Chapter One

Part Two

Rescue

Night cloaked the vast Castle Complex of Woodfall Gath, a cloudy night through which no stars, nor even the moon, could shine through.

It was the sort of night that we in the trade called ‘ideal'. The trade in question was ‘assassin', which was the profession in which I'd been brought up, trained since I was a foundling child left on the doorstep of the Assassins' Guild. Or so I liked to imagine; I didn't actually know how I'd wound up there; the Guild was the only home I could remember until I'd come to the Great Castle, home of Old Queen Nell, the ruler of Woodfall Gath.

I hadn't ‘moved' here exactly. I'd come on business, to assassinate the closest friend of the heir to the throne, Master Nicolo, also known as ‘The Unbreakable'. But that was not why I was currently climbing out of my window in the Castle's Lay House and making my way across the roof in my camouflage ‘blacks' (the clothing of the working assassin)—it probably should have been the reason, but I had a mission of my own tonight.

Besides which, my job here had become complicated. I'd tried to get close to Master Nicolo so I could kill him, and I'd been successful (well, not at the ‘killing' part per se—more the ‘getting close to' part); Nicolo had made me his squire. But as I attempted to get closer still, things had happened; things had been said that couldn't be unsaid, things had been touched that couldn't be untouched, and boundaries had definitely been crossed when we…

My foot slipped from the gargoyle's head on which I'd been perched and I made a wild grab for the window ledge above me, just managing to get my fingers on it. For a few seconds I hung there, swinging in the breeze like a ripe fruit, ready to fall. With an effort, I swung up to get a second handhold and dragged myself back to safety.

I was an excellent climber (top of my class in the Guild) but that had been close. Maybe it was best, while I was climbing, to keep my thoughts away from Nicolo and the things that had happened or almost happened between us, and focus on not falling to my death, instead.

Yes, that was probably a good idea.

With relative ease, I made my way up the Heir's Tower, high up in which lived the heir to the throne, Prince Balduin.

Tonight's mission was not to kill him either (although part of me wished it was—killing Balduin would certainly make my life easier). This was a mission of mercy. It was also probably a profoundly stupid thing to do. I had a cover to keep up, and I was breaking into the home of the most highly protected person in the Gath. Not even the Old Queen herself boasted as much security as Balduin, mostly because people liked her, or at least accepted the status quo —better the Devil you know and all that. The Devil they didn't know was Balduin, which was why many people were keen to see him dead—hence the security. On the other hand, if he was killed, there was a queue of devils no one knew lining up behind him.

None of which would have mattered to me tonight, were it not for the fact that I was trying to break in, not just to Heir's Tower, but to Balduin's own bedroom.

A few nights ago, Balduin had taken me back to his room. Not only for the usual reason he took women there, but because he'd also wanted to talk to me. It turned out, he was the one who'd hired me to assassinate Nicolo (he hadn't elaborated as to why, but I thought it was mostly jealousy).

The fact that it was Balduin behind the ordered assassination was a shock, partly because I'd thought them to be friends, but also because, as a child, Balduin had suffered from a debilitating disease that would have killed him had he not met Nicolo when he had. There was something special about Nicolo (it was rumored he was part, if not full, demon), something to do with Nicolo's uncertain parentage and his violet eyes. Nicolo's presence kept Balduin's disease in check, so Nicolo had to stay with the prince to ensure Balduin's safety. Thus, Balduin having Nicolo assassinated ought to have been tantamount to suicide.

But Balduin had found a substitute for his oldest friend. From somewhere (I didn't know where), he'd found another person with violet eyes, a mere boy, whom he'd revealed to me on that visit to his bedchamber. The poor child was kept locked in a cage in a secret room adjoining Balduin's.

As soon as I'd seen the hopeless sadness in the child's violet eyes, I'd known I had to help him. I knew where he was; how hard could it be?

With such thoughts still flowing through my mind, I edged my way up Heir's Tower, and approached Balduin's window. No light shone from it. So far, so good.

The inaccessibility of the room was the least of my problems. I'd been trained to overcome such difficulties with ease. I could climb a sheer wall, pick locks and open windows from outside, using a slim blade to lift the latches and catches. It was tough to keep out a trained assassin (unless your window was barred and shuttered like that of Master Nicolo). The problem was that during the day, even for as quick and quiet a climber as myself, one would be seen climbing Heir's Tower. One of the guards on the skirting wall that ran around the perimeter of the Great Castle was sure to spot me and then they'd no doubt use me for target practice. No, breaking in during the day was out of the question, and there were plentiful guards stationed inside, as well. As Master Nicolo's squire, I could probably come up with a valid excuse for going up to Balduin's room—maybe I could even get through the door—but there was no way I was getting out again with the boy in tow.

No, the break-in had to be at night, but that came with limitations of its own. The room in which the boy was imprisoned was right off the prince's bedroom. I was quiet enough to go through the room without waking Balduin (assassins were trained by literally walking on eggshells), but he was watched as he slept by bodyguards, sometimes actually in the room. Others watched through hidden observation panels in the walls. If he hadn't been such an ass, I might actually have felt sorry for Balduin, as his life wasn't his own.

But I didn't feel sorry for him—not at all.

The good news was that Balduin had an active social life. He didn't spend each night in his own bed and even those nights he did, he'd often reach that bed in the early hours of the morning. This meant I had a window of opportunity after the sun set but before Balduin rolled drunkenly into bed, watched over by bodyguards and accompanied by whoever he'd managed to pick up on his night out.

That ought to have made this mission achievable, but in my experience (limited though it was), these sorts of things never went to plan.

As I reached Balduin's window, the wind whistled between the paired towers of Heir's and Prince's, tugging at my body as I hung by my fingers and toes above the precipitous drop. But I was good at this, I actually found climbing oddly relaxing—it was the one time of the day that I had to myself, no one bothering me or asking me for anything. It could be tough to make time for yourself while living in the bustle of the Great Castle, especially as squire to a demanding man like Master Nicolo. Although he'd been calling on me less often these last few days…

Aggressively I shook my head clear; No more thinking about Nicolo, focus on what you're doing ! Climbing was relaxing; falling was a lot less so.

With practiced skill, I perched on the window sill that looked only wide enough to bear a pigeon, and reached into the interior pocket of my blacks. The assassin's costume had various hidden pockets to hide weapons, secret messages and tools. I brought out a slim roll of black velvet which I unfurled to reveal the gleaming assembly of instruments within. They looked like something a doctor would use to perform unspeakable procedures, but were in fact burglary tools.

My tools of the trade.

If Balduin had been responsible for his own security, then I suspected someone would have likely killed him by now (probably an angry husband). Like most things in his life, the approach he took to personal safety was so casual, it was almost nonexistent, and part of the reason was that other people worried for him. There had never been a point in his life when Balduin had not been surrounded by bodyguards and so he assumed they'd take care of everything. And they did. Even though the man himself was out for the evening, the window to his room was bolted and shuttered.

Had it been barred, as Nicolo's was, there would have been nothing I could do, but Balduin had had the bars removed because they spoiled his view. Bolts and shutters were an obstacle, but not an insurmountable one.

My paper-thin blade slid between the wooden struts of the window and came up against the hard metal of the bolt. As I worked my magic, my mind drifted back to happy days in Mistress Cincinno's classroom, learning the intricate skills of picking locks and associated arts.

The bolt was a tricky one (nothing but the best for Prince Balduin) and it didn't help that I was perched on a window ledge, so was able to get zero purchase without pushing myself off. Still, I thought Mistress Cincinno would have been impressed by how I dealt with it—not fast, but efficient.

The windows opened outwards, so there was a hairy moment as I negotiated my way around to get at the shutter. Shutters could be harder than windows because you couldn't see through them to assess the type of bolt you were dealing with, but after a bit of probing, I got the measure of the beast. I'd hoped the shutters were just bolted, but there was a lock on them as well which meant yet more time gone as I inserted my fine-bladed saw into the gap between the shutters to cut through the shank. With a steel rod, I then delicately lifted the lock from its fastening and heard it rattle to the floor. A stouter rod was then needed to lift the heavy bars that closed the shutter. It took a bit of brute force, but the bar finally rose and clanked heavily aside, allowing the oak panels to swing back into the darkened room beyond.

It wasn't completely lightless within. A low fire burned in the grate, keeping the opulent room toasty warm for when its owner returned—nothing worse than a cold bed if you were bringing back a woman, or so I imagined. When it came to the art of love, I was certainly a novice as far as experience went. But no matter—by the orange glow, I surveyed what I could of the room. All seemed well.

Noiselessly I dropped in, landing on my toes. With Balduin gone, there was no reason for anyone to be outside that door standing guard, but it paid to be careful. Still on tip-toe, I crossed the room to the secret door behind which the boy with the violet eyes was imprisoned. I'd seen how Balduin opened the door, by turning the candle sconce on the wall, but before I could reach for it…

"How about you step back against the wall and put your hands up?"

The voice from behind made me jump out of my skin and I spun around to find two of Balduin's personal guards standing there, both with crossbows pointed at me. They were men I'd seen from time to time, walking behind Balduin or guarding a door, and only the cloth mask covering all but my eyes prevented them from recognizing me.

"Take off the mask," said one.

"Then you can tell us what you're doing here," added the other.

Never mind me, what the hell were they doing here?! Guarding an empty room?

I did nothing.

"Take the mask off," the guard repeated. "Or the first bolt will go in your leg."

"Yeah," nodded the second, with an ugly grin. "Then we'll escort you to the dungeons, where you'll soon forget about the pain in your leg once they get started on you."

"You'd be better off talking now," agreed the first. "Once you're down there, you won't be able to talk fast enough."

Naturally the Assassin's Guild taught its students how to handle torture, via a class called ‘Don't Get Caught'. Really, that was the only way; you were going to be killed one way or the other (people didn't forgive assassination, even if it was only attempted), thus a quicker death was better and more professional.

"Little fella, isn't he," said guard two.

"Might be a girl," considered one. "They say assassins often are."

"That's just stories. No way a bunch of girls are killin' people."

"I don't know. You've met my Edna."

"Aye, but yer Edna is a special case."

Throughout this witty dialogue, they both kept their eyes and crossbows trained on me. They might not have been overly bright, but bodyguards were often better for being dumb; it meant they focused on one simple task, because they couldn't handle two.

Faced with death by crossbow right now or death by torture later, I decided I preferred option three; don't die at all. It wasn't going to be easy, but I had a few tricks up my sleeve. In fact, I had a pair of throwing knives up each sleeve. Fun fact: when guards have you with your hands up, they're watching your arms and your face, not your hands.

With a deft flick of my wrists, I extracted a knife from each sleeve.

"Don't move!"

But I was already moving.

The knives left my hands at the same moment that the first bolt left the crossbow. Everything seemed to happen at once: a cry indicated that one of my knives had found its mark, there was a thud from behind me as the bolt hit the wall where I'd been a moment ago and a click from in front as the second guard fired.

That arrow came damn close as I dived to the floor, rolling as I went—I felt its breath as it passed me. I came up sharply in front of the uninjured guard who was grasping for his weapon. That was the good thing about crossbows; you only got one shot because they were a devil to reload.

I shoved one guard into the other and dived for the window. But it wasn't going to be that easy. A hand grabbed my ankle and dragged me back, my head bouncing off the sill. Pain jarred me for a moment, until I remembered myself. Then, like a snake, I twisted, bringing my free foot around to kick the guard in the face.

He staggered back, but managed to keep his hold on my ankle. With a grunt, I threw my weight towards him, sending him off-balance, tripping over a stool and falling to the floor. Grabbing his head, I slammed it back as hard as I could, into the wooden boards, knocking him unconscious. I could have killed him, but I didn't have to. Plus, I actually needed them both alive if I was going to get out of this with my cover intact.

The other guard now attacked.

Credit where credit was due, he showed admirable disregard for the throwing knife sticking out of his shoulder. In fact, he now pulled it out and hurled it at me. I dodged the blade—which is less impressive than it sounds when it's thrown by someone who doesn't know how. The guard charged me and tackled me to the ground, using the advantage of his bulk. But I knew how to handle a big attacker and, as I went down, I used my own momentum to keep going, kicking up and sending the guard flipping over to land on his back while I followed on top of him, pinning him.

"I wonder how the prince will feel about someone getting into his room, and you two not even being able to capture them."

With this parting blow, I left the man on the floor and darted back for the window. There was no time for a slow gradual descent, and I was already reaching for the folding grappling hook and line packed into another secret pocket of my blacks.

On the window ledge I spun the line and tossed the hook onto the ridged roof of the adjoining Prince's Tower.

With one deep breath, I swung out into the night.

As I made my way back along the rooftops—taking a more circuitous route than usual to make sure I wasn't trailed—I went back over the events of the evening as a headache started to form in the back of my head where it had connected with the window sill.

My final words to the guard would hopefully be enough to protect me. If Balduin learned an assassin had come into his room, his first thought would be of the only assassin he knew in the Great Castle; me. If his guards told him the assassin had made for the particular wall which housed the secret child behind it, that would be the final nail in my coffin. No one else knew the location of the secret room but Balduin and me.

But Balduin was not what you'd call ‘a kind boss'. His guards had failed to catch me and they'd suffer for that— if they told him. I hoped my parting words had impressed that reality onto the guard, and that he and his friend would clean up the mess and pretend like nothing had happened. They would have to explain some cuts and bruises, but Balduin was more likely to notice a broken vase than any harm to his guards—he simply didn't care about them. He really didn't care about anyone, other than himself.

The other thing which I considered was that I was an idiot.

Yes, Balduin was out for the night, but of course his room was still guarded, to prevent assassins from coming in—just as I had—and secreting themselves until his return. If I'd just thought about it for an instant, it would have been obvious. But my mind had been clouded with thoughts of the boy with the violet eyes. I'd wanted to help the poor child so much, I'd rushed to act without thinking. It had cost me. And it could have costed me a damned lot more than it had…

I was going to have to come up with something a lot cleverer if I wanted to help that boy. And at the moment, I didn't have the first idea what I could do.