A Clean Death is the fourth in the Tales of The Lesser Evil and this is the second chapter.
This is a fantasy series—not quite grimdark, but dark nevertheless—with complicated and believable characters doing their best to survive in a world simply indifferent to their existence.
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A City, Full of Masks
Hedda struggled to swallow, throat still raw from many days of sickness. She was grateful it appeared she could finally keep food down. Never in her life did she remember vomiting as much, nor did she ever want to experience it again.
So far, this adventure was not proving quite the adventure she had hoped for.
The first time she had travelled on a boat—and a Seafolk vessel, no less—and all she had done was spend the time getting intimately acquainted with a bucket. Forcing food and water down, knowing they would soon become reacquainted, over and over. She was angry at herself for having wasted so much time, although she felt a fierce pride in the fact that, even in the worst of her torment, she had not forgotten her role, her disguise.
Her mother had been sure it was too early for Hedda to directly help Pepper, that she was much too young. At least until Guin had gently pointed out he knew Merie had lied about her age and joined the Roadguard when she had been slightly younger. That had ended the discussion.
It was only in recent years that Hedda had learnt certain details about her parent’s past, things her other siblings did not know. She guessed there may still be more, buried deep, treasure worth excavating. She was determined to find out, she had the means and the skills, Pepper had taught her well. An assassin is a spy first and foremost, then a surgical instrument. Otherwise, they are simply a blunt tool, like a guard, militia or rough street killer. As the saying went—no one needs a hammer to drain a festering wound.
Wait, bide your time, do not hurry. Study the lay of the land, study your target, study everything. Then, when the target had no idea what was about to happen, strike swiftly and cleanly.
Poisons and venoms had come first, learning about their history, how to make them, how to mask tastes, how to powder, mix and brew, along with slowly building up resistance to certain ingredients that would not kill her outright.
Next came traps and triggers, then weapons and weaponless combat. There was so much to learn.
Yet it was not just the tools of the assassin that Hedda loved, it was the intricacy of it all, the attention to detail, the learning of languages and customs: how to eat in a dozen different cities and not stand out as a foreigner; how to wear her hair to indicate status and wealth; how to choose clothes that told a tale of their own, one entirely of her making. So much to learn and all of it intoxicating, sometimes quite literally.
Youlmouth was the first chance she had to put these skills into practice beyond the Isthmus. When Pepper had left Eastsea to deal with Ronne the Sawman, Merie had forbidden Hedda from going with her. That act, and the protracted argument that followed, was still fresh in her mind. Afterwards, thanks to Guin, her mother had finally relented, and Hedda had made a personal vow that she would do the very best job possible, that she would not disabuse the trust her mother placed in her, that she would impress Pepper but, more importantly, she knew she needed to truly test her skills, not let herself down.
Hedda knew her mother only wanted her to be safe, but she also knew she needed to fly free, to travel, to be able to look at one of the maps in the heavy atlas Guin kept propped on a desk in his office and point to a place she had visited, somewhere new, somewhere entirely different, somewhere only experienced by Eastsea’s sailors, traders and adventurers. She knew that the pull of the world beyond was what drove Pepper and she knew she was no different.
Youlmouth fit the bill—it was certainly very, very different.
Known as the City of Masks, it made for exceptionally difficult work. Hedda had no idea how Pepper intended to find Rinc the Fourth in a city where everyone was legally-bound to wear a mask when out in the street, whether under sun or moon. The only times people could show their faces in public were at solstice, equinox and once every moon when the night sky was darkest.
Equinox was ten days away and the new moon had passed three nights ago. There was no way they would be able to see anyone’s face in the streets and many of the inns in the city kept the rule in their common rooms, making identification and tracking practically impossible.
No matter how hard she thought about the problem, she could not work out what Pepper had in mind; that thought kept her considering the issue.
They had three days to find a man in a mask, in a city full of masks. Three days, then they must leave, or risk months stranded in the city. It seemed improbable, at best.
She concentrated on her food.
The ship docked with the morning tide, the swell difficult for Captain Seven and his crew, the sea testing every part of their skill. They needed no further reminder that Youlmouth would soon be cut off, the storms and seas an effective jailer, holding all three cities of the Greatsand gulf captive for a full half of the year.
Pepper and Hedda waited until the railings were lifted and studded planks lowered and secured, the masks they wore hiding any irritation at the delay.
‘Are you sure I cannot walk you to your inn? This city can be rough, Arna.’
‘Captain, you have already done enough. Youlmouth is far safer than Eastsea. I shall return before you leave, have no fear. Now, however, I must work and those in my line of work grow nervous around honest men of your standing.’
‘Very well, I shall await your return, but I must leave on the evening tide three days from now, at the latest. These seas are stronger than I feared. If you are finished in the morning of the third day, or sooner, that would be even better.’ He swept a bow, briefly removing his simple mask, hair catching the wind. He really was a handsome man.
Pepper returned the bow with one of her own, then descended to the pier, Hedda carrying their bags behind her. She did not look back, it would be unseemly.
They wove their way between ropes and cranes, bales and barrels, and dozens of cursing sailors and long-shore workers. Once they had cleared the harbour Pepper paused, seemingly to check through the small shoulder bag she carried.
‘The captain is rather dashing,’ Hedda whispered from behind the plain white mask she wore.
‘Oh yes, he is. And he knows it. Now, we need to lose our tail.’
‘Who is following us?’ Hedda asked, knowing better than to turn her head, despite her restricted field of vision.
‘There are two. One is the pretty captain’s marine sergeant, who I suspect is supposed to protect us from afar, the other is a short distance behind her, a local I think, but I cannot make them out clearly. Perhaps one of the secret police, or an informationman, seeking to sell knowledge to the highest bidder. Either way, he is good.’
As they spoke, Hedda looked around her, ostensibly a servant in awe at a new and famous city, looking up at the Black Pyramid, then across the dry docks to their right, where several large vessels were being scraped and repaired. One of the vessels had a bright green figurehead and detailing; the Emerald Prize already undergoing her refit. Behind them, she saw the two tails, both having paused as they had, both also pretending to admire the vista.
‘How do we lose them?’
‘How would you lose them?’ Pepper countered.
‘I would go to an inn, arrange rooms, then slip out. This way we could loudly explain that we are weary from our voyage and want to rest, that we do not want to be disturbed. It could be dinner time, or even tomorrow before either knows we are no longer there.’
‘Then that is what we shall do.’
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