?" Damned woman sure knew how to ruin a party! |
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