Chapter Three

The Tavern

"When assassinating a target whom it is hard to get near," Master Sharif had said, whilst teaching Tactical Information Gathering, "the more you know about said target the better. Where does he sleep? What does he eat? With whom does he share his idle hours? Anything could be the key to successful termination."

It was advice I'd taken to heart in my current situation.

I'd made contact with Nicolo which had brought me a step closer to killing him, but it was a small step, thus far. And I didn't have time for small steps, not when I had just shy of a month and a half left to complete my job. So, I set out to learn more about my target.

During the day, that was next to impossible. If I didn't want to blow my cover, I had to do the job of a maid and do it well, and the maids worked relentlessly, leaving little time for trailing around after anyone, let alone Master Nicolo.

That left the nights, which were supposed to be spent in sleep to ensure we were well rested for the rigors of the following day. In practice, of course, girls sneaked out to see a show, visit a tavern, and most commonly, meet men, but they did so knowing if Mistress Rosana caught them, there would be consequences. They were consequences I was keen to avoid, but with no other time for learning about Nicolo, I had no choice but to break the rules.

Lying in my bed, in the dormitory, I waited for the whispers and giggling to give way to the soft sounds and snores of slumber (and the farts which were more plentiful than I'd hope for), then slipped from my bunk and extracted a cloth bag from inside my mattress where I'd hidden it. The bag contained my assassins' ‘blacks'; the traditional clothing of the Guild. The moniker was actually something of a misnomer, because nothing stands out like a patch of jet black in the gloom of night. The ‘blacks' were actually a patchwork of grays, with some dark green and a few splashes of black thrown in. They were loose, ragged at the edges, completely without style, and as soon as I put them on, I felt a rush of nostalgia for the Guild and the friends I'd left there.

But there was no time for that now. I pulled on the mask that covered my head except for my eyes and made for the window.

I didn't go out every night because it wasn't always safe to do so, especially when the moon was ripe and full. I also needed to get a proper night's sleep every now and then, but when I did decide to wander for an evening, I followed the same route, climbing up the wall towards the roofs of the Great Castle. Risky though it was, this was my favorite part of the day. Neither nature nor my schooling suited me to being a maid and after a day of dusting and scrubbing, listening to the ridiculousness of the other girls, curtseying and apologizing for merely existing, it was great to be outside doing something. Hanging off a sheer wall, defying gravity while I sought out the tiny finger holds was like a holiday.

Reaching the first roof, I kept low and scampered towards the tower. The servants' quarters weren't close to the location where the nobility lived, but everything in the Great Castle—everything in Woodfall Gath, in fact—was connected.

At one time, centuries ago, the Great Castle had been separate, and there had been four other castles in the region, home to some duke or earl, each ruling over their own little fiefdom of towns and villages, but all were loyal to the king who ruled from the Great Castle. Gradually, the Great Castle spread beyond its walls, absorbing those towns and villages as it went, and eventually the other castles too, forming the Castle Complex known as Woodfall Gath, a vast sprawl of stonework, home to peasant and noble alike.

Master Nicolo lived in the Prince's Tower, which was, in fact, two towers joined together, built by a previous monarch who had twin sons. One tower was significantly larger and grander than the other (the Heir's Tower), but it was still an incredible honor for Nicolo to be granted residence in the other. Generally, only members of the royal family lived in the royal towers that soared above the Great Castle. It was a mark of Nicolo's importance to the family, to the prince and to the Old Queen, but also a mark of his position. No wonder so many of the court hated Nicolo and wanted him dead—he was a peasant who lived like royalty. He was a blistering example of what should never be.

Backing up along the roof, I took a leap and landed, securely and silently on the roof of the Great Hall. From there, I made my way up to the Guards' Walk, along which I ran, vanishing into the shadows when the castle guards made their noisy rounds. Reaching the spire of the Prince's Tower, I began to climb.

The hardest thing about following Nicolo by night was finding him. If I was lucky, then I managed to catch him in his chambers, but if he'd already gone out, then finding him could take hours.

Nicolo and Prince Balduin led an active social life. They went out together most nights, taking in all the Gath had to offer in a hedonistic whirl, as if the Castle Complex was their personal pleasure palace. They might attend the theater or watch a concert, though Balduin bored quickly and they seldom stayed to the end.

They might attend a sporting event, boxing, wrestling or cockfighting in the taverns. Sometimes they went to the homes of noble friends and acquaintances, attending grand dances or banquets, nights of gambling or singing. There were gentleman's clubs at which they might dine and maybe remain for ‘an entertainment', which usually involved scantily clad ladies dancing, recreating scenes from history or even doing comic turns. I had to wonder what entertainment Prince Balduin found in a topless girl doing an unflattering impression of his grandmother, but who was I to judge?

However the night began, it usually ended with the two of them drinking at one of the many taverns, inns and watering holes that littered the city. The pair were recognized in all the establishments they frequented and were made very welcome (not least because of the amount they spent). Once they arrived at a tavern and the evening had reached its final act; it would be here that they'd spend the rest of the night, drinking and singing with a woman on each arm, and Balduin's bodyguards watching from a respectful distance as they had throughout the night. Then they'd buy a bottle for the road and head back to the Great Castle, usually with the women in tow.

What I learned from this was that there were definitely times when it seemed as if Nicolo let his guard down enough for me to take my shot—the bodyguards were an issue, but they were protecting Balduin and it wouldn't be hard to separate them. But I'd been taught to look closer, not to take things at face value. And when I looked harder, I realized Nicolo was certainly a drinker and a carouser, but standing so close to Balduin, it was easy to conflate the two. Look closely and you started to notice that for every three drinks Balduin had, Nicolo had one. While Balduin careened through doors, tripping over the steps, Nicolo always checked around a room as he entered. He enjoyed a good time as much as his friend, but Nicolo's guard was never down. While Balduin's girls left the Great Castle the following morning with a pat on the behind and a few coins, Nicolo's left during the night. No matter how pretty the girl, Nicolo slept alone, with the door locked and the window shuttered and barred.

I reached that window now, candlelight flickering from within.

As you might expect, Nicolo's window was excessively difficult to access, but for a skilled climber it was possible. I'd initially planned to assassinate him through the window, perhaps with a blowpipe (not my best weapon, but I could use the practice), but the placement of the window made that impossible. Nicolo left nothing to chance.

Peering in now, I could just see him at his desk, writing with a quill pen.

A night in. That made my job easier, but it didn't teach me much.

I craned a little further to get a better look. He was clearly planning an early night because he'd already started to undress, his black shirt hanging on the back of the chair in which he was sitting, bare to the waist.

Indulgently, I allowed my eyes to roam across the well-muscled landscape of Nicolo's torso. Though he lived a pampered and extravagant existence, he certainly hadn't let himself go. Just the movement of his shoulder as the quill danced across the paper set a chain reaction of muscle movement throughout the rest of his body. It was almost hypnotic, watching the fascinating shift of muscles beneath his smooth skin.

I could probably have gone back to the dormitory at this point, since there was clearly nothing for me to learn, but I remained where I was, clinging to the wall like a bat, watching him.

Nicolo straightened and blew the ink dry, then put the sheet to one side. He stood up from his desk, now facing in my direction so I had an unobstructed view of the taut, sculpted contours of his chest and abs, thrown into appealing relief by the candlelight. There was no way he could see me, though, owing to the fact that it was dark outside and light inside his room. He reached for the buckle of his belt. Involuntarily I tensed and my breath caught in my mouth; he was getting undressed. Fully.

There really was no excuse for me staying here and watching. But I didn't move. I couldn't—I didn't want to. I wanted to see what he kept hidden beneath those trousers because with all my study, all my lessons on the art of seduction and all the ways of physical love between a man and a woman, I'd never seen a man naked before.

The knock at the door came so suddenly, I almost lost my grip on the wall.

To my chagrin, Nicolo's pants remained on and he strode to the door, opening it to reveal an out-of-breath soldier whom I recognized as one of Balduin's bodyguards.

"Sorry to disturb you, Master."

Nicolo waved the apology off. "Is his Highness alright?" I could hear the genuine concern in his voice.

"He's alright…" the bodyguard began, tentatively.

"But?"

"He may have drunk a little much…"

"So? Hardly the first time. Bring him back from wherever he is and see to it that he's put into bed."

"He refuses to leave the tavern, sir."

Nicolo sighed. "Again?"

"Aye. Apologies, Master."

"Where is he?"

"The King's Arms, Master."

"In Pyecook?"

"Yes, Master."

"Bloody hell."

Nicolo strode across the room to pick up his shirt, denying me the sight of his chest and bulging arms. "Well, old Roth's a good sort, he won't say anything." He said the words to himself.

As Nicolo sat down to pull on his boots, I began to climb down the wall. I knew the tavern and I had a slightly more difficult journey ahead of me than he did.

***

The King's Arms had once been a separate building in the village of Pyecook, one of those closest to the Great Castle. Most of the wooden buildings had been torn down when the Castle expanded to include Pyecook and had been replaced by stone, but the Tavern had already been part masonry and, thus, was incorporated into the growing mass of Woodfall Gath. Changes throughout the centuries had tugged it this way and that as houses rose and fell and its surroundings altered, but the basic body of the King's Arms remained, with only a bulging wall here and an askew joist there to reveal what it had been through.

I'd run through the backstreets of the area still known as Pyecook, climbed the wall of the tavern (careful to stay out of sight of the bodyguard stationed on the door) and found my way into the tavern's dusty attic. The King's Arms was a regular stop for Balduin and Nicolo, so I knew the best places to hide. The old board ceiling of the bar afforded many gaps through which I could squint.

It didn't take long to find the prince. He was slumped over a table by the back door, a bodyguard standing vigilant over him. He was apparently still conscious as he periodically reached out for his tankard and poured more ale down his throat, managing to do so without raising his head, as only a skilled drinker can.

"Where is he?"

My attention shifted to the main door as Nicolo entered and seeing the prince immediately, crossed to his friend.

Nicolo leaned down and gave Balduin a shake. "Your Highness? It's time to go."

Balduin gave a drunken shrug and a grunt.

"Your Highness?"

This time, Balduin lashed out viciously. "How dare you lay (burp) hands on your prince! I shall have (hiccup) you horsewhipped for your (burp) blatant disregard!" It was at that moment that the prince might have farted, but I wasn't entirely sure.

This was the bodyguard's problem: their job was to make sure no harm was to befall Prince Balduin (which didn't include self-inflicted harm to his own liver). They certainly didn't have the authority to take him home if he didn't want to go. Nor did Nicolo, but he was the prince's friend.

Sitting down beside the prince, Nicolo leaned close so the bodyguards couldn't hear him. "Damn it Balduin, you drunken ass, get on your feet and let Roth close up for the night."

Balduin looked blearily up. "Nicolo?"

"Aye, it's me."

Balduin shook his head. "When did you get here?"

"Just now."

Balduin nodded. "You missed a good night, my friend. There was a girl (burp) at Sade's—you missed her. Ass like the dark side of the moon."

"You can tell me about it tomorrow," chided Nicolo. "If you remember." He beckoned to one of the bodyguards to help lift the now more pliant prince.

"Oh, I shan't forget that ass in a hurry," Balduin mumbled on a deep chuckle as he lolled his head to the side and appeared as if he might pass out right there. "I nearly suffocated under it."

Nicolo and the bodyguard shouldered Balduin and turned to the door. But as they did so, a sudden cry came from the bodyguard outside.

"Ho! To the prince!"

It was a rallying cry. And that meant something was wrong. Leaning Balduin against the wall, Nicolo drew his sword.

"Check the rear," he instructed the other man.

One of the bodyguards hurried for the back door, but as he did so, armed men suddenly burst through both front and back.

"Give us the prince," their leader demanded, pointing a sword at Balduin.

Nicolo stared the man down and didn't appear in the least bit intimidated, surprising given the fact that he was clearly outnumbered. "You know who I am?"

"There are six of us and three of you."

That was a stupid thing to say; now Nicolo knew how many men he had to deal with and there was no one lurking in the shadows outside.

"And you think those odds are well enough in your favor?" Nicolo asked on a chuckle.

"Only one of us has to get through, we're all willing to die for our goal."

"I can guarantee you accomplishing one but not the other," Nicolo replied.

Blades clashed. The two bodyguards, one on the front door, one at the back, slashed at the attackers, but the attackers pushed on, while Nicolo stayed by his prince.

"What in the Great Gods is…?" murmured Balduin, only vaguely aware of what was going on. I was fairly sure he'd blacked out during the time this small battalion had announced themselves.

The back door bodyguard flinched as a blade scored his leg and in the moment of distraction, he was pushed aside. Nicolo turned to meet the attackers, knocking the first one aside then crossing swords with the next. A short scream was cut off abruptly as one man fell to the floor. Nicolo kicked back the next, and cut down another, his sword an evermoving arc of steel.

"The back's clear, get the prince to safety."

The wounded bodyguard nodded and hurried to help Balduin. Nicolo dashed forward to join the other guard, who was already sporting wounds on his face and arms but kept fighting bravely—this was what he'd been trained for.

"The prince."

The guard didn't question orders, but fell back as Nicolo took his place, holding off the remaining three men. The cramped confines of the old tavern meant they couldn't all come at Nicolo at once, but he was still forced to fend off attacks from three directions. Even so, my money was on Nicolo, because he was a remarkable swordsman.

But as the bodyguards carried Balduin out the back, one of the prince's outstretched arms caught an earthenware jug, sending it crashing to the floor as he headed into the alley. The noise made Nicolo turn and his attackers pounced, and suddenly Nicolo was on the back foot.

They had him.

I couldn't say what went through my mind at that point. There was a sort of unofficial Guild rule that fortunate accidents didn't count, and that in such cases, money was to be returned to the client. But I don't think that was what determined my actions.

The attic had a trapdoor leading down into the bar and I now flipped back the catch and drove my heels down into it, so it opened sharply, smacking one of the attackers in the face. I dropped through the trapdoor, landing lightly and executing a perfect spinning kick that knocked a second man on his ass.

For a moment, Nicolo looked completely shocked by the appearance of his masked savior, but he wasn't the type to dwell on good fortune for long and lunged back into the fight.

The element of surprise had helped me initially, but now I was in a sword fight, wielding only the long-bladed knife that I'd strapped to my thigh for these nocturnal excursions, and it proved too short for a fair fight. I winced as a sword blade sliced across my forearm, cutting through my blacks to draw blood.

Nicolo grabbed a sword off the floor where a dead man had dropped it, and tossed it to me. I caught the sword just in time to parry an incoming thrust. The adrenalin surged through me and I found myself smiling: I'd missed fighting as much as climbing—if I never had to wash or dry another dish, it would be too soon.

Side by side, Nicolo and I drove forward, our three attackers clumsily blocking our swords. Nicolo killed the first and second with a slash across the throat and a jab to the heart. I brought down the third. It was the first time I'd ever killed a man, and in the heat of the fight and the knowledge that he was trying to kill me, I felt little.

It was nice to know I had it in me.

Master Nicolo looked across at me. There was surely no way he could recognize me as the girl he'd watched bathe in the garden; none of the bits he'd been interested in were now showing.

"You're hurt."

"It's nothing," I disguised my voice, thinking back to when Master Vox had told me doing so would save my life one day.

"Thank you for your help."

I bowed and turned to leave.

"Wait."

I felt the point of a sword between my shoulder blades.

"It seems discourteous given that you may have just saved my life, but I must insist on knowing who you are and what you were doing in the attic."

I turned slowly and cursed my bad luck. Nicolo kept the tip of his sword on me. He raised it to my throat, and for the first time, I saw the hardness in his eyes that had won him his reputation, and the title of ‘The Unbreakable'.

Suddenly my gaze flicked to the area behind him, and my eyes widened a fraction as I gave an almost imperceptible nod.

If I'd been less subtle about it, Nicolo probably wouldn't have bought it, but because I kept the nod small, and because he was used to people creeping up behind him, he turned. Of course, he found no one, and when he turned back, it was to meet my fist coming the other way, complete with a set of brass knuckles.

I have a solid right hook, and Nicolo was out before he hit the floor, blood already cascading down one of his eyes where the metal nicked his skin a little too deep. I'd been careful about where I landed the blow though, to avoid breaking his nose.

One of the bodyguards had returned, and was standing in the doorway. I sprang up to grab the lip of the attic trapdoor, pulled myself up and was away across the rooftops before the man could wonder what had happened.

That was one good opportunity to kill Master Nicolo wasted. And yet, looking back on it, I'd had no impulse to kill him.