A Clean Death is the fourth in the Tales of The Lesser Evil and this is the tenth 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.
To read an introduction to this novella, and the backcover blurb, click here.
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The Midnight Temple
The first good thing about the Temple of Midnight was that there was a single entrance. The second good thing was that there were plenty of places for enterprising assassins and apprentice kidnappers to hide. It did not take long for both Pepper and Hedda to be stationed outside.
Pepper was sat in the deep shadow of a tall chimney stack, the stones warm against her back. This time of year, the first gales were already bringing a hint of the winter to come, made harsh by the Severed Spine Mountains, their heights chilling the Youl, bringing snow and ice despite Youlmouth’s latitude. On the road around Youlbridge, further upriver, the snows could be impassable for months.
Pepper had waited in worse places. She had watched the patch of darkness that was Hedda climb into a spreading walnut, its limbs overhanging the front of the building and the road outside, broad leaves still providing enough cover to utterly conceal her. Both of them were close enough that they could clearly see the faces of those exiting and entering and both were close enough to be sure of their aim.
They waited.
One of the earliest lessons Pepper had taught Hedda had been the value of patience. The life of the professional assassin was a terrifying mystery to the vast majority, death seemingly dealt out for monetary reward with no pity, no scruples, assassins appearing as if by witchcraft, disappearing as though the spirits of the murdered themselves. Great epics were sung about these killers, stories of the unjust brought to face the Darkness by flashing blade or choking garrotte. Yet the truth of the matter was that much of the job involved nothing more exciting than waiting. And waiting.
The secret was to not let the wait become boring, not let the senses dull and the mind drift. Pepper had learnt this very early and had accordingly taught Hedda the same methods to combat the boredom which Pol had imparted to her. At times, however, patience was not easy.
The dusk turned to late evening and then to early night.
There was little light from the sliver of the moon, but the Midnight Priests had accommodatingly lit bright torches up the wide steps to their temple. Six people had passed but none matched the description of the man who had attacked Menna and none were the woman who had tried to kill Pepper. Each came, then left, all but one in tears, clearly having located a loved one who had failed to return home.
Then the woman appeared, light on her feet, the perfect cliché of the coiled spring. She was not alone.
Pepper had seen several Abriki pass through Eastsea. There were even four who stayed in the city permanently, employed as bodyguards for the Spirelords. She had, however, never seen one as large as the male walking behind the woman who had tried to kill her.
‘Shit,’ she silently mouthed the word, repeating the movement several times.
She had no idea how much of the non-lethal toxin to use on the Abriki. He was half again as tall as the very tallest human she had ever seen and as broad as many others. There was a reason they were employed as bodyguards—they were huge, yes, but the Bearmen, as they were also known, were ridiculously fast and strong, with powerful muscles that made them move like feather-dancers at a ball.
In short, she did not want to meet him in direct combat but had no idea whether he could be brought down with the tools they carried.
The pair walked in through the door and Pepper stayed where she was, wondering what to do, shielded by the darkness. The blowpipe she cradled in her arms was for the woman, the dosage carefully measured. Hedda had her own pipe, also with the same dosage, in case Pepper were to miss, or was unable to get a clean shot.
‘Shit,’ Pepper whispered it aloud this time. She had no idea what to do.
Raised voices from inside the entrance to the temple made her pause. Then came the clash of steel and a cry. Someone was trying to apprehend the woman and the giant. Menna had been right, the Guard were waiting.
The Abriki emerged first, a naked corpse slung over one shoulder, the body looking for all the world like a child. His other arm was keeping three members of the Guard at bay, as they poked and jabbed with ineffective short-swords. Their reach was pitiful compared to his and it was obvious they stood no chance.
One of the three stepped back, sheathed his sword and swiftly unravelled a sling from his wrist, hand dipping into a pouch at his waist.
The woman appeared at the top of the steps, backing out of the building. She was also engaged with several of the Guard but, unlike her companion, she was neither hindered nor had the reach or desire to simply keep them at bay.
Instead, she danced among them, knives flashing in the torchlight, blocking here, attacking there. She was superbly trained, and Pepper knew she had been lucky to survive their earlier encounter. The way the woman moved was sheer poetry. A touch of jealousy and envy flashed across her mind, swiftly replaced by a determination to enhance her own training, to practise those skills which had grown rusty and to add new ones to her repertoire. The woman was beautiful to watch, every motion instantly considered, flowing close, stepping back. It was a lesson in and of itself.
One by one, the members of the watch dropped, some clutching at deep wounds, others silently, bonelessly, not to rise again.
Pepper knew that there was no time, no chance unless they acted now. She raised her blowpipe.
At precisely the same time the Abriki staggered back, the sling-man swiftly adding another stone to his pouch. Blood began to flow down his great face, staining his mask, but he had almost cleared the steps to the street. One short distance was all that separated him from running free into the darkness of the city.
‘Go! Take him away! I can deal with this!’ The woman called in Telkian, as she increased the speed and ferocity of her attacks. She was a blur.
The man with the sling had no time to release another stone, a knife blooming from his eye. The remaining six members of the Guard still standing stepped back, circling the woman, trying to trap her.
Yet the giant staggered once more, shaking his head, groggy, slapping at his neck as though plagued by insects. Pepper knew it was Hedda and her blowpipe. It made sense to slow him down if nothing else. Hedda was right.
In the time that it had taken Pepper to look at the Abriki, the Guard were down to four, then three, then two, then just one man was left, his mask slipped and terror clear on a pale face. Pepper raised her pipe, aimed and blew.
That was one skill she had not let grow stale and her aim was true. The woman staggered, eyes immediately looking up to where Pepper crouched, although she knew she was still invisible in the darkness. Her arm whipped back to throw her knife but the motion carried her off-balance, the drug acting swiftly. Then she was down on one knee, head bowing over before collapsing entirely.
The Bearman was almost out of sight with the corpse. Pepper saw him look back, stagger a little and pause, one giant hand resting on the wall, before he continued around a corner. It was clear he had his orders.
She dropped from the roof, Hedda immediately doing likewise from the tree, both rolling to absorb the impact, coming to their feet at a run.
‘Let’s bind her and get out of here,’ Pepper called. The remaining Guard sat down hard, his eyes darting from the fallen woman to the two new arrivals, then to his dead or injured companions. ‘I do not want to be anywhere near here when other members of the Guard arrive.’
A gong within the temple began to sound loudly, urgently, then it was joined by another, even louder.
‘Hurry.’
She secured the woman tightly, Pepper adding extra knots to those she would usually use. The woman was her equal, if not better, and there was no point in risking an escape.
Piercing whistles began to answer the gong, as the Guard answered from around the surrounding area.
As Pepper tied the woman, Hedda went amongst the watch, tying knots of her own, several tight tourniquets, encouraging individuals to press hard on deep wounds. She could not help but smile; Hedda may now be able to call herself a killer of men, but Pepper knew she would always maintain that deep respect for life that tempered the ability to take it. She would make a wonderful assassin.
‘Let’s go.’ Pepper grunted as she hefted the woman on to her shoulder, ‘Take those,’ she gestured to the weapons, pouches and other items she had taken from the woman.
Hedda scooped the items up, adding them to the knife she had pulled from the face of the sling-man, and bundled them together into a black silken sack she pulled from her sleeve.
Then they were gone, moving as fast as they could and taking the pre-planned route they had scouted on their way to the Midnight Temple.
Neither said a word until they were back at Menna’s. A long walk, especially when avoiding the Guard and carrying the dead weight of the unconscious woman.
‘Well, that was closer than I would have liked.’ Pepper said, as soon as they were safely within the building and the woman firmly secured.
‘Shall we wake her, interview her immediately?’ Hedda replied.
‘No, let’s secure her, have a drink and a short rest. Best to do this on a clear head. I’d like Menna to be here, too, he can be remarkably useful at times.’ Pepper said, then dropped into the chair behind her, exhausted.
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(You may have noticed that the last two week’s images have been maps, rather than photos—this is for the simple reason I have not had time to go through my personal photography archive to find an image which works. Going forward, I suspect I might keep using maps to accompany my serialised fiction, it just saves so much time—time which can be spent on other words.)